The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [115]
“They may just be afraid. I can’t blame them.”
“That be so noble of you!” Her voice caught, as if she choked back tears. “I did come to beg your forgiveness once again.”
“And you have it, as you always shall. Here, if I didn’t even realize that I’m tainted Vandar’s spawn, how could you have known?”
“True-spoken.” But she sounded no less miserable. “The council, they did end the debate for the night, but tomorrow they meet again after morning prayers.”
“I see. Tell me somewhat, if it’s safe for you to linger a moment. Sidro—you said she’d been cast off by a man?”
“Just that. Sidro were ill treated by a man she loved, left deserted and alone after her family did scorn her and force her to leave their home. She was with child, you see. Lakanza did offer her shelter at our old shrine. Sidro’s child did die in her arms not two days after it were born. In penance she did vow to serve our goddess all her life.”
“That’s a sad thing, then.” Salamander decided that one more lie on top of all the others wouldn’t ruin his wyrd forever. “I’ll pray that I may forgive her, too.”
“She deserves far less than that, but it does speak well of you.” Once again Rocca’s voice sounded full of tears. “I’d best be gone.”
Before he could say anything more, he heard her turn away, and her footsteps hurried down the stairs.
The morning, of course, would bring light, and Salamander needed darkness if he were to escape. He went to the window and looked up, using the stars as a focus, but try as he might, he couldn’t reach Dallandra’s mind. He did get a confused impression of her feelings, that she was mildly angry at something, a little frightened as well, but mostly methodical and intent upon some task. It occurred to him that most likely someone in camp had injured themselves in an accident, and as the alar’s healer, she’d been called out of a sound sleep. He decided against waiting until he could talk with her. The sooner he escaped from Zakh Gral, the better.
First Salamander stripped off his clothing, then considered what he could carry—not much and still get clean away. He made a sack out of his brigga by tying the legs together. Into it he put the quiver of miniature arrows, a bit of building stone he found upon the floor, and the plate his dinner had arrived upon. His boots—he weighed them in his hand—heavy, but without them he wouldn’t get far. He stuffed them in, then cinched the sack closed with his belt. He set it carefully on the corner of the windowsill.
And what would happen to Rocca when the guards found him gone? Would the razkanir blame her? If they did, she would die a very slow death at their hands. He had no doubt about that. How could he—he grinned at a sudden idea. Among the old ashes on the dead hearth, he found a lump of charcoal. The smooth wall of the chamber served him for parchment. Still grinning, he began to write in careful letters. (In the Deverry language his words rhymed, unlike those below.)
“Death may threaten but never claim me
For Alshandra claimed me for her own
Long years ago. To Her now I cry aloud
To save or slay me as she thinks best.
What light do I see here my dark prison?”
At this point he dropped the formal rhyme and meter and scrawled his letters. “She comes! May I—” He broke the word off, then let the charcoal drop onto the floor.
“There,” he muttered. “We’ll see how that takes them! Or wait—they think dweomer light comes from the goddess.” He raised both hands above his head and called upon the Wildfolk of Aethyr. In a shimmering silver mass they appeared, dodging this way and that. “Lords of Aethyr!” Salamander whispered. “I beg and beseech you! Fill this room with light long past my leaving of it.”
The silver mass shattered. A hundred separate glitters of light rushed to the walls, to the ceiling, gathered and spread until the chamber filled with glow brighter than ten full moons.
“My thanks, most sincerely! O Great Lords of Aethyr, I beseech thee, let this light shine until dawn!”
From somewhere in his mind too