Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [143]
Raena opened her eyes, gathered her breath for a moment, then began to chant again. The man-shape thickened, turned solid, became as much fox as man with his russet fur and sharp fox's nose. When Lord Havoc stepped out of the silver light, Verrarc could see that he wore black armor and carried in one pawlike hand a plumed helm.
“Greetings, O my priestess!” Havoc said. “Why do you bring me here?”
Raena fell on her knees before the fox-man. All at once Verrarc felt like shouting at her to get up, to stop prostrating herself before this beast-spirit.
“I do beg your aid,” Raena was saying. “O great lord of the inner lands! Help one who worships you!”
“I shall listen,” Havoc said. “What is it that you desire?”
“In this town I have an enemy who would kill me. Please, please, drive it hence or slay it!”
“Who is this enemy?” Havoc's voice was not quite steady enough for an all-powerful deity. “Where does it reside?”
“Not far from here, on the ruins of the temple in which I once worshipped you. It be a huge black beast, a dragon. Many times has she tried to devour me as I flew on your errands.”
“Arzosah?” Havoc yelped. “I'll not be messing about with such as her! Uh, I mean, no doubt the greater gods have sent her to be a great spiritual test for you.”
“Oh, have they now?” Verrarc got up, shoving the chair back. “You stink of fear, fox lord!”
Raena screamed and shrank back. Lord Havoc swelled, grew huge, and towered over them both.
“How dare you take me in vain!” the spirit hissed. “I shall destroy you for that!”
In sheer reflex Verrarc drew his long knife. When the steel flashed in the sunlight, Havoc yelped and began to shrink. With two long steps Verrarc charged forward and swung. As the steel approached Havoc's body, the black armor began to crack and melt; Havoc's torso suddenly wavered and bulged away from the blade as if it were a reflection on water, rippled by the wind. Havoc shrieked in agony, made a futile grab at the knife, and disappeared. The silver light vanished with him. Verrarc sheathed his knife and knelt in front of Raena, who sat sobbing on the floor.
“Rae?” Verrarc said. “That be no god.”
“So I do see.” She was sobbing so hard that her nose ran like a child's. “I should have listened when you told me of his brother. Ah truly, I should have listened!”
Raena dropped her face to her hands and went on weeping, sobbing wet and noisily. Verrarc stroked her hair and tried to think of some comforting words. He could find none. At last her sobbing ended.
“If only Alshandra would come to me,” Raena whispered. “If only you might see her. Then would you truly understand.”
“Jahdo did tell us all that she were slain.”
“Oh, that be drivel! No one can slay a goddess.”
“Just so, which is why I doubt me if she were any such thing.”
“Hold your tongue!”
She was glaring at him in such utter rage that he sat back on his heels.
“Mock not my lady,” Raena snarled. “Mock her not in forfeit of your life. Now let me think. Truly, if I could only reach her—let me think.”
Although Jahdo invited Rhodry to eat dinner with his family, and Dallandra suggested he join the elven camp for a meal, Rhodry ate the last of his bread and cheese up at the ruined temple with Arzosah. Why, he couldn't say. She sprawled on the stone roof, and he sat leaning against her vast belly for a backrest while they watched the sun set in a shimmering haze.
“Have you ever been to the mountains in the west?” Rhodry said.
“Beyond the Westlands?” Arzosah said. “I have, on occasion.”
“Then you've flown over the Seven Cities.”
“There's not much to see of the southern ones. The ruins are mostly covered over with plants and suchlike