Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [160]
“Mam, Mam! There were gods in the sky! And the councilman's woman is daft!” At that Cotzi saw Verrarc and blushed deep scarlet.
“Learning to hold your tongue would be a fine thing.” Emla got up, hand raised for a slap.
With a yelp Cotzi dodged back. Verrarc rose from his chair.
“Here, here,” Verrarc broke in. “Punish her not for my sake. I begin to fear me she does speak the truth. Cotzi, slowly now: what be all this alarm?”
“Well, I were about in the town when I did hear shouting by the south gate. So I did run there, and your woman, she were standing up on that wood thing the council did have builded. She were talking about some goddess, and then this goddess, she did appear in the sky. But a god came too and turned into a hawk and chased the goddess away. But she wasn't truly a goddess, she were a fox. And your woman did rant and rave, like, and weep.”
For a moment Verrarc truly thought he might faint. He sat down fast and watched the room spin round for a good turn before it righted itself. He looked up to see anxious faces leaning over him.
“Fetch the man a bit of mead,” Cronin was saying.
“Nah nah nah, I be myself again.” But Verrarc postponed standing for a bit longer. “Cotzi, be you certain of all this?”
“I did see it,” the girl said. “And listen—hear you not the crowds outside, all talking and suchlike?”
Indeed, Verrarc realized that through the open windows of the room he was indeed hearing panic: voices raised, voices cursing, voices weeping. Moving carefully, he stood up and crossed to the window. Although the weavers' compound extended out over the lake, this reception room stood on solid ground, and he could see a small mob of citizens just at the edge of the green commons.
“Cotzi,” Verrarc said. “Where be Raena now? Still on the green?”
“She be gone. I know not where.”
“Home, most like,” Verrarc said. “I'd best go after her. These troubles be my woman's doing, and there be a need on me to right them.”
Before Emla could speak, Verrarc turned and ran out of the room.
Other than the grassy commons itself, Cerr Cawnen sported no open spaces, no straight streets, and precious few that ran for more than fifty yards. To get to the lakeshore Verrarc had to dodge between houses, take narrow bridges from shop to shop, leap across narrow inlets of open water, and pick his way across pilings. When at last he reached the sandy shoreline, he found not one coracle drawn up. He turned and began running along the lakeside until he found a boat he could commandeer.
By then the last of the day was fading on the water. The shadows gathered and spread over the town until only the peak of Citadel gleamed gold in the sunset light. As he paddled the coracle through the rising mists, Verrarc became obsessed with a fancy, that he absolutely had to reach the peak before the sunset vanished. When he reached the shallows, he leapt out and soaked himself to the knees. He hauled the coracle onto the sand, then deserted it and ran to the path. There his exhaustion got the better of him. He struggled uphill, panting openmouthed, his legs nightmare-heavy and slow. Ahead the golden light gleamed, just beyond his reach. He forced himself to walk faster, though his legs seemed to have caught fire.
Just as he staggered onto the stone-paved plaza, the light faded. He started to sob, but he had no breath for it. Staggering like a drunken man he concentrated on walking, on picking up one foot and putting it down again, until at last he had struggled his way home. Outside the gates of the compound he stood leaning against the wall. The long muscles in his legs burned and throbbed.
“Master!” It was Harl, hurrying to reach him. “Be you ill?”
Verrarc straightened up and tried to make a jest. He could not speak. Harl flung the gate open, then put one arm around his waist.
“Lean on me. We'll get you inside,” Harl said, then shouted. “Korla! Come help! The master be powerful ill.”
Between them they got Verrarc into the main chamber of the house. He