Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [161]
Rhodry came to himself and ran to her. No time for harness—he set his foot upon her bowed neck and let her lift him up, then wedged himself between two scales of her crest at her shoulder. She crouched and flung herself into the air like a slung stone. Rhodry threw his left arm round one scale and gripped it tight. Her wings beat hard and steadily as she spiraled up over the camp and Cengarn’s walls. Everywhere in the camps, and down in the town, lights bloomed as men blew fires into life or lit torches and rushed outside to stare up at the sky. The streets of the town began to fill as the trapped folk began to cheer for the dragon and her rider.
Arzosah circled once, dipping her wings as if to acknowledge the cheers, then headed for the dun. Rhodry could see, against the background of the starry sky, the dim shapes of two enormous birds, the beaky raven and a sleeker shape, glowing a faint gray as she flapped and dodged. There was no doubt that the raven was winning the battle, gaining height and diving down to stab at its prey with a vicious beak.
“This is going to be sweet,” Arzosah called back.
The dragon went into a glide, raised her head, and roared as she plunged straight for the raven. Squawking and shrieking, the raven turned and flew, her wings pumping the air as she fled. Arzosah flapped once, gained—then suddenly the raven disappeared, slipping into another world and safety. Rhodry swore under his breath with every foul oath he knew, while Arzosah slowed her flight and turned back in a huge circle. Down below, the Horsekin were wailing and keening as if they saw their deaths riding for them in the night sky.
“Camp or dun?” Arzosah called. “The air belongs to us now, since the bitch Alshandra is dead.”
“To the dun!”
Arzosah circled the main broch and landed gracefully upon the roof in a scatter of stones and arrows until her front talons clutched the low wall round the edge and held her steady. Rhodry grabbed at her crest, slipped, and tumbled inelegantly onto the slates.
As he picked himself up, he heard someone weeping and laughing together in long choking litany. He glanced round and saw Dallandra, wearing only a tunic, crouched at the far side of the roof. When he ran to her, she rose and flung herself into his arms.
“Rhodry, oh, by the Goddess, Rhodry!”
“It is at that. Dalla, hush, hush! It’s over, for the night at least. Hush, hush.”
Something wet ran down his arm. Her shoulder was bleeding through her tunic.
“You’re wounded!”
“It’s but a scratch, a gift from the raven. She’s got a vicious beak on her.”
“That was you I saw? Where’s Jill?”
She went stone-still in his arms, leaning back to look up at him, her face streaked with dirt and tears. Rhodry felt his arms tighten round her of their own will.
“Dalla—”
“She’s dead.” Her voice was a whisper. “Just now. She killed Alshandra, but she died with her. She turned herself into bait, Rhodry. She knew she’d die, too, and she didn’t tell me. She just did it. Baited the trap and saved us all.”
Voices came hurrying closer, voices and a shriek of mourning through the trapdoor below. Rhodry was suddenly aware of Arzosah, stepping off the wall and settling herself near him, filling half the roof as she did so. All round the dun swirled the distant keening of the Horse-kin, mourning their dead goddess. Rhodry wondered why he wasn’t keening himself, opened his mouth to speak, at least, to Dallandra and try to comfort her, found he could make no sound at all. Dalla herself had turned as hard as steel.
“Close the trap, Rhodry. Keep them off the roof! I’ve got to set the seals over the dome. If the raven comes back, the town’s in danger.”
“But that wound—”
“Curse the wound! You can help or you can hinder, but I’m doing the work I have to do.”
Rhodry ran for the trapdoor, yelled a few words to those below, then shut it and knelt upon it to keep it shut. The dragon hunched, then leapt into a glide. With a flap of wings, she settled herself on one of the shorter brochs nearby to leave