The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [92]
“I should have held the council of war last night,” Maryn said. “I don’t care how tired we all were. Every now and then I have this dishonorable wish, Nevyn. I wish I could just give an order and have them all obey me without our having to discuss every cursed word I say.”
“It’s a hard thing, being a cadvridoc,” Nevyn said. “But if your lords take offense and ride out—”
“Oh, true enough, but ye gods, I don’t have to relish it.” There was something of a snarl in his voice. “Oggyn, I’m leaving you in charge of the camp. Get it packed up and ready to move out, but stay here until I send a messenger back.”
By the time the men who’d suffered no significant injuries were ready to travel, a good three thousand of them, the sun sat at zenith, and Burcan had a long start. When they reached Burcan’s old camp, they found that he’d left his wounded behind, but with chirurgeons to tend them and supplies of food at their disposal. When Maryn stopped to parley with the captain of the camp, the Boarsman surrendered willingly enough and promised to give the prince no trouble.
“There’s only about twenty of us who can ride at all,” the Boarsman said. “You’ll not be needing to worry about us attacking your rearguard.” He hesitated for a moment, then went on. “Your Highness, could you deign to tell us if the Boar still lives, or do you hold him prisoner?”
“Tibryn?” Maryn said. “He’s dead. I’m sorry. We tried to save him.”
The captain nodded and wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.
Maryn sent messengers back to Oggyn with orders to bring the camp along and take over Burcan’s wounded, then led his army out. Through a long summer’s afternoon they pushed on northward, but when the sun was lying low in the west, they were still ten miles from Dun Deverry with Burcan far ahead. Nevyn joined the prince and the captain to consider what they should do with the last of the daylight.
“If we press on now, Your Highness,” Caradoc said, “we might catch them just at dark, but there’s no guaranteeing the result of a scrap like that.”
“Just so, and we’ll be too far from our baggage train,” Maryn said. “If we turn back now, we can reach camp by twilight.”
“That sounds wise to me, Your Highness,” Nevyn said. “Since Burcan knows where he’s going, he can travel in the dark. We can’t. I fear me we’ll have to concede them the siege.”
• • •
It was late on the following day that the Red Wyvern finally reached the Holy City. The fleeing Boarsmen had left the gates to the city itself standing open, but just outside the prince called a halt. He rose in his stirrups and peered through the opening, then sat back in his saddle. Riding just behind him, Branoic could see little but a dusty road leading into burnt-out ruins.
“I fear a trap,” the prince said. “What about you, Captain?”
“A rearguard at least,” Caradoc said. “A few picked men to harry us all the way to the gates of the dun. But in this rubble, my liege, you could hide half an army.”
“We’d best send in scouts, then. I’ll wager the townsfolk are long gone.”
Although Branoic volunteered to scout, the captain turned him down because of his all-too-noticeable size. Twelve men, all short and on the skinny side, went in on foot, three at each gate. The army pulled back about a quarter mile and let the slower-moving baggage train catch up while they waited. Not long before sunset, the twelve brought back similar reports.
“There’s not a soul living in the ruins, Your Highness, not that we could see. We got all the way up to the outer ring of the dun, and all the gates are shut, all right. We saw plenty of guards up on the outer wall, patrolling, like. It’s blasted long, that wall. Must run a good three miles round the hill.”
“Well and good, then,” Prince Maryn said at the last. “My lady’s father was the last man to take this city, some twenty years ago now, but the siege held and he