Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [171]
“Your Grace!” he stammered. “We’ve spotted riders that looked like they might be from your allies.”
“Splendid, lad. Now suppose you start at the beginning of the tale, eh?”
“My apologies, Your Grace. I was on watch up on top of the main tower with two other men, and we saw two riders coming way off from the south. From the way the sun glittered on them we could guess they were wearing mail. And they crested a hill, paused for a moment, and then turned and rode back south like the hells were opening under them.”
“Did any of our enemies ride out after them?”
“They didn’t, Your Grace. We waited to make sure before I came down, like, to tell you.”
“Good.” Cadmar glanced at Gwinardd. “Sounds like messengers from Gwerbret Pedrys. The time’s about right.”
“So it is, Your Grace.” Gwinardd allowed himself a brief smile. “If it is, then our allies know what’s facing them.”
“Just so, just so, and it gladdens my heart to think so.” The gwerbret turned to Jill. “When I sent out the messages, you see, I had no idea how big an army this was going to be. Things are more than half-wild, here on the border, and there’s not a lot of men to spare for warbands and suchlike. It’s going to take a long while, alas, for Pedrys and Madoc to raise an army to take this lot on.”
“I see, Your Grace. You have my apologies for not giving you better warning sooner.”
“Ye gods, will you stop feeling shamed?” Cadmar smiled to take the sting from his words. “There’s no fault to be laid at your door, Jill. It’s thanks to you that our position’s as strong as it is.”
Although Jill rationally knew that he was right, still she berated herself for not seeing the truth earlier and doing something, anything—though what it might have been she couldn’t say—to stop Alshandra’s army. That evening, she stood in the window of her tower room, looking out over the dark ward and the town beyond. She was considering ways to take the dweomer battle to the enemy, but it seemed that every maneuver she thought of was countermanded by prudence. She might set the enemy tents burning, for instance, but if the enemy dweomerworker should douse them, then the Horsekin morale would rise while Cengarn’s would fall. What she truly wanted was to challenge the raven mazrak to combat, but again, if she should lose, then the town would have no magical defense at all. She was, she supposed, going to have to take her own advice to Carra and simply wait.
That idea pleased her so much that when someone knocked on her door, she whipped round and yelled, “Who by all the hells is that?”
Looking round as if he feared flying daggers Yraen stepped in, staying near the door.
“My apologies. I Was just wondering if you had any—er, well—news of Rhodry. If he was safe and suchlike.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
Yraen stared.
“My apologies, lad, but I don’t. I can’t work miracles, I can only follow the laws of the cursed dweomer, and I’ve got no idea of where Rhodry may or may not be, so why don’t you get out of here and leave me alone?”
Yraen fled, slamming the door behind him. Jill kicked the table leg so hard the table rattled. Wildfolk scattered like terrified chickens. With a growl for them as well, Jill went back to her brooding at the window.
In Haen Marn’s great hall Garin, Mic, and Otho lounged round a table at one of their perennial dice games, but the joy of it seemed to have run thin. Mic propped himself up on one elbow and drew little patterns on the table with a bit of charcoal, while Otho and Garin rolled the dice this way and that between them with not one snarl or insult. Rhodry leaned in the sunny doorway, yawning and watching them.
“Would you either sit down or leave?” Otho snapped. “It drives me daft, having you hover there for hours like that.”
“Oh, hold your tongue!” Garin said. “Look, we’re all on edge, waiting like this, but there’s no need to be making things worse.”
Otho merely growled.