The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [140]
The prince’s retinue found a good place to camp that afternoon, a grassy meadow next to a shallow stream. In the middle of this clearing stood a stone stele that marked the border ’twixt the Westlands and Arcodd province. The pillar bore inscriptions in both Deverrian and Elvish, not that many people in those days could have read either one. To compensate, on the east-facing side the stonecutters had carved the blazing sun device of the gwerbrets of Cengarn, while on the west, a rose under an arch of seven stars indicated Dar’s princedom.
At sunset Salamander went down to the stream to scry for Rocca. Dallandra came along, and together they knelt by the water, tinged a flickering gold as it caught the last of the sunlight. He was about to focus his mind on the distant fortress when he became aware of an odd sensation, a prickling of hair on his neck, a cold stripe down his spine. He sat back on his heels and let the sensation gather.
“What’s wrong?” Dallandra said. “You look startled.”
“I most definitely am that, and discomfited as well. Someone’s scrying me out, I think. It’s like the touch of a clammy hand. As soon as I thought of the fort, it stroked me.”
Dallandra got up and stood behind him. He could hear her murmur a brief invocation. The sensation of being watched vanished.
“Gone now,” he said. “My thanks.”
“Most welcome.” She sat down next to him. “I think you’d best scry for the fort later. Maybe we can catch this person off-guard.”
“I’ve suddenly discovered a well of patience in my heart.”
“Who, though? None of those people should have dweomer, from what you told me.”
“Quite so. Any Horsekin who did would have been slaughtered long ago. I suppose someone who was determined, someone with a strong gift for it, could hide it, if—Sidro.”
“Is Sidro the one who’s Rocca’s enemy?”
“The very. There was something suspicious about her, the way she guessed my mixed blood, and the way she was so sure that the wyvern dagger would work its little miracle.”
“I wish there was some way I could get a look at this woman.”
“Why? She’s not a pleasant sight.”
“What is she? A crone?”
“Well, no. It’s not that she’s ugly, but there was something about her that creeped my flesh. Her eyes, and the way she cocked her head at times—it made me think of a lizard or perhaps, if I wanted to be kind, which I don’t, a bird of some sort.”
“Didn’t you say she had glossy black hair?”
“Yes. Very Eldidd-looking, with the bluish highlights and all.”
“Like a raven’s feathers?” Dallandra thought for a moment. “The lore says that if a person’s been a shape-changer in a former life, they may resemble their animal form when they’re reborn.”
“By the Dark Sun herself! You told me about that other priestess—Raena, isn’t it?”
“That was her name, all right.”
“She’s now known as the Holy Witness Raena. The dagger and those other trinkets in the shrine were supposedly hers.”
“I knew that she’d gotten her claws on the wyvern dagger, but I didn’t realize she had the bone whistle, too.” Dallandra thought for a long moment. “Well, Sidro might be Raena reborn, though then again, maybe not. Curse it all, I won’t be able to tell until I get a good look at—” Dalla stopped speaking and raised a shaking hand to her suddenly pale face.
Salamander rose to his knees and leaned toward her, ready to catch her if she should fall into trance, but she waved him away.
“I’m all right now,” Dalla said. “I just felt a frost omen.”
“So I thought. Omen of what?”
“Danger, of course.” She paused to take a deep breath before she went on. “That kind of cold is always a warning of something ghastly.”
“We should raise a dweomer shield over the camp, then.”
“You’re right, but I’ll do the working by myself. I don’t want you putting any more strain on your mind.” Dalla paused to look at the sky. “It’s twilight now, so the astral tides will settle down soon.”
Salamander went back to the camp. He saw that the prince, his scribe, and the banadar were sitting in front