The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [177]
“Good,” Valandario said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what about the silver wyrm? Is he going to join the siege?”
“I don’t know. He hadn’t appeared by the time I left, and Arzosah refuses to discuss him.”
“That bodes ill. It really is ghastly, you know, thinking of Rhodry’s transformation.”
“Yes, but never ever let Arzosah hear you say it.” Salamander tried to smile and failed. He got to his feet and turned away, looking out to the north. He could see Arzosah’s shiny black bulk lounging in the grass a fair many yards away. “Rori’s nearby, I think. I’ve scried for him at odd moments over the past month or so, ever since I saw him in the flesh. He’s always been in the wilderness, but now I’ve gotten a good look from on high at the countryside around here. I recognized a couple of the places I’d seen him in.”
“If he does turn up, you’ll try to help him, won’t you?”
“Of course!” If anyone can, Salamander thought. If it’s possible to help him. “Well, we’d best get on our way.”
Salamander waited until Valandario and her armed squad had left the camp before he rejoined the dragon. Once he and Arzosah had taken flight, Salamander scried again, using her patterned scales as a focus. This time he found the messengers saddling their horses, freed from tethers and hobbles. He broke the vision, then leaned forward to yell to Arzosah.
“It’s time to make our strike.”
She dipped her head to show she’d heard him, then began climbing higher into the sky. Salamander grabbed her crest spike with both arms and held on as tightly as he could. He could feel his legs sliding under the restraining rope behind him. If he should lose his grip on the spike, he’d flop onto his belly and doubtless slide all the way free to fall helplessly to earth. At last she leveled out, flapped twice, then let herself glide on the wind.
Below, the land seemed to have shrunk to a tapestry in green, with the occasional stream or rock only an embellished detail. Yet among the threads of grass, tiny figures moved, men and horses.
“There they are!” Arzosah called out. “Shall I swoop?”
“Yes!” Salamander wrapped his arms around the spike again. “Now!”
Downward she shot straight for the little band of messengers. Salamander could see nothing but the back of her neck and head, but he could hear the sudden neighing of panicked horses and the yells and curses of the men. When he risked a glance to one side, he saw grass rushing upward to meet him. With a muttered oath he concentrated on looking at the back of Arzosah’s head and nothing else. Just as suddenly as she’d dropped she banked into a turn, then began flapping her wings to gain height.
“Two of the riders are off,” Arzosah called out. “And the packhorses have pulled free, too. They’re galloping south.”
“Good!” Salamander called back. “Let’s make another pass.”
For a moment, however, she steadied her flight. From that height he could see Valandario’s squad far off to the south. When he focused his mind on his old master in the craft he felt her mind respond almost instantly.
“Now, Val!” he thought to her. “We’re—oh, by the Black Sun—dropping again!”
He wondered if she could hear the scream that followed, torn out of him, it seemed, as Arzosah plunged down and down. Once again, he heard men yelling and horses neighing. Once again the grass rushed at him. Suddenly Arzosah laughed in a huge rumble and leveled her flight.
“The last two are on the ground,” she called out. “Shall I drive them south?”
“Yes!” Salamander could barely find the breath to yell. “Toward the other Westfolk.”
This time Arzosah descended more slowly. Salamander could sit up and look over her neck. Some fifty or sixty feet below—he was in no mood to worry about precise measurements—the four men were running south or trying to, shoving their way through the tall grass that hindered them. Once one of them tripped. The other three kept running, but the fallen man managed to get up and take off after them, following their path through the trampled grass. Arzosah soon overshot them; she rose straight up, then banked