Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [180]
At about the time Rhodry and Enj were taking ship to leave Haen Marn, Dallandra looked up through the bars of her cage in the Lands and saw that the tedious afternoon of her capture was still refusing to drag itself toward evening. She realized another thing as well, however, that she was finally beginning to recover her full complement of wits after the morning’s ordeal. She sat up cross-legged in the middle of her cage, sipped the water her captors had given her, and watched the camp below. In his cage, flat on the ground, the page was pacing back and forth for the few steps allowed him, either way.
Round the fire Lord Vulpine’s men had spent the past hour or so drinking, passing round big skins of whatever liquor it was that their leader had left them and guzzling the stuff so fast that it darkened their green tunics. By now the ursine fellows were stretched out snoring again, the human and the wolf warriors were singing together, and the vulpine contingent stared into the flames and smiled to themselves. In a little while they’d all be drunk.
Or they would have been if it weren’t for the herald, who was cold sober and sitting on the edge of the group, keeping a sharp eye on the guards and the prisoners alike. He sat with his staff across his knees, ready to poke or slap the warriors sober, and he kept up a running commentary of mingled disgust and warning, which they mostly ignored. If she’d been able to speak openly, Dalla suspected that she could have talked the old creature round to her side. He had some shreds of honor and decency, at least, some kernel of feeling for other souls that she could use as a counter to his fear of Lord Vulpine. But if she tried, the warband would doubtless take steps to silence her and the herald both.
When she stretched her sore arms above her head, the cage swung, creaking. The herald was on his feet like a shot, waggling the staff at her.
“Now don’t you go trying anything,” he snapped. “You just stay where you are.”
“I might as well. Now that I’ve disarmed your lord’s trap, my lord Evandar will doubtless come rescue me soon enough.”
The herald moaned and trembled his wattles so violently that she realized her random arrow had struck a target.
“The army’s gone off now, isn’t it? Where were they hiding? Somewhere nearby, I imagine, lying in ambuscade among the trees.”
The herald merely stared at her with rheumy eyes. Those of the warband still awake had fallen silent to listen. The page as well stood clutching the bars of his cage and looking up at her with hopeful eyes.
“Evandar will come marching in here with his entire host, I should imagine,” Dallandra went on. “Hundreds and hundreds of them, armed and mailed, swords gleaming, and spears, too, all sharp and ready to cut you all into mincemeat. Oh, the lad and I will laugh to see it, your blood soaking into the ground, your heads all smashed in and bleeding, your guts hanging out, and all of you screaming for mercy and writhing on the ground.”
With sleepy grunts the ursine fellows sat up, scratching themselves and looking round baffled.
“You’re going to die,” Dallandra called to them. “My lord’s on his way, and he’s going to kill you all.”
They leapt to their feet, grabbing for weapons.
“Hold your tongue!” the herald screeched. “Don’t listen to her! Our lord would never let such a thing happen.”
“Hah! He’s not here to protect you,” Dalla said. “He’s gone off and left you as sacrifices to his brother’s wrath. It might go easier for him that way. Maybe by the time Evandar’s done torturing you, he’ll have a bit of mercy for your lord, Old Dog Nose himself.”
They stared, as ensorcelled by her tale as small children by a bard when he condescends to amuse them