Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [164]
She lay down on her stomach on the cage floor and pretended to sleep, but she was actually studying the layout of the camp. The herald had wandered off into the forest, perhaps to nurse his sense of dishonor at his lord’s conduct. The ursine fellows had fallen asleep and snoring from their lord’s—Dalla had taken to calling him Lord Vulpine for want of a better name—from Lord Vulpine’s magically created mead, but the wolf warrior, the other foxlike creature, the distorted human, and the lord himself all sat alert and chatting by their fire.
If only she could get out of the cage, she could use that fire against them, make it flare and explode with salamanders, tossing flames all over the clearing. Nothing would truly burn, but she doubted if they’d realize that in time, and their astral bodies would register the raw energies of elemental fire as pain. In the panic she perhaps could get the boy out of his prison. Making a great show of yawning, she rolled over on her back and flung one arm over her face, peering out from under it to study the lashed branches. If it were dark, she could probably unpick knots, but when or even if night would fall in this magical country was problematic. She rolled over again, carefully and slowly, so as not to attract their attention, and considered what weapons might lay to hand if she could gain the ground.
All of a sudden, from the forest edge, the herald shrieked and howled. Dallandra sat bolt upright as down below the bear warriors woke with a grunt, and Lord Vulpine and his other men sprang to their feet. Waving his staff and moaning the herald waddled out of the forest with a black-mailed warrior striding behind. Like his lord he was mostly human, with only his red roach of hair and clawed hands to betray him.
“Our borders!” the herald called out. “A breach, a breach.”
Dallandra nearly laughed aloud, thinking they meant Evandar. In his cage on the ground the pageboy leapt up, too, and leaned against the bars to listen. While the herald moaned and dithered, the armored fox warrior knelt at Lord Vulpine’s feet.
“My lord! The rebels have marched across our land, hundreds and hundreds of them, and they had an army with them, strange horrible beasts with horses and manes like horses on their own heads.”
Lord Vulpine swore and raised his hand. A silver sword manifested within his grasp.
“That bitch Alshandra!” the kneeling warrior said. “She was at their head in the form of a huge raven. They traveled into Evandar’s country, where we dared not follow, so I know not where they went.”
Dalla clutched the bars of her cage so hard the structure swayed on its ropes. She could guess the ultimate destination of that army. They were marching on Jill, Cengarn, and the child and her mother. Images of slaughter and terror flashed into her mind beyond her power to stop them.
“Where were our guards?” Lord Vulpine snapped.
“Overrun. These creatures—they carried iron.”
His lord threw back his head and howled, a long wail of rage and frustration. All at once Dallandra realized that he could be a weapon in her hand, if she could seize it without cutting herself.
“Oho!” she called out. “You! Dog Nose! Some fine lord you are.”
He spun round, peering up, flicking the sword point in her direction.
“Hold your tongue, elven bitch, or I’ll cut it out.”
“Huh, no doubt you would. That’s an easy thing, torturing a helpless woman and a child.” She gestured at the page. “A good way to forget your defeat, I suppose.”
“Hold your tongue!”
Behind his lord’s back the herald lifted wrung hands, as if imploring her to stop. She ignored him.
“You forgot one thing, didn’t you now? That raven your man saw, that can’t be Alshandra, not so close to all that iron. How could she travel with that army?”
He opened his mouth, then hesitated, thinking.
“Well, that’s true,” he said at last. “So?”
“Then where is she? She’s lurking