Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [163]
“My lord, please!”
“Go! Ddary, I order you on the oath you swore me. Go and go now!”
Ddary wiped quick tears from his eyes, then turned and ran into the night. Tren stood and watched the fires for a few moments, then hurried back to the east ridge before anyone could come look for him and find his men gone. Little danger of that—the camp surged with a screaming mob as the panic spread itself like the flames. He could hear horses, too, whinnying in terror, and the sound of hooves. Some at least had pulled their tethers and fled. Their red surcoats stained with smoke and blood, the Keepers ran through, swinging their whips and shouting. Tren glanced up, saw smoke billowing into the sky to join the clouds. Clouds? He’d seen no clouds obscuring the stars when they’d been watching their goddess fight and die.
All at once, thunder boomed and cracked. The shouting in the camp changed to a shriek of prayer as suddenly rain came, pouring down cold in great sheets, dousing the flaming tents with a hiss as huge as the dragon’s. Somewhere, the high priestess was working her dweomer. Men and Horsekin alike shouted in triumph and danced like mad things in the blessed rain. Tren was surprised at himself for being so disappointed. With a shrug, he began working his way to the east ridge, climbing up the muddy slope as carefully as he could in the sudden darkness.
He gained the ridge just as the rain lessened to a drizzle. In the captains’ camp, Horsekin were trotting back and forth, but purposefully now, pulling things free of the muck, rounding up comrades, calling out to one another in normal voices. Inside Hir-li’s tent, lanterns glimmered, and the shadows of Horsekin moved back and forth on the walls. As Tren approached, he could hear angry voices snarling back and forth. He ducked under the tent flap and slipped in.
Saber in hand, Hir-li stood at the far end, while in front of him rakzanir jabbered and shoved one another. The high priestess was not among them. For some moments, Tren stood unnoticed in the shadows while he tried to pick up the drift of the talk but failed. Finally, Hir-li saw him and bellowed out an order. The Horsekin captains fell still long enough for Tren to make his way through to the warleader’s side; then they started their arguing again.
“What do you think of the vision, Lord Tren?” Hir-li bent his head and bellowed the question above the noise. “Some say it’s but an illusion brought about by our goddess’s enemies. If our priestess can bring down the rain, they say, surely Alshandra’s power remains great.”
“What does the warleader say?”
“That dweomer folk work their spells from their own power, not from the gods.” Hir-li showed fang in what might have been a smile. “And now, what do you say?”
Tren considered, unwilling to end up spitted upon the warleader’s saber if he argued the wrong side of a theological question.
“I wouldn’t presume to interpret the vision,” Tren said at last. “The high priestess is the only one who can do that.”
When Hir-li swore and spit onto the carpet, Tren stepped back, ready to dodge a blow. The warleader grinned, all fangs now, and grabbed his arm.
“Come out the back, where it’s quieter.”
Half-dragged, Tren had no choice but to follow. He was glad enough, anyway, to get outside. Although the rain had stopped completely, the air was still fresh and clean. Light seeped through the canvas and gleamed on the charms braided into the warleader’s mane.
“Where is the high priestess, my lord?” Tren said.
“No one knows. Her maidservants told me that there are things missing from her tent. She had a special cloth sack in which she could carry ritual implements when she became the sacred raven avatar. That sack is gone.”
“Are the ritual things gone, too?”
“They are not.” Hir-li let go Tren’s arm. “Only a few clothes. That stupid silver dagger. Some jewels. Those are missing. I’d say she’s deserted us, except—” He waved his hand at the sky. “She did send the rain.”
“A last favor?