Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [162]
“Rhodry, go back to the camp.” Dallandra knelt beside him. “There’s naught you can do here, and they’ll need you on the morrow.”
He fell silent, rocked back on his heels to stare up at the cold and indifferent stars.
“Go,” she whispered. “Go back to the army. Avenge her on the morrow.”
Nodding agreement, he rose.
“I’ll see you when we win through,” he said. “Fare you well till then.”
Yelling for order, swinging a long whip all round him, Rakzan Hir-li rode bareback through the Horsekin camp, his warhorse snorting and kicking as it forced itself through the mob. Torches flared, campfires burst into light as the soldiers raged round, howling and babbling, swirling like water through the tents. Carrying his unstrung longbow like a staff, Tren scrambled to the higher ground at the end of the east ridge, watched the chaos, and laughed. So. She had failed them all, just as she’d failed him earlier. Shoot a man on dragonback with a longbow. It could be a proverb, as he thought about it, a fine bardic image for utter futility. He looked at the bow in his hands, then with a snarl of rage raised one knee and broke the shaft over it. With a scream of rage, he threw the useless pieces as hard as he could and watched them fall, unnoticed, into the mob below. He laughed again, a long choking snarl of it.
All at once, he remembered the high priestess. On her he could take some small revenge for the way he’d been tricked. He drew his sword to protect himself from the rioting troops and plunged back down into the mob. He whacked a path for himself with the flat of the blade, shoving servants and warriors aside, screeching orders at any man or Horsekin who’d listen, until he reached her tent. A mob swirled round that, too. He beat a few men back from the side of it, then slit the canvas with his sword and ducked through to the screams of maidservants. The sobbing girls were crouched in the middle of the tent, but Raena was gone. Tren ducked back out.
“She’s flown,” he called out. “Someone find Rakzan Hir-li! Someone tell him!”
Those few warriors who understood him screamed and scurried. Tren kept forcing a path until he could climb down from the captains’ camp. Here and there, he saw the Keepers of Discipline, whipping and smacking what troops they could grab back into some semblance of order. The screaming was lessening, though he saw Horsekin weeping all round him. Fools! he thought.
Down on the flat, the chaos and rioting still raged. Just as he reached his warband’s encampment, he saw a fire flare in tents some distance off. Yelling and smoke alike plumed to the sky. Ddary came rushing up and grabbed his arm. Other men mobbed them round.
“My lord, what’s going on?”
“Panic and terror, Captain, panic and terror. I doubt me if there’s any sort of guard on the northern side of the camp. A careful man could walk away, if he wanted.”
“And would you hold that to our shame?”
“Never. But do it now and do it fast. The Keepers have a hold over their men’s souls. They’ll take charge quick enough.”
His men began to grab weapons, to scoop up a blanket here, a sack of food there, and slip away, a few men one way, a few others, another. On the southern edge of the camp, the fires were spreading from tent to tent. Horsekin yelled and swore, rushed this way and that, some with buckets, some with blankets to beat out the flames, but most just running to be running, yelling to be yelling. Tren watched the fires leap toward the sky and laughed again.
“My lord!” Ddary grabbed his arm. “Come with us.”
“Nah, nah, nah. My place is here. If the other gods favor me, I’ll have one last chance