The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [179]
“Let me see if I understand you,” Govvin said finally. “You’ve spoken many fine words, but as far as I can tell, your message is simple. You’re concerned for the villagers because you expect this temple to furnish military aid in time of war. I refuse to do any such thing, so you may lay your concerns aside. Naught that happens here is your affair, Prince Voran. The priests of Bel answer to a higher justice than your father’s.” He stood up, nodded to the prince, then turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving the door open behind him.
Voran rose and clasped his hands behind his back to stop their shaking. He was white around the mouth in sheer rage. “The gall,” were the only words that he could force out.
“Indeed,” Ridvar said. “We’d better go back to camp, Your Highness.”
“So we had.” The prince took a deep breath, then spoke normally. “We can talk more freely there.”
Neb scrambled up and followed them as they strode out of the chamber. Out in the ward the young gatekeeper was waiting for them. The only sign of deference he gave was a brief bob of his head in Voran’s general direction, and he said not one word while he showed them out of the dun. The two lords were just as silent as they walked down the hill to the road, where some of their own men were waiting—the priests had earlier refused entry to their escort. Tieryn Cadryc stepped forward and raised one eyebrow in a silent question.
“Worse than we expected,” Ridvar said. “We’ll hold council later this evening. My thanks for the loan of your scribe.”
“Most welcome, Your Grace,” Cadryc said. “By the by, that dragon’s come back. It’s over by the Westfolk’s camp.” He glanced at Neb. “Or is it a he?”
“A she, Your Grace,” Neb said. “Her name’s Arzosah. Dallandra tells me that she’s the same dragon who saved Cengarn from the Horsekin siege. Apparently they live a long time.”
Cadryc blinked rapidly, then shook his head, as if he were making sure he was truly awake and hearing correctly.
“Well, then, Neb,” Prince Voran said, “go tell her she should poach as many of the temple’s cattle as she can eat. It would soothe my heart a bit, and I’d imagine the gwerbret’s heart as well.”
At that Ridvar managed a smile, but only a thin one. Neb bowed to the nobility all round, then jogged off to rejoin Dallandra. He could see her and Salamander standing near the dragon in a field on the far side of the Westfolk tents. He wasn’t sure if the prince had been only making a jest about the temple cows, but he was angry enough himself to relay the order to Arzosah.
“What a regal heart Voran has!” Arzosah paused to rumble in laughter. “I think me I’ll take him up on that.”
“When we flew over the temple,” Salamander put in, “I spotted a fine-looking herd of white cattle out in one of its fields.”
“I smelled them,” Arzosah said, “and my mouth watered. I take it that the prince was displeased because the priests were as stingy as always.”
“Worse than stingy,” Neb said. “I’d say they were threatening open rebellion.”
“What happened?” Dallandra snapped. “I’m beginning to get a bad feeling about that temple.”
“If you’d been inside with us, it would have been worse. Let me just look at my notes.”
Quickly Neb gave them a summary of Voran’s points. When he repeated the priest’s response, Salamander swore under his breath, and Arzosah hissed like a thousand cats. Dallandra, however, listened quietly, her mouth set in a twist more thoughtful than angry.
“Voran wasn’t asking the priests to stand ready for war themselves,” Neb finished up. “Nor did he want them to furnish troops. He merely wanted the villagers to have the strength to defend themselves if need