Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [150]
“Greetings, citizens,” Kral began. “Many years have your people hated the Slavers. I do come to offer you vengeance. Did they not enslave you? Did they not drive you off the lands of your fathers? Did they not take your sacred springs and pollute them? Did they not take the sacred meadows and drive cattle upon them?” He paused to let the crowd murmur its assent. “Among ourselves, we do call those stolen lands the Summer Country. Here the winters be long and harsh, bain't? What man would not trade the winter for summer?” Another pause, and Kral was smiling as he looked over the crowd. “We too do long for the Summer Country. Join with us, and we shall lead your return.”
Dallandra caught her breath. Zatcheka, standing just behind her, leaned forward to whisper.
“Never did I think to see a man of the Horsekin with a silver tongue.”
“No more I.”
Out in the crowd the young men had pressed forward. Up on the town walls the militia were leaning forward as well. Dallandra could read their expressions clearly: a kindling eagerness.
“Vengeance!” Kral howled the word. “Be it not sweeter than water on the hottest day? And riches as well—the Slavers have prospered on their stolen land. Should not this bounty be yours?”
Some of the townsmen called out their agreement. Up on the platform Admi stepped forward.
“I do beg forgiveness, Rakzan, but we would know the price of this vengeance. What shall we do to join you?”
“Why, join us!” Kral laughed, revealing sharp teeth. “Naught more than that. Join with us in alliance!”
A fair many of the younger men cheered.
“But I understand it not,” Admi went on. “Your people be mighty warriors, we be but humble farmers. Truly, we could furnish you a company of foot soldiers, good men and true, but we have naught more than that to add to an alliance.”
“Ah, but you do.” Kral paused, smiling at the crowd. “The Rhiddaer does lie closer to the Summer Country than our own poor lands. Here you do have rich fields. I hear that they do yield grain in a most marvelous abundance. Warhorses do we need, and the grain to feed them upon. Could the Rhiddaer not become famous for its horses, were you to join with us?”
The crowd muttered, suddenly uneasy. No fools here, Dallandra thought.
“And after all,” Kral went on, “the lands of the Rhiddaer lie open to the west. There be good pasturing here, and roads to our lands as well. An army might sweep down easily to claim its horses here.”
Was it a threat? Dallandra wasn't sure, but she could see that everyone in the crowd but the young men had turned suspicious and narrow-eyed.
“These be dire times,” Kral continued. “The day will come when those who are not with us shall be against us. I think me it were best for you and your town to be with us on that day.”
“And is that a threat, then?” Admi's jowls were running with sweat, but his voice rang clear and steady.
“What? Never! My apologies!” Kral arranged a jovial smile. “I did mean only that we are many and strong, and in alliance with us so could you be as well. There be many a rich thing to be gained in the Summer Country.”
“Mera!” Prince Dar was shouting at the top of his lungs. “You lie!”
With a snarl Kral swung round to look for the speaker just as Daralanteriel pushed his way through the crowd and strode out into the open stretch in front of the platform. Tall, straight-backed, handsome with his dark hair and striking grey-and-purple eyes—his very presence made Kral look suddenly ugly and somehow smaller. At his belt Dar wore an elven long knife, and round his neck hung Ranadar's Eye on its gold chain. His men fell in behind him, but Dar motioned them back and walked on alone.
Kral snarled as he faced this threat. His escort, who had been standing patiently behind the platform, moved forward as if to block Dar's way. For a moment they stared at the approaching Westfolk; then, muttering to each other, the Horsekin began to edge backwards toward the open gates. Caught as he was on the platform, the rakzan held his place, but he clutched the handle of his ceremonial whip