Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [169]
A ragged contingent of militia seemed to be waiting there. As she watched, she saw the gate swing open, and the pack trotted out, heading for the ruined camp. All at once, she realized that the lord and his men must have sallied from the south gate earlier, that the scavengers would never have left till the battle had gone their way. Yet, no matter where she stood on the roof, the south gate stayed stubbornly hidden behind hillside and house.
“Carra!” It was Dallandra, climbing onto the roof. “Ye gods, you little idiot! What are you doing up here?”
“Trying to see. Oh, please, Dalla, don’t be so vexed with me. I get so sick of it, shut up like a prize sow!”
“I can sympathize, but you’ve forgotten the raven mazrak, haven’t you?”
Carra went sick and cold. She had, at that. Scowling up at the sky, Dalla stood in the center of the roof and turned, looking all the way round the horizon.
“Well, no sign of her,” the dweomermaster said at last. “She may have fled. With Alshandra gone, she can’t have much power or magic left. I swear it, she didn’t know one thing about what she was doing!”
“What do you mean? How can you work magic if you don’t know how?”
“A very good question indeed, Your Highness. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I think that our raven was drawing all her power from her false goddess, rather as if she were a waterspout leading rainwater down to a barrel.”
Dallandra walked over to join Carra, then looked up again, studying the sky.
“There!” At last she pointed. “Look to the north! Can you see that bird, up there?”
Carra could just distinguish a speck, moving with the same motion as a bird flying fast and hard.
“Is that her? How can you tell?”
“Elven eyes are a fair bit better than human ones. Poor Carra! You’re about to learn many a strange thing about your husband’s people.”
“Will you stop calling me ‘poor Carra’! I get so sick of that, too, everyone pitying me.”
“Then stop acting so piteous. You bring it on yourself.”
Carra felt her cheeks burning with a blush. The truth in Dalla’s words was like a slap across the face. Rather than answer, she walked a few steps toward the south and stared out. Far down below on the winding streets, a warrior was coming, trotting beside his foaming horse to spare it his weight as they climbed the last hill to the dun. His helm hung at the saddle-peak, and she could see his raven-dark hair. On his back he carried a slung bow.
“Dar! Dar!”
He heard, looked up, laughed, and waved. Dallandra forgotten, Carra dashed for the ladder and went down so fast and clumsily that she nearly missed a rung, but she caught herself in time. With Lightning bounding after, she hurried down the staircase, spiraling round and round, bursting into the great hall, dashing past the startled women and out of the broch just as Dar raced into the ward, his near-foundered horse trailing behind. By then, both of them were so out of breath that they could only cling to each other and gasp, laughing when they had the air, staring into each other’s eyes when they didn’t.
“You’re alive,” she gasped at last. “Thank the Goddess!”
“Very much alive.” He bent his head and kissed her. “And so are you.”
As they clung together, as she nestled into his arms, she realized at last what Jill and Dallandra had been trying to tell her, that she’d been in perhaps the worst danger of all. Around them the ward filled with servants, shouting and laughing, calling out to one another about the victory. Dar only held her the tighter and