The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [185]
The old women exchanged more glances. The crone speaking for them seemed to be studying the blazons on the prince’s shirt and the various banners and pennants among the troops.
“Very well, Your Highness,” she said at length. “We’ll tell them they can come back to the village.”
“Do that.” The prince glanced at Ridvar. “Let’s ride on. I take it that we’re not far now from the traitor’s dun.”
“So the gerthddyn said.” Ridvar turned in his saddle and with a sweep of his arm, sent his men forward.
With their goal so close, the princes and the gwerbret led their army at a trot and let the clumsy carts and servants follow as best they might. In but a little while they rounded a curve in the road and saw the dun, squat and ugly in the midst of its defenses and walls. Like a scab on top of a pusboil, Gerran thought. He could see that the gates were shut. Archers, half-concealed behind the crenels, lined the top of the wall.
With shouts and a wave of his arm, Ridvar disposed his men and his allies. The warbands spread out, some riding left, some right, and surrounded the hill, but they took care to stay out of arrow reach. Since his daughter’s safety was at stake, Tieryn Cadryc and his men were given the position next to the gwerbret’s own, where they had a good view of the gates. At Ridvar’s call, Indar the herald rode up to his lord’s side. He carried a staff wound with variously colored ribands, the mark of his office, and a silver horn. When he blew three long notes, a horn answered him from inside the dun.
“At least the bastard’s willing to parley,” Cadryc muttered to Gerran. “That’s somewhat to the good.”
“It is, Your Grace.” Gerran rose in his stirrups for a better look. “They’re not opening the gates, though. Oh, wait! They’ve got a side portal.”
Carrying a beribboned staff of his own, a herald slipped through the narrow door and began walking down through the maze of walls and ditches. Indar handed his staff to the gwerbret, then dismounted and took the staff back.
“I’d best go to meet him, Your Grace,” Indar said. “I’ve got the terms of surrender well up in my mind, not that it will matter, I suppose.”
“Unfortunately, you’re most likely right,” Ridvar said. “Well, let’s give him his chance to turn them down.”
Indar trudged off, staff held high to ensure that the archers on the walls saw it. The elaborate earthworks seemed to swallow both heralds and hide them from sight. There was nothing for the army to do but wait and try to soothe their restless horses as the parley dragged on.
Finally, just as everyone’s patience was running out, Indar returned. He bowed to prince and gwerbret both.
“Lord Honelg refuses our terms,” Indar said. “He asks you to quit his lands. From what his herald told me, that’s the only answer he’ll give—quit his lands, and then he’ll consider a true parley.”
Ridvar turned red in the face and muttered a few foul oaths.
“I expected naught better, somehow,” Voran said. “What about Honelg’s womenfolk?”
“I pled for mercy upon them with all the feeling I could muster,” Indar said. “I followed the gerthddyn’s instructions, too, pointing out that womenfolk were especially treasured by his goddess, and that his little daughter represented a future hope for Alshandra’s fame and glory, should she live to spread the tidings about her goddess. The herald listened most carefully. There were even tears in his eyes at one point. He said that he’d present my message to his lord with great care. So, there it stands.” Indar shook his head with a sigh. “We can only hope that Honelg will listen.”
If Honelg did listen to his herald, there was no sign of it that afternoon and evening. Salamander kept a watch at the edge of the Westfolk camp. With his normal sight, he could see that men on guard stood behind the crenella tion at the top of the dun wall. Once a man who seemed to be Honelg himself appeared, walking restlessly round the battlements. Now and then Salamander would scry, but inside the walls he saw only things that he and the lords already knew.
As well as Honelg’s riders,