The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [174]
“Turn west here,” Salamander called out.
“Hang on!” Arzosah banked one wing and swung herself around, heading toward the lowering sun.
The maneuver left Salamander feeling sick, but he clung to the ropes and managed to stay secure. Not long after, they left the farmland north of Cengarn behind them, covering a distance that would have taken a horse half a day. Just as the sun was touching the horizon, they saw Twenty Streams Rock, an apparent pebble, gray against a blanket of green. Thin lines of blue water gleamed amidst the grass.
“Land there!” Salamander yelled.
Arzosah banked into a turn and circled down to land gently in the tall grass. Salamander slid down from her back and squelched a desire to throw himself down on solid ground and kiss the earth in greeting.
“Now what?” Arzosah said. “I don’t suppose you’ll take these wretched ropes off me.”
“If I did, I’d never get them back on. I thought you’d like a rest and a chance for a drink. I’ve got to scry for our prey.”
“Some water would be very nice, indeed.”
Arzosah waddled over to the nearest stream and hunkered down to drink, lapping water like a dog with her long black tongue. Salamander was amazed at how clumsy she seemed on the ground. Her short legs bent outward at the knees, and while they supported her full weight, long graceful strides were beyond her. In flight, however, she moved like a dancer. A true creature of air, he thought to himself, but still fiery withal.
Salamander sat down and watched the bluish twilight play on the long grass. As the sunset wind picked up, the grass bowed and sighed as it moved. Against it, he formulated an image of Valandario, and she answered him immediately. He could see her standing out in the grass and looking up at the sky to the east, where a few stars were already shining like carelessly dropped gems.
“Where are you?” Salamander thought to her. “The dragon and I have reached Twenty Streams.”
“We’re not far, about half a day’s ride to the west. Have you spotted those messengers yet? In the flesh, I mean.”
“No, but we’ll be flying again as soon as Arzosah’s rested. I’m expecting them to light a campfire. After all, they don’t know we know and all that. Once I spot them, I’ll contact you again.”
“Very good. I’ve got eight archers and two swordsmen with me. Do you think that will be enough? I don’t understand matters of war, I’m afraid.”
“More than enough, really.”
“What about the prince and the others? Where are they?”
“Still crawling along north with the Roundear army. It will take them a while to reach Honelg’s dun.” Salamander paused to glance behind him. Beside the stream Arzosah was wiping her chin dry on a patch of grass. “Ah, the dragon’s finished her drink, I see. We’d best get on our way.”
Sure enough, a trace of twilight still gleamed in the west when Salamander spotted a pinprick of fire glowing among a tumble of boulders about five miles north of Twenty Streams. Rather than announce their presence to the messengers by flying directly over them, they made a wide circle around. As a gibbous moon rose in the east, Salamander’s half-elven eyes could spot various landmarks, a stream with a tangle of hazel wands along it, and the boulders themselves.
“That’s enough for tonight.” Salamander had to yell at the top of his well-trained voice for the dragon to hear him. “Head straight south from here.”
“Are we joining up with the other dweomermaster?” Arzosah’s rumble carried quite well.
“Yes, we are.”
“I’ll look for another campfire, then. Hang on tight!” Salamander wrapped his arms around the nearest spike of her crest. The dragon dropped one wing, banked into a steep turn, then righted herself and headed south.
They found Valandario’s small encampment easily. A small herd of horses, watched over by a mounted guard, grazed at tether near a single large tent. A campfire burned in front of the tent, and Salamander could see the men