The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [162]
“Mazrak,” Dallandra whispered. “I’d wager high that you’re no ordinary bird.” She raised her voice to a normal tone. “Why is Salamander always off somewhere when I need him? I suspect he knows who that is. Here, hold a moment.” When she concentrated on Ebañy, she could feel his mind, but it was so muddled with mead and food that she couldn’t catch his attention. “How like him!”
Branna had been listening to all of this gape-mouthed.
“That raven’s evil, isn’t it?” she said. “It must be the same one that was spying on us at home, and now the beastly thing’s followed us here.”
“It was doing what? Tell me what you know about it!”
“Well, it looks like a raven, but it’s far too big for that. It kept appearing over the dun, and it gave me a nasty cold feeling, truly, though I can’t explain why.”
“I know why. Do you know what a mazrak is?”
“I don’t.”
Dallandra sat back down. “Well, I think I’d best tell you, and right now.”
“There’sonething I must say about these Deverry lords,” Calonderiel said. “They set a good table.”
“They do at that.” Salamander belched profoundly. “Uh, sorry! Mayhap I shouldn’t have had that last goblet of mead.”
“And didn’t I try to tell you just that? We’ll be mustering at dawn for the ride north. No sleeping till noon for you, gerthddyn.”
“Oh, ye gods, have pity on this poor fool!” Salamander looked up at the stars and raised his hands to implore them. “Let the dawn come later than usual!”
“The gods have better things to do. It’s too bad about the tourney, though. They had to cancel it, of course, but I’d have liked to have seen that.”
They were walking across Dun Cengarn’s ward on their way out. Behind them the noise from the great hall still roared and murmured like a stormy sea. The feasting and the bard songs would go on for hours, no doubt, but Calonderiel, his mind on the coming war, had insisted they leave early. He’d already ordered the Westfolk archers to go down to the camp ahead of them. Salamander had seen Gerran do the same with the Red Wolf men. Prince Daralanteriel, however, had found himself bound by protocol to remain at the gwerbret’s table until the proceedings were over. Meranaldar had volunteered to stay with his prince—to lick Dar’s boots clean afterward, according to Calonderiel.
As they crossed the empty ward, their footsteps seemed to echo on the cobbles—their footsteps and someone else’s, running after them.
“Salamander! Banadar! Wait!”
It was Clae, panting for breath when he caught up to them.
“What’s all this?” Salamander said, smiling. “Now, don’t tell me you can see in the dark. How did you know it was us?”
“I saw you leaving, and I followed as fast as I could. Can I come with you? I’ve got to talk to the captain. Neb told me to find you and see if you’d help me find him.”
“He’s down at the meadow camp. Come along, then.”
They found Gerran sitting with Dallandra and, surprisingly enough, Branna at a campfire, burning for its light. With the Red Wolf men sharing the meadow, Dallandra wouldn’t have dared to make a dweomerlight, no matter how warm the evening. Clae bowed to both women in turn, but it was a clumsy gesture, since he kept glancing Gerran’s way as if for approval.
“Forgive me, my ladies,” the lad said, “but somewhat’s happened, and I have to tell the captain.”
“Then tell away,” Dallandra said, smiling. “We don’t bite.”
Clae managed a smile, then bowed again, this time to Gerran. “Well, uh,” he began, “a groom stole two horses and left the dun.”
“If they were in the dun, they couldn’t be our horses, lad,” Gerran said. “You should be telling Lord Blethry this.”
“Lord Blethry left this noontide to take some messages to some allies in the mountains. He won’t be back for ever so long. And I didn’t want