The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [53]
“Should I go to Cerr Cawnen instead?” he asked aloud.
The wind hissed out a yes.
“Oh very well then!”
The road seemed to fly of its own accord, speeding him along. He stepped down onto the peak of Citadel, then picked his way through the boulders and down into the tunnel. If there were danger in this city, he was willing to wager that Raena was bringing it, but the ruined underground temple stood empty. Evandar hurried back out. He spread his arms wide, then took off running with a sudden leap into the air. He felt his wings grow as the wind caught them, and his body shrink and change.
With a chirp a sparrow flew over Citadel, banking into the cold wind. In this form he could search for Raena unnoticed. For some long while he hovered over the town and the lake, flying this way and that, perching on win-dowsills to peer in or listen. Finally he remembered Councilman Verrarc’s fine house near the crest of the hill. When he settled on the outer wall of the compound, he found the councilman outside, bundled in a cloak and arguing with an old woman who stood in the doorway.
“I be sick to my heart with worry,” Verrarc was saying. “Not one soul in the town has seen her. I’ve asked everywhere.”
“Huh, and where would she be going, anyway?” the old woman said. “I’ve not seen her since last night.”
“Ye gods. Ah ye gods!”
Where, indeed? Evandar thought to himself. Either to my lands or to Deverry, that’s where, and the one leads to the other!
With a flap of wings the sparrow leapt from the wall, but as he flew, circling higher, he transformed himself into the red hawk. On long wings he flew fast, heading to his country and the magical roads.
“Those wards of yours must be powerful things,” Rhodry said. “I’ve not dreamt of Raena in a long time now.”
“Good,” Dallandra said. “I set them fresh every night.” She paused, glancing around the great hall. “Which reminds me. How long do you plan on being away from the dun?”
“Just the short day. The prince is no fool, and we shan’t ride far.” Rhodry followed her glance: sure enough, Daralanteriel was waving at him from the main door. “I’d best be gone.”
Out in the main ward the prince had assembled his hunting party. The men of his personal guard carried short curved bows and their shorter hunting arrows. Behind them stood a kennelman, surrounded by his pack of black and tan hounds, and a couple of servants with a pack mule to carry home their kill, though in truth they had little hope of finding game. During last summer’s siege the Horsekin invaders had overhunted the countryside.
“I’ve told the men that they’re not to bring down any does or yearlings,” Dar said. “We need to let the herds build up again. I’m hoping we can find a buck or two. The does should all be carrying fawns by now, and one male won’t be missed.”
“It’ll be more meat than none,” Rhodry said. “And it’ll get us out of Cengarn for an afternoon’s ride.”
Dar flashed him one of his brilliant smiles.
“I hope I never have to come back to the stone tents again,” Dar said. “The way they stink! But it’ll be spring soon, and we’ll be gone, and in the meantime, let’s ride!”
Despite the snow on the ground and the damp wind, the horses pranced and snorted, glad to be free of their stalls. The hounds raced this way and that, barking and sniffing the wind, tails wagging hard. As they left the dun, the men sang in elaborate elven harmonies, and on the streets of the town, the folk came to door and window to listen as they rode past. At the town gates they let the horses trot for a mile or so, then slowed them to a walk lest they sweat in the icy air. For some long while they rode north, leaving the settled farmlands behind, but the dogs raised nothing more than rabbits.
The sun had climbed to zenith when at long last the dogs flushed a deer, a button buck and thus no loss to its herd. With the dogs yapping behind, it came crashing through the sparse winter underbrush to fall dead from a few well-placed arrows. On the spot the servants butchered it, throwing the liver