Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [138]
“Come here, my love!” Raena called to Verrarc. She was smirking, her jaw tight with triumph. “I did bring you a peaceable emissary, Lord Kral of the White Bear tribe.”
At this one of the warriors stepped forward, a beefy tall man with his waist-length dark hair held back from his face by an arrangement of gold combs. He wore a dirty cloth-of-gold surcoat over his tunic and leather trousers, and at his side hung a sword so long that he had to keep one hand on the hilt to tip it up and prevent it from dragging on the ground.
“Rakzan Kral,” Raena said, “this be Councilman Verrarc.”
“Honored,” Kral grunted.
“Uh, my thanks.”
Verrarc was painfully aware of the crowd around them. Some of the militiamen had joined the townsfolk. He felt as if their stares were so many knives, stabbing him and Raena both. The wild man, leaning on his staff, drew his share of ugly looks. This close Verrarc could smell his unwashed flesh and another stink as well—resinous woodsmoke, so pungent it seemed to emanate from his very being.
“We come,” Kral went on, “to offer a treaty.”
“Indeed? Well, this be interesting news, but truly, there's a need on you to deliver it to the whole council. I be but one of five, and on my own I may say naught.”
“Fair enough. My men and I will wait. The priestess did tell us that there be ground where we may pitch our tents.”
“The priestess?”
With another grunt Kral gestured at Raena. She caught Verrarc's expression and looked hastily away.
“Just so.” Verrarc glanced around. The crowd had swelled and blocked the road. “If you'll follow me, there's a need on us to go that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction from that in which Zatcheka's tents stood. “Round the lake a way here.”
Kral turned away to give orders to his men. Verrarc was studying Raena, wondering just how furious she would have to make him before—before what? he asked himself. You know too well you'll not cast her off. A sudden yell caught him completely off guard—a child shrieked, dogs started barking, a man screamed. Verrarc and Kral both spun around in time to see the wild man grab a little girl by the arm and haul her into the air one-handed. With the other he shook his staff at a pair of big tan hounds who rushed barking to the rescue.
Kral yelled two words in the Horsekin language, but too late. Blue fire sprang from the staff and streamed through the air. The lead dog yelped and flipped over backwards to fall howling and convulsing onto the ground. The other charged, the fire exploded again, and both dogs dropped dead with blood gushing from their mouths and eyes. The child was screaming and kicking. Her mother kept rushing forward, and her husband kept grabbing her back. Yelling at the top of his lungs Kral ran for the wild man. Just as the rakzan reached him, the wild man threw the child at the ground. Kral caught her barely in time.
When the sobbing mother rushed forward, Kral handed her the child while he stammered an apology. The crowd began muttering and pushing closer. Off to one side, the wild man stood laughing softly, a mutter under his breath. Verrarc looked round and saw that Kiel and Gart had drawn their swords.
“Stop!” Verrarc strode forward. “There be no need for steel! Get the crowd to move back, Sergeant! Do it now!”
A white-faced Gart followed orders, and Kiel followed him. Other militiamen stepped out of the crowd and helped form a protective ring around their unwelcome guests. Kral bowed to Verrarc.
“A thousand apologies! We will camp outside your walls.”
“That would be best, truly,” Verrarc said. “What—why did he seize that child?”
“She insulted him, or so he tells me.” In between the lines of tattooing, Kral's face had gone pale, bringing the pattern into high relief. “There be naught I can do to control him, Councilman. He be one of Alshandra's Elect.”
Verrarc had no time to ask him to explain. Even though the rest