Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [94]
Apparently, the boy had lit the candles in the wall sconces before leaving the chamber, because the wedge-shaped room danced with pale light. Meer was sitting on a carved chest near the window. When Meer was standing, he towered at seven feet tall, but now he sat slumped, his long arms lying heavy across his lap. His skin was as pale as milk in contrast to his black hair, as coarse and bristling-straight as a boar’s. At the bridge of his enormous nose his eyebrows grew together in a sharp V and merged into his hairline. His hair itself plumed up, then swept back and down over his long skull to cascade to his waist. Here and there in this mane hung tiny braids, tied off with thongs and little charms and amulets. The backs of his enormous hands were furred with stubby black hair, too, and wisps showed at the neck of his loose Deverry shirt. His face, however, was hairless, merely tattooed all over in a complex blue and purple pattern of lines and circles. When the door slipped out of Jahdo’s grasp and slammed, the bard didn’t even bother to turn his head toward the sound.
“Meer?” Jahdo said. “It be Jill.”
At that he did move, growling a little as she walked over and raising his head. His eye sockets were empty pools of shadow in the uncertain light.
“I take it,” Jill said, “that Jahdo described the nasty little show we had earlier.”
“He did,” Meer rumbled. “I don’t mind telling you, good sorcerer, that my heart lies heavy and cold within me. Ah, ye gods, how could ye have deserted us, how could ye have handed us over to these impious hordes! Why, oh why, won’t you strike this false goddess dead, as justice and reason both demand?”
It was a good question. Jill only wished she had an answer.
“Well,” she said aloud, “the gods have minds that none of us can fathom, mortals that we are.”
“True, true. Mayhap they test us, to find the strength of our devotion.” Meer shook his head with a jingle of charms and beads. “Alas for these wicked times, that a demoness should flaunt herself in the light of the holy sun!”
“Er, well, true spoken. I’ve come to ask you about somewhat, good bard. There were a good two thousand men holding the siege before today, and Alshandra’s just added hundreds more to her army. How many more warriors can the Horsekin muster? Cadmar has allies, true, but we’re up here on the edge of the kingdom, and human settlements are sparse.”
“Ill news, sorcerer, ill news indeed! What about this High King of yours?”
“We sent messengers before the siege began, but who knows if they reached safety before Alshandra noticed them? If they’ve been captured, it’s up to Cadmar’s allies now, to send more, I mean. And the heart of the kingdom lies a long, long way away. The High King will come if need be, and he’ll bring plenty of men with him, but it could take months.”
Jahdo whimpered, then stuffed the back of one hand in his mouth to keep himself silent.
“I see.” Meer considered for a long time. “Well, the Horsekin are spread all over the northern plains. They can muster a horde of warriors, truly, ten, twenty times the number sieging us now.”
Jill felt so faint that she had to sit down. She perched on the edge of the bed and clasped her hands between her knees. Meer smiled as if, blind or not, he knew perfectly well the effect he was making. He raised one hand in the air.
“But fear not! The warriors can muster all they wish, but only a bare portion of them will ever attack us.” He paused, then dropped his oracular tone. “It’s the horses, Jill, not the men. No Horsekin warrior fights on foot unless he’s desperate and dying. You’ve seen our horses. Bred for war they are, and bred that way for hundreds, nay, for an aeon of years! Can a horse such as that eat grass alone and still carry his armored master into battle?”
Jill laughed, just softly under her breath.
“Up on the high plains?” she said. “Is grain easy to grow?”
“Hah! Only on the southern borders. Besides, no Horsekin, nor Gel da’Thae either, would ever farm. Farming is for slaves. And slaves are what the Horsekin