The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [110]
Branoic stepped forward and made her a bow.
“I’ll be glad to escort the lady to her tent,” he said.
“Indeed?” Peddyc turned and looked him over so coldly that Branoic stepped back. “I’ll take my foster-daughter back myself.”
Branoic managed a smile and faded back into the crowd of silver daggers, but not before he caught the expression on Caradoc’s face—laughing at him, curse him! Fortunately, no one in the troop ragged him about it, not even when the tieryn and his foster-daughter were well out of earshot.
“I wish we could do without Peddyc’s aid,” Caradoc said. “This isn’t going to be a fight for the noble-born, mucking about on foot in the dark.”
“If you think he’ll get in the way,” Owaen said, “talk to the prince about it.”
“That’s not it.” Caradoc looked around at the troop. “Lads, listen. We’re going to have to find our way through a dun we’ve never seen, and then pray the gates aren’t guarded. Do you think the gods will answer that prayer? Neither do I. Some of us are going to end up fighting a rearguard action so a few of us can win through. Do you understand what I mean?”
Branoic felt ice run down his spine. When he glanced around the troop, he saw some men smiling in a tight and twisted way, some nodding their heads, others merely grim. Very few of them were going to live through this expedition. Ah well, Branoic thought. I always knew this day would come, when I died for our prince. Maddyn stepped forward, one hand on the hilt of his dagger.
“I’m going with you when the time comes.”
“You’re not,” Caradoc snapped. “I want someone left to keep our name alive.”
From far up the hill came the call of silver horns and a sudden shouting, drifting like thunder on the wind. The silver daggers turned toward the sound and to a man they smiled. The assault on the third wall had begun.
Taking the third wall went better than could be expected, Nevyn supposed. Although the regent had posted guards along it, still the attack seemed to come as a surprise. After a hundred years, the civil wars had become as predictable as a ritual in a temple. Everyone knew that Dun Deverry could never fall to assault; everyone knew that Dun Deverry could only be taken by siege. The exhausted leaders and their ever-smaller armies had conformed to these ritual beliefs—until Maryn.
Surprise in war is one of the seven great delights, or so the Gel da’Thae say. By the time the regent could muster enough men for a proper defense, the rams had started pounding at the only pair of gates in the third wall. As one ram fell back, the second rushed forward, one after the other in a constant rhythm.
“It wasn’t long at all before we had our breach,” Maryn said. “And Burcan couldn’t muster enough men fast enough to keep us off the wall.”
“I see, my liege,” Nevyn said. “Well, I’m glad it was over quickly.”
“So am I. But the next time he’ll be ready. I’ll pray to every god that Caradoc can get those gates open. We’ll never take the fourth wall if he can’t.”
A page came out of the pavilion and handed the prince a goblet—mead, Nevyn noticed. He drank half of it straight off like water, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“But the third wall’s ours now?” Nevyn said.
“Well and truly. The assault men have already stripped the old catwalks and moved the winch.” Maryn glanced at the sky, where the sun hung low in the west. “I’d say the turning point came at noon.”
“Good. If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness? Caradoc wanted a word with me.”
Nevyn met Caradoc outside his tent. The captain wasted no time in pleasantries.
“Nevyn, my lord, I’ve somewhat to ask you. I’ve been thinking about that mysterious rain that fell on Burcan’s army, just before the battle of Camrydd Bridge, it would be.”
“Are you now? And I suppose you remember that I had somewhat to do with it.”
Caradoc merely grinned.
“And?” Nevyn said.
“It would be a grand thing if no one could see us silver daggers creeping through the dun from the bolthole. There’s naught like a good hard rain to drive men indoors.”
“Just so. But how are the silver