The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [120]
“Easy, lad!” Salamander said, smiling. “Your poor old Da’s come up a bit lame.”
Zandro bared his teeth in a smile and begin sniffing Salamander like a dog, his nose working, his eyes distant as he moved up his father’s arm to his shoulder and hair.
“And what is all this?” Salamander said. “What do you smell there?”
Zandro considered the question for a moment. “Home,” he said finally. It was the first time Zandro had ever answered a question with a clear meaningful word.
“Good lad!” Salamander said. “Do you mean I’m home now?”
Zandro shook his head. “Blue home,” he said.
“He means the etheric, I think,” Dallandra joined in. “Odd. I never thought of it having a scent before.”
“No more did I,” Salamander said. “But he’s the one who’d know.”
By then Dallandra felt too drained from the dweomerworking to worry about Zandro or anyone else, for that matter. She left Salamander to tell his tale to whomever wanted to hear it and went to her tent, where she flopped down on her blankets and fell asleep with barely a moment’s thought.
Dallandra woke in midafternoon to find a council of war in progress. Three members of the alar had taken the children, both normal and changeling, away to play in a meadow out of earshot, but everyone else had gathered in front of Dar’s tent. As she walked up, she noticed that Salamander was still speaking, but after a few more sentences he finished, nodded toward the prince, and sat down beside Devaberiel. Those assembled began talking among themselves, in whispers at first, then louder, until they sounded like the roar of a high tide on a graveled beach. Calonderiel got up and raised his arms for silence. After a brief flurry of talk, the assembly quieted to let the banadar speak.
“So now you all know what Ebañy told us earlier.” Cal defined this “us” with a sweep of his arm, taking in Dar, Meranaldar, Devaberiel, and Maelaber. “Here’s what we decided. I’ll choose a squad of archers, and we’ll take Dallandra with us, too, to guard the prince on his ride to Cengarn. Ebañy will come along, of course. As I understand it, some of the Deverry lords along the border will support us when we put this matter before the gwerbret. We’re hoping he’ll send messages to the high king.”
“He’s practically promised to do that,” Salamander put in. “Tieryn Cadryc will make sure he holds to the promise.”
“Good,” Cal went on. “We’ve got to destroy that fort, no matter what it costs us. If our Deverry allies desert us, we’ll have to call for a general muster of the People.”
The assembly agreed, but with a long sigh of regret. Heads nodded yes, but no one cheered, no one leaped to their feet to shout their agreement. Here and there an individual wiped away tears from his or her eyes and whispered the names of friends or family killed in previous battles with Horsekin.
“The rest of you, the combined alarli, will head out to the usual grazing grounds,” Calonderiel said. “But be very wary of riding too far west. Princess Carra will lead you, and Valandario will travel with her. Our dweomermasters can pass news back and forth, so we’ll tell you what we learn when we learn it, if anything.”
Again came the nods, the sighs of agreement. The assembly began to break up. Some of the People stood and immediately walked away; in twos and threes others lingered, talking among themselves or coming forward to speak with the prince or Calonderiel. By then Salamander had dark circles under his eyes; he let his father and his son lead him off to their tent. Dallandra waited until the crowd had completely dispersed, then joined Cal, Dar, and Meranaldar.
“I’ll send off messengers to Cengarn tomorrow,” Dar said. “They need to know that I’ll be coming with my retinue.”
“Retinue?” Cal wrinkled his nose, then turned his attention to Dallandra. “I’m assuming you’re willing to come with