The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [167]
“Well, yes. I just had a desperate moment of hope.” She tried to smile and failed utterly. “Ebañy, if the Horsekin are warned—we may still be able to destroy their fortress, but how many of us are going to die doing it?”
For a moment Salamander could find nothing to say, just from the shock of seeing Dallandra frightened. “Now here,” he said at last, “things aren’t hopeless yet. It’s a long ride to Zakh Gral from Honelg’s dun. They’ll have to cross the grasslands, and I’ll wager that they have to stick to open country. When Rocca took me there, we went through forest, all right, but the route was so complex that the messengers would be lost in half a day if they tried to follow it. They’ll have to head dead west through the grassland. And that gives us the time and chance to intercept them.”
Some of the color returned to Dallandra’s face. “We need to contact Valandario and Carra.”
“Just that.” Salamander paused for a yawn. “I wonder where the nearest alar is? Most alarli should still have their herds in the north grazing.”
“Valandario will know. If you scry and tell her what you’re seeing, they’ll have some idea of where the messengers are.”
“Better yet—if Val rides with them, I can guide them. I’ll scry, then contact her and tell her what I’ve seen, and with a bit of luck, she can lead our men straight to the messengers.”
“That might work, yes.” Dallandra sounded doubtful. “But we daren’t depend on luck.”
“It would be far better if I were there with them. If I fly, I can reach Val’s alar in a day.”
“No! I absolutely forbid it. Ebañy, I do not want to spend another ten years putting the pieces of your mind back together.” All at once Dallandra smiled. “Besides, we’ve got stronger wings than yours at our disposal, assuming they get here soon, anyway.”
“Of course! The residue of all that mead must have fuddled my mind. Arzosah.”
“Exactly. Here, let’s walk a ways from the camp. I want to summon her again, just to make sure she knows it’s urgent. And then we’d better tell Cal about this latest disaster.”
“And the gwerbret, too, I suppose.”
“No. Do you think a Deverry lord, particularly an arrogant child like Ridvar, would believe us?”
“Oh. Alas. No, he wouldn’t.”
“We’ll have to make this strike without any help from the Roundears, and that’s probably for the best. We can act more quickly on our own.”
Branna sat sullenly on the edge of the rumpled bed. By candlelight she was watching Neb pack his scribe’s tools into a saddlebag. He’d already rolled his few extra pieces of clothing up in his old set of blankets, lying ready by the door.
“I still wish I were going with you,” she said.
“In a way, I wish you were, too.” Neb looked up from his task. “My heart’s going to ache every single moment we’re parted.”
Something of her bad mood lifted at seeing he shared it. “While you’re gone, I’m going to finish your wedding shirt. Uncle Cadryc sent messengers back to the dun this morning, and I told them to get the pieces and bring them back. Some of the women servants know where they are.”
“My thanks.” Neb turned and smiled at her, but his eyes filled with tears. With a laugh he wiped them away on his sleeve. “I don’t know why that moved me so, hearing you mention the shirt.”
“I don’t either, but I’m glad it did.”
He sat down next to her on the bed, drew her into his arms, and kissed her. For a moment she clung to him, but from the ward below men’s voices and the clop of hooves on cobbles drifted up to them.
“Ah, curse it all!” Neb said. “I wish I weren’t leaving, but if I’m going to be the tieryn’s servitor, I’ve got to follow his orders.”
“It won’t be for long, I’ll wager. I mean, you won’t be anyone’s servitor in a little while. We’ve got to go study with Dalla.”
“True spoken. I feel that I’ve treated your uncle’s hospitality ill, though, taking you away and leaving him without a scribe.”
“Solla can read and write. Why shouldn’t she be his scribe? It’s not like he sends lots of letters, anyway.”
“Why not, indeed? That eases my heart a bit.” Neb raised