The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [22]
Not far off a small flock of ravens suddenly sprang into the air, squawking indignantly. With his Westfolk eyes, Salamander must have seen them from the riverbank, Gerran realized, and sure enough, he found the gerthddyn standing by the scattered remains of the ravens’ dinner, a dead horse, or to be precise, the mangled bones, tail, and a few scraps of meat of what had once been a dead horse. Lying around it in the tall grass were torn and broken pieces of horse gear. Salamander nudged a heavily painted leather strap, once part of a martingale, perhaps, with his toe.
“Horsekin work,” Salamander said. “They decorate all their horse gear. I think we now know what disturbed the raiders at their foul, loathsome, and heinous work.”
“The dragon?” Gerran said.
“Exactly. Their horses doubtless panicked as ours did at the thought of ending up in a great wyrm’s stomach. I wonder if dragons follow the Horsekin around? Where else are you going to find heavy horses like theirs?”
“The best meal going, eh? It could well be, but come along, we’ve got to keep moving today.”
When the sun was getting low, the warband came to another burned village, a tangled heap of ruins spread out over a charred meadow. Once again the horses began snorting and trembling. Swearing under their breaths, Cadryc, Pedrys, and Gerran dismounted some distance away and walked over to the ruin, expecting the worst, but they found no corpses, not even a dead dog, among the drifting pale ash.
“Well and good,” Cadryc said. “I’ll wager they got to Lord Samyc’s dun in time.”
“And I’ll wager they’re still there, Your Grace,” Gerran said. “One way or another.”
“Just so. Let’s get on the road.”
Lord Samyc’s dun stood on a low artificial hill, guarded by a maze of earthworks on the flat and a stone wall at the top. Not far away lay a patch of woodland. As the warbands rode up to the earthworks, Gerran saw a straggle of farmers leaving the trees with a cart full of firewood and an escort of two mounted men. When Tieryn Cadryc rose in his stirrups to hail them, the riders whooped with joy and galloped straight for the warbands waiting on the flat. One man dismounted and ran to grab Cadryc’s stirrup as a sign of fealty. A dark-haired young lad, he grinned from ear to ear.
“Ah thank every god, Your Grace,” the rider said. “How did you get the news?”
“Someone from the farther village escaped,” Cadryc said. “How fares your lord?”
“That’s a tale and a half, my lord. Here, the farmers from our village got to the dun in time. One of the lads was out looking for a lost cow, so he saw the Horsekin coming and raised the alarm.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Truly, Your Grace. So, the first thing we knew about it was when the whole cursed village comes charging up to the gates and yelling about raiders. So we let them in, and Lord Samyc wanted to ride out, but his lady begged him not to. There’s a woman for you, but anyway, cursed if the whole stinking village didn’t take her side.” The lad looked retrospectively furious. “They stood in front of the gates, and our lord was yelling and swearing, but they wouldn’t move, and all for her ladyship’s sake. So in the end Lord Samyc gave in.”
“It gladdens my heart to hear that,” Cadryc said. “This raiding party must have been a large one.”
“It was, Your Grace. Cursed if thirty Horsekin didn’t ride up to the maze here.” The lad gestured at the earthworks. “We could see them from the top of the wall, and they were yelling back and forth in that cursed ugly language of theirs, as bold as brass they were.”
Cadryc glanced Gerran’s way with troubled eyes.
“We’ve not seen that many in a long time, Your Grace,” Gerran said.
“Indeed.” Cadryc raised one hand to get everyone’s attention. “All right, men, let’s get this wood up to the dun.”
The villagers had turned Lord Samyc’s small ward into a camp, crammed with their cows, children, poultry, dogs, and heaps of household goods. When the warbands rode in, the men and horses filled the last available space. As he dismounted, Gerran saw a pair of