The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [121]
The scouts came back with grim news indeed. They’d gone a few miles north toward the Black Arrow’s old dun and on the way found a farm.
“Burnt to the ground, Your Highness,” the scout said, “and we didn’t find any corpses.”
The prince swore under his breath.
“We found a lot of hoofprints, too, Your Highness,” the scout went on. “Some were fresh, heading north. I’ll wager they were the scum who fled from us. But there were old prints, too, and a lot of horse droppings. Everything was pretty confused, but the tracks mostly pointed north.”
“It was hard to tell how many riders there were,” the second scout joined in. “Though I’d say there were a cursed lot more than we faced today, Your Highness.”
“Well and good, then,” Voran said. “Go rejoin your units, men.” He turned to Gerran. “Let’s see, we sent out messengers in mid-morning. They should ride straight through to Cengarn. Let’s hope the night watch lets them in.”
“It will, Your Highness,” Gerran said, “since they’re riding in your name.”
“Most likely, indeed. How long do you think it will take Ridvar to reach us with more men?”
Gerran had been unaware that the prince had asked for reinforcements, but he was pleased to hear it. “Another day and a half, Your Highness,” he said. “They can’t risk tiring their horses with maybe a battle waiting at the end of the ride.”
“True spoken. I’m thinking of making our night’s camp in the temple. As you remarked, it’s defensible, even without its gates. We can pull the supply wagons into the opening to block it.”
“Good idea, Your Highness. I can’t see the Horsekin dismounting to attack the compound. That’s assuming they don’t have spearmen with them, of course.”
“Of course.” Voran allowed himself a thin smile. “But I think it’s a safe assumption. It’s a long way to walk from their country to ours.”
“That’s one of the things that’s going to save us, Your Highness. In the long run, I mean.”
Voran winced. “True enough. One more thing. I want your honest opinion, Gerran. No agreeing with the prince just because he’s the prince. I’m thinking of staying in our fortified camp on the morrow to let those reinforcements reach us. Will we be safer, or is it a death trap?”
“Well, Your Highness, since we don’t know how many Horsekin are waiting up the road, riding out could be a death trap, too.” Gerran glanced back at the stone walls. “I spotted a couple of wells inside the temple grounds. There’s plenty of water, and we’ve got supplies left. I’d say we camp and hope Ridvar gets himself here fast.”
“Done, then.” He turned to a waiting servant. “Go find Caenvyr.”
Gerran kept his darker thoughts to himself. They were assuming that the messengers would reach Cengarn safely. What if they’d been ambushed on the road somehow? It wasn’t likely, since they’d headed south and the fleeing Horsekin north, but it was possible if another squad of raiders were prowling the roads. It’s in the laps of the gods, he reminded himself. And we’ll know soon enough.
Once everyone had set up camp inside the temple walls, and the carters had pulled the supply carts across the broken gates, Gerran had the leisure to attend to his injury. With Clae’s help, he removed his mail and pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt and the padding underneath.
“There’s ever so much blood on them, my lord,” Clae said.
“Hold them up, and let me see.”
A fresh bloodstain the size of a soup bowl soaked the padding. The blood had oozed through onto his shirt, as well, to make a smaller stain.
“Is the wound still bleeding?” Gerran said.
“It’s not,” Clae said. “It looks like a peach or suchlike when it’s really ripe and the skin splits.”
“Not a deep cut, you mean.”
“Just that. But you’ve got a bruise the size of my hands put together. ”
“What color is it?”
“Red, mostly, and purple.”
Gerran raised his left arm over his head. The shoulder throbbed and