The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [156]
“Do you mean we’ve won?”
“I only wish. There’s a small army of Hawks down there, all hidden and waiting.”
“Do we charge the gates, my lord?” Rhodry guided his horse up closer. “Me and my men are ready.”
“Your men, and Gwin and Perryn, too, are going to stay up here with the horses. You may come down with me and Jill and Salamander, if you promise not to get in the way and to leave the fighting to me.”
“What? Have you gone daft?”
“Not in the least. There’s a thing in that villa that I absolutely have to have if I’m going to track the Old One.”
“Walking right into a nest of assassins and asking for it sounds daft to me.”
“No doubt, but I won’t exactly be asking, bargaining, more like.”
“Nevyn,” Jill broke in. “I feel cold as ice. There’s danger all around us.”
“Of course. I’ll admit it’s somewhat of a gamble. If I thought they’d kill us the moment I opened the door, I wouldn’t go, but they’ll want a look at me first, to gloat if naught else. You see, I’m willing to wager that they’re as sure as sure that I’m helpless against armed force. Those of us who study the dweomer of light would generally rather die ourselves than cause another man’s death and these stupid piss-poor excuses for sorcerers have always taken that for a sign of weakness.” Nevyn actually laughed, a rusty-sounding burst of good humor. “Now, Rhodry, are you staying here or are you coming on my terms?”
“I’m coming to guard Jill if naught else.”
“Well and good, then. Remember your orders.”
Nevyn dismounted, tossed his reins to the startled Gwin, then strode off downhill, leaving the others to follow as fast as they could. By the time everyone caught up with him, he was knocking on the front gate as calmly as a peddler with trinkets to sell. Jill began to think that Rhodry was right and the old man’s wits were going.
“Er, my lord?” she said. “I doubt me if they’re just going to answer as courteous as you please.”
“I wasn’t putting that kind of knock on the door.”
Nevyn raised both hands over his head, held them there for a moment, then slowly brought them down in one smooth sweep until his fingers pointed right at the ironbound double gates of the compound. With a roar and a gust the wind rose and slammed into them like a battering ram. Wood splintered, iron bands snapped, one gate shattered right then; the other flew open and shattered against the wall behind it. Over the roar and the pounding Jill heard screams, prayers, and the sobs of terrified men as well as women.
“Well, come along,” Nevyn snapped. “No need to dawdle.”
As he strode through the broken gates, they crowded in after him. In the lush garden trees still quivered and rustled from the wind; ancestor statues lay broken on the ground. Out in the middle square of lawn huddled the Old One’s slaves while all around them, as if standing guard, clustered a veritable army of Wildfolk. Jill had never seen so many—big burly gnomes standing grim and attentive, hordes of sprites hovering like wasps in the air, smaller gnomes dancing and baring their needle-sharp teeth.
“Flee, all of you!” Nevyn called out. “Run for your lives and now! Run to the town and beg for help, go hide in the mountains—but run!”
When he waved his arm, illusory lightning plunged and thundered among the trees. Screaming, shoving each other, the slaves bolted and raced ahead of him, panting and yelling and sprinting round the longhouse toward the back gate. In a swirling pack the Wildfolk followed, pinching, poking, biting the poor souls to keep them moving out to safety. Nevyn walked up to the front door, shoved on it, found it open, and flung it aside. Jill gasped, half-expecting an arrow or knife to come flying out. Nothing moved; the rustling trees fell silent; there was no challenge, no taunting, nothing.
“Very well, then we’ll go in after them.”
As they walked down the long corridor, the Wildfolk came back, materi alizing in midair and drifting down like drops from a leaky roof. Jill