Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [36]
“My liege, if I may be so bold, it would be best if you withdrew from the first rank.”
“So it would,” Maryn said. “Very well, silver daggers, follow me.”
Ammerwdd bowed again, then trotted back to his own line. Prince Maryn led his silver daggers through the ranks of the south-facing army and took a place behind the center of the long line. The banners of the red wyvern stood off to one side, billowing as the wind rose.
“Naught to do now but wait,” Owaen remarked.
“Not for long.” Branoic rose in his stirrups, turned toward the east, and shaded his eyes with one hand. “I see dust coming. Ammerwdd's men are going on alert.”
He heard Maryn burst out laughing, and on that laughter the command travelled through the ranks: draw javelins and stand ready to use them. With a jingle of mail the men leaned down and drew the short war javelins from the sheaths under their right legs. Horses stamped and tossed their heads; some men laughed, while others turned grim and quiet. Branoic was about to make some jest when he saw the ravens, circling high above the assembled armies.
“Look at that,” he said to Owaen, “the cursed birds are eager, aren't they? Three big ones!”
“What birds?” Owaen was looking up where Branoic was pointing. “I don't see any birds.”
“Oh.” Branoic lowered his javelin. “Guess I was imagining things.”
He felt very cold, and very still, as if his vision, his mind, his heart, his very soul had all suddenly turned inward away from the world. As he looked out toward the south, where a second plume of dust had just appeared, it seemed that he was seeing not the day and the landscape but a thin grey picture of them. The Three, he thought to himself. Well, lad, you always knew it would come to this. When he looked Owaen's way, he saw him rising in his stirrups and looking toward Ammerwdd's position.
“Here comes the first lot of rebels,” Owaen said abruptly. “Hold your position, men! Wait for the Boar and his little pigs to arrive!”
Off to their left, beyond the crescent of Ammerwdd's waiting line, noise exploded, men screaming war cries, galloping hooves, the whinny of frightened horses, and all the jingling chaos of a charge. All along Maryn's line horses stamped and neighed in answer; the men had to fight to keep their mounts in position. Off to the south the plume of dust swelled like smoke high into the crystal-blue sky. A few moments more, and figures appeared under the dust, a lot of them, mailed riders on horseback, following the grey banners of the Boar.
“Here they come,” Owaen whispered, then laughed, a little mutter under his breath.
Branoic could hear the horses. With a howl of war cries, Braemys's men started their charge, expecting to slam into the rear of the fighting. Branoic settled his shield on his left arm, raised the javelin in his right, and waited.
At about the time that Braemys was leading his share of the rebel army toward the banners of the Red Wyvern, Lilli was sitting in her window, perched on the sill and looking down on the ward far below. Her intellect seemed to have deserted her—she could neither study nor think clearly thanks to the icy cold fear that gripped her. When she held up a hand, she found it shaking. Somewhat's going to happen, she thought. Some evil thing. She gasped for air; her lungs ached, or so it felt, as if some invisible being was squeezing her ribs with huge hands.
Overhead a flock of little birds flew, chirping and twittering to themselves—sparrows, most likely, but suddenly in her mind they loomed huge and black, shrieking as they wheeled round the dun. The sunlight began to disappear, swallowed up by the black of raven wings. Lilli had just enough presence of mind to twist around and fall inside the chamber rather than out to her death. She lay huddled on the floor and heard herself moan as the vision overwhelmed her.
Over the battlefield she flew among the ravens. To her horror she realized that the birds were as real as the armies, that