The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [163]
“What? Why would that matter?”
“Because I think the thief’s going to Lord Honelg to warn him.”
Gerran swore and rose to his feet, as supple as a cat and twice as fast. “Why do you think that?”
“You know how we’ve all been helping tend the horses? Me and Coryn and the other lords’ pages, and all the grooms, I mean.”
“I do. Go on.”
“So I heard things, the grooms talking and suchlike, and some of the other servants, too, when they’d come out to the stables to fetch a horse for some lord. And a couple of them worship Alshandra—well, maybe. They never come right out and say it, but then, they wouldn’t, would they?”
“Cursed right, they wouldn’t, not if they had half a wit between them, anyway.” Gerran sounded more weary than angry. “Ah, by the black hairy arse of the Lord of Hell!”
“And so, this groom named Raldd, he took a pair of horses out of the dun to exercise them. I saw him go, and he had a couple of saddlebags and what looked like a rolled-up blanket tied to the saddle. And then he never came back. They were two of Prince Voran’s horses, so they’d been put in proper stalls in the stables. That’s how I know where they should have been. I kept looking for them, but it got dark, and they were never there. And so just now I looked all over the dun, and when I couldn’t find him or the horses, I decided I’d best tell you.”
“Good job, lad.” Calonderiel nodded at Clae. “You have good eyes and the wits to match them.”
“My thanks, sir,” Clae said.
“The banadar’s right.” Gerran’s mouth flickered in one of his rare smiles. “You’ve done truly well.”
Even in the dim firelight Salamander could see Clae blush scarlet. He murmured a brief “my thanks” and stared at the ground.
“This is exactly what I was afraid of.” Salamander said. “Everyone in the dun saw Zaklof die.”
“Zaklof?” Gerran snapped. “Who’s Zaklof?”
“A Horsekin prophet, preacher, and general pro claimer of Alshandra’s cult,” Salamander said. “He impressed Honelg most deeply. In fact, he’s the reason Honelg developed his strange taste in goddesses. Apparently our lord of the Black Arrow wasn’t the only person to wonder how Zaklof could face his death so calmly. From what I heard in town, Zaklof would preach to anyone who asked. He probably made a good many converts.”
“I suppose he would have, curse him!” Dallandra said. “Captain, is there any way to stop this wretched Raldd before he gets to Honelg’s dun?”
Gerran turned to Clae. “When did you see Raldd leave?”
“A long time before they served dinner.” Clae thought hard for a moment. “The sun was about halfway to the horizon, halfway down from noon, I mean.”
“Right when everyone was working the hardest and most frantically on the feast.” Salamander joined in. “He chose well, our Raldd. Clae here is probably the only person who noticed he was leaving.”
“The Lode Star’s reached zenith,” Calonderiel put in. “How far is Honelg’s dun?”
“About thirty miles.” Salamander paused to make a few quick calculations. “There’s a decent road, too, at least for the first twenty, but part of it does run uphill.”
“He’s got two well-rested horses from the royal herd, the best horses in all Deverry,” Gerran said. “No doubt he’s willing to founder them.”
“Which means he’s at least twenty miles away by now,” Salamander went on. “He’ll be at Honelg’s before dawn.”
“You’re saying we’ll never catch him,” Dallandra said.
“I am.” Gerran shook his head in frustration. “We’ve got some sober men and good horses out here, but by the time we saddled up and set out, he’ll have gained a little more distance on us. We’ll have to circle the town, find the road, and follow it in the dark, when he doubtless knows the way.”
“We could ride right into an ambuscade, too,” Salamander muttered under his breath.
“This is a disaster,” Calonderiel said. “Dalla, it means that by the time the gwerbret’s army reaches Honelg’s dun, it’s going to be provisioned for a long siege. I’ll wager he calls up the men of his loyal village, too.”
“No doubt,” Gerran said. “I would in his place.”
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