Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [93]
On and on the line marched, five abreast, the horses setting down their tufted feet with fine precision as they negotiated the slope and strode down the side of the ridge. Jill lost count quick enough—some hundreds of riders, maybe even a thousand in all, riding into camp, while the sun sank a fair degree lower in the sky, and Cengarn neither spoke nor cursed. At last, the final rank reached the flat, but something that was perhaps worse came after—wagons rumbling through, laden with supplies, to pull up behind the tents on the ridge, and scrawny packhorses after that, bringing bundles of provisions down to the waiting warriors. At the very end came lowing, bleating herds of frightened animals—cows, sheep, a few goats—chased along by human-looking herdsmen. So. This detachment had been plundering farms. Jill felt sick, wondering where the steadings lay. She could guess that the farm folk were long past her help.
Twilight began to turn the east gray while the sun sank to touch the western horizon. At last, at long last, the final cow and herder came through. The mist blew away, breaking into long tendrils, touched pink by the dying light, and disappeared. From the remnants flew one last figure—an enormous raven, circling round the tents once with a flap of its wings, then settling to disappear among them.
“Jill?”
Jill yelped and spun round to find Dallandra standing some feet behind her.
“My apologies!” Dalla said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s all right. Have you been here long?”
“I have. Too long. I saw the whole thing. Jill, answer me honestly, will you? What kind of omens have you received? Are we all doomed?”
“No omens at all. Things still must hang in some balance.”
Dallandra walked to the edge of the roof and stood looking down. Far below, the town was beginning to come out of its enchantment. A vast susurrus of talk and cursing and tears rose round the hill, as a few at a time, the men began returning to the dun. Most walked head down and silent.
“If Alshandra can bring her men through on the mothers of all roads,” Jill said at last, “can’t Evandar help us the same way?”
“I’m sure he could, if he would. To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to contact him, but I can’t seem to reach his mind.” Dallandra’s voice shook badly. “I hope she hasn’t—well, got the better of him.”
“Could she? I thought he was much the stronger of the pair.”
“Of the pair, truly. But she has allies.”
“I see. But can’t you open roads?”
“Of course, but not on that scale. I can open a gate, like, for a few brief moments, long enough for a few people to slip through. I could never bring in an army or lead the town folk out. And I don’t dare leave you alone for long, anyway. It’ll take more than one dweomermaster to defend Cengarn against—” Dallandra waved her hand in the direction of the tents—“that.”
In the growing darkness, they picked their way downstairs, shutting the trap after them. Jill sent Dallandra off to the great hall to talk with the gwerbret and, with luck, reassure him and his men both. She herself went to consult with Meer, the Gel da’Thae bard, who knew lore as valuable as another warband. Although the Gel da’Thae came from the same racial stock as the Horsekin tribes, they were a civilized people, living in the towns they’d made for themselves near the ruins of the elven cities in the Westlands.
Jill had just come out on the landing near his chamber when she met Jahdo, the bard’s servant and guide. He was a skinny little lad who couldn’t have been more than ten summers old, and messy at that, with his torn and dirty clothes and shaggy dark hair.
“Oh, my lady!” Jahdo blurted. “You must have seen. The dweomer cloud! All those men and horses!”
“I certainly did. I’m coming to talk with your master about it.”
“That gladdens my heart. He’s