Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [129]
Overhead the great drift of the Snowy Road hung across the clear sky, so close in the mountain air that it seemed he could step out of the window and walk onto it, to follow it where? Evandar’s country, perhaps, or the Otherlands. He looked down at the sheer drop, hundreds of feet into the night, and laughed, just softly under his breath, then raised the goblet in a toast.
“To my one true love,” he said. “My lady Death.”
He finished the liquor off, then swung his legs back into the safety of the room and the solidity of the stone floor, before he was tempted to let Jill’s errand go hang and join his beloved instead.
On the astral border, there was peace, too much peace to be trusted—not one gashed tree, ruined tower, burnt or plundered view, not a single hoofprint, heap of offal, cracked stone, dead animal, to mark his brother’s presence or passing did Evandar see on his long ride round his country. No doubt the evil fool was plotting something, then, lurking in his own territory and scheming no good. Only Evandar himself seemed to have achieved this dark insight, however. When he gave the order to turn toward the astral river and the place they all called home, the men of the Bright Court riding behind him sang aloud. Those who possessed some sort of consciousness, whether true or rudimentary, began the song and carried the melody, while the shadow creatures, the flickerings, they who might or might not someday evolve from a concatenation of energies into individuals— they hummed and rumbled and warbled in harmony and descant. Evandar was surprised to find himself pleased that they were happy. Never before had he done a thing to make them happy, the way he’d restored their part of the Lands. He was planning on telling Dallandra about this strange thing, that he’d done them a favor, and in turn it had pleased him.
When they reached the river, flowing broad and silver in the noontime light, the golden pavilion still stood, a good omen in itself. The men of the court dismounted, scattered, flickering here and there about the magical lands and taking their less than real but more than imaginary steeds with them. Left alone, Evandar dismounted, calling for his page. Nothing answered him but silence. His horse, which was as real as he was and in the same manner, tossed its head with a jingle of silver bridle rings.
“Here! Boy! Come take my mount to its stable!”
Not a sound, not a word, not a sigh of wind, broke a silence turned suddenly grim. Leading the horse, Evandar walked to the door of the pavilion and peered inside. Tables lay overturned and broken. So. His brother had gone too far, this time, encroached upon the holdings of the Bright Court and taken himself a prisoner.
His first thought was to summon the court again and ride out to war. His second, more prudent, was to discuss this matter with Dallandra. She’d promised him, after ail, that she’d return to speak with him before sinking back down in the world of Time and Death to tend to Elessario’s birthing, and her return was due soon. Evandar decided that he’d stable the horse himself and then summon a harper or two to entertain him while he waited. Once he’d spoken to Dalla, then would be the time for his rescue and revenge.
For some days Rhodry waited for the judgment upon Otho’s request to postpone his trial. For the first day, walking round the main cavern turned out to be amusement enough. The area into which he was allowed stretched several hundred yards across, and every inch of the walls lining it sported intricate decorations, some stone, some steel. Some of the panels depicted the countryside round Lin Serr; others showed scenes of farming life or hunting in the woodlands. The bas reliefs that he found the most interesting, however, told stories