The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [210]
“Until your wife gives you a son, Your Grace,” Voran said, “the rhan needs you alive, and truly, it would be a pleasant thing if you survived a fair bit longer than that as well.”
The person who ended up leading that charge turned out to be someone that the noble-born had never even considered. The sun had cleared the horizon and was turning the clouds a bright silver when the army assembled in a rough column, four men abreast, at the base of the hill. Since Honelg had been declared in rebellion against the gwerbret, Ridvar’s men would take the lead, but Cadryc, Gerran, and their ten men from the Red Wolf warband had an honorable position near the front. Prince Voran’s men would be the last in, as they were there as a courtesy to the gwerbret rather than out of need.
The Westfolk archers were the exception. They clustered off to one side, and besides the quivers at their hips and the bows over their backs, they carried coils of rope slung over their shoulders.
“For scaling the wall once Honelg’s archers are off it,” Warryc told Gerran. “I asked.”
“My thanks,” Gerran said. “I wondered.”
“I was talking to the men in Ridvar’s lead squad. They’re cursed glad they won’t have to carry a blasted ram up the hill.” Warryc was grinning as he spoke.
“Oh, they’ll have their day. Don’t forget, Zakh Gral’s waiting for us. Today’s only the first skirmish in a long war.”
Warryc’s smile disappeared. Gerran put on his helm over his padded cap and twisted it slightly to settle the nasal bar in place. He drew his sword, then went back to watching Ridvar’s captain, who held a silver horn at the ready. Before he could signal the charge, however, Gerran heard another sort of music, the drum beat of enormous wings, coming fast and steadily. With a roar the silver dragon swooped out of the cloudy sky and launched himself for the dun.
Honelg’s men shouted, screamed, dodged this way and that on their catwalks. The dragon roared like a river in spate, a rumbling thunder that drowned out their panic. On huge silver wings he rose into the sky and turned in a wide swing for another pass. The archers on the wall steadied themselves. When he swooped again, a barrage of arrows sprang to meet him, but with a strong beat of his wings, he sent them tumbling every which way, harmless in the air.
Shouts of rage and shrieks of terror rose from the wall. The silver dragon swooped up high, disappearing into the brightness of the rising sun. At this seeming retreat Gerran felt sick with disappointment, but only for a moment. With a roar and a rush of wings like a winter storm, the dragon reappeared to stoop and plunge. Straight down he came, fast, faster, plummeting toward the dun. Just when it seemed he’d crash into the broch tower, he twisted, swooped over the outer wall, and rose with a screaming archer in his claws. A swarm of arrows rose from the battlements, fluttered, and fell short.
Not one man among the besiegers cheered or even called out a warcry. The archer may have been an enemy, but he was also a fellow human being, and he kept screaming and screaming in agony and terror as the silver dragon climbed the sky. With a quick banking of his wings, the dragon swooped over the dun once more—and let him go. With a last horrible shriek the archer fell, flailing his arms, till he disappeared from the besiegers’ view behind the walls that had so badly failed to protect him. All at once the shriek died in mid-note. A brief hush fell over dun and siege lines both; then archers began disappearing from the walls as fast as they could climb down. Gerran could guess that they were running for the safety of the broch.
“Now!” Gerran yelled. “Let’s go!”
Gerran took off running for the path up to the dun. Behind him he heard yells break out, warcries and howling as his men streamed after him, and an answering babble of warcries from the gwerbret’s men. As he rounded the first bend in the path, he got a glimpse back and saw Ridvar’s captain leading his men directly after. Silver horns rang out down at the foot of the motte. Another turn, and