The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [190]
“I’ll fetch water,” Calonderiel said.
Dallandra was too busy stuffing the cake into her mouth to answer. She and Salamander both needed to anchor their consciousness firmly to their bodies, and food was the best way to do so. Neb sat sipping his mead and watching them with a stunned expression. No doubt his daydreams about mighty dweomer workings hadn’t included raw hunger. Calonderiel returned with a waterskin and filled more goblets all round. When Dallandra held out her sticky hands, he squeezed the waterskin and washed them clean, but he handed the water to Salamander and let him clean his own hands.
“A thousand thanks, my love,” Dallandra said in Deverrian. “You’ve been around dweomermasters for a very long time, haven’t you?” She managed to smile. “Do you realize that Salamander saved my life?”
“I got that impression,” Cal said. “I was walking up to the tent when I heard you scream, and Ebañy start cursing. Then Neb and I heard the sound of some heavy thing flopping like a caught fish on a riverbank.”
“I somehow knew that the noise came from you.” Neb’s voice rasped and croaked. “So I told the banadar that your body was suffering some kind of repercussion from whatever you were doing out there.”
“But he wouldn’t let me by him.” Calonderiel looked honestly contrite. “My apologies, Neb.”
Neb smiled weakly and had another sip of mead.
“As for me, I couldn’t hold you down,” Salamander said, “so I went out after you.”
“And a cursed good thing you did,” Calonderiel muttered. “I was afraid Dalla would break her neck.”
Dallandra drank another sip of water. She was wondering how much Calonderiel actually understood of what had just happened. Even more, she wondered if she wanted him to understand.
“Dalla, what was that construct?” Salamander went on. “I caught a glimpse of it before it collapsed. It didn’t look like a normal astral gate to me.”
“It wasn’t,” Dallandra said. “I’m not sure what it was, frankly. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Do you think Govvin made it?” Salamander said.
“I don’t know for certain, but I doubt it very much.”
Salamander turned slightly and began staring at one of the tent bags hanging on the wall, but his eyes moved as if they were following some living thing. His skin was far too pale, his hair plastered down with sweat. Dark blood was gathering under the skin below his eyes.
“What are you seeing?” Dallandra said.
“Govvin. He’s up and walking through the ward. Some of the priests are following him.” Salamander paused, his mouth slack, for a long moment. “Ah, they’re leaving the dun now through the postern gate.” Suddenly he laughed, a small exhausted sound. “He’s setting a guard over the remaining cattle.”
“If he’s doing somewhat as mundane as that,” Dallandra said. “He can’t have the slightest idea of what just happened on the etheric above his wretched temple.”
“Just so.” Salamander paused for a yawn. “Which means he can’t have made the thing. I doubt me if the man who did build it realized you were destroying it either, or he’d have come charging up to defend it.”
“I don’t understand,” Neb broke in. “Do you mean this dark dweomerman’s not in the temple?”
“I’m guessing he’s not,” Salamander said. “We don’t know, unfortunately.”
“True spoken,” Dallandra said. “We’ll have to keep a watch on that wretched temple, though. If he does come back, I want a good look at him. He must have been staying in the temple. Why else build above it? Let’s hope he returns before the siege is over.”
Calonderiel growled, a whisper of frustrated rage. “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger like this again.”
“I don’t want you putting yourself in danger by riding to battle either, but will that stop you?”
Calonderiel opened his mouth and shut it again without speaking.
“Neb?” Dallandra turned to him.