The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [124]
“The rose, the rose!” Van called out. “It’s Prince Dar’s banner, and I see Cengarn’s sun right behind ours.”
“It might be a trick,” Gerran snapped.
“Don’t be a dolt,” Van said, grinning. “I can tell Westfolk from Horsekin.”
As the dust resolved itself into men and horses, Gerran’s human sight confirmed what the elven eyes had seen: Prince Daralanteriel himself, riding with Ridvar and Calonderiel. When the news spread through the compound, the men cheered in a long wave of sound that lapped at the walls and rose above them to greet the relieving force.
As the reinforcements rode up the hill, Voran, with his mounted escort behind him, rode down to meet them. Gerran mounted up and followed until he saw Salamander turning his horse out of line. Gerran waited until the gerthddyn rode up to him.
“How by all the hells did you get here so quickly?” Gerran said. “The messengers can’t have reached Cengarn till sunset.”
“We left yesterday and met them on the road, that’s how,” Salamander said. “Thanks to the ghastly tedium of sitting around and watching over a fractious Neb, I scried for you at regular intervals. Thus I saw the battle.”
“I’m cursed glad you did. Do you know where the Horsekin are now?”
“I do, and it’s not good news. They’re north of here, besieging Honelg’s dun.” Salamander cocked his head to one side and looked away with curiously unfocused eyes. “Aha!” he said eventually. “Allow me to amend that. Only half of them are besieging the dun. The others are on their way here. Let me just go tell Dar. I suspect that you’d best get your men ready to ride.”
“They already are. And a blasted good thing, too.”
As soon as Salamander told the princes and the gwerbret what he’d seen, they gave their men orders to arm and draw up in battle order at the foot of the temple hill. Salamander left the military matters to those who understood them and rode into the temple compound. As he dismounted, Clae came running to meet him.
“Will you stable my horse for me?” Salamander said.
“Gladly,” Clae said. “But I need your help. Lord Gerran’s hurt, but he’s going to try to fight anyway. He can barely lift his shield ’cause he got hit on the shoulder yesterday. Can you make him keep away from the battle?”
“I can’t, not being one of the gods, but fortunately, we’ve got someone who’s almost as good as a god. Here, I’ll take care of my own horse. You run and find Prince Dar. Tell him that I sent you, then tattle upon our noble lord. I’ll take whatever blame may be. You’ve got time before the Horsekin get here.”
Clae grinned and bowed to him, then ran off through the gates and out. Salamander led his horse free of the confusion and tied him in the shade near the stables. In his scrying of the day before, he’d picked up traces of what had happened to the priests. With a sigh of deep reluctance, he went inside the desecrated temple.
He could tell by the etheric feel of the place that he was too late to help the murdered men find rest. The temple was so curiously free of the etheric traces of so many horrible deaths that he could hope that they’d already found it on their own. Perhaps their belief in their god had led them to the white river, or perhaps they’d chanced upon it as their souls fled from the scene of their bodies’ deaths. A glance at the bloodstained altar, where black ants still crawled, made him shudder. He hurried outside, grateful for the sunlight.
Armed men and horses filled the ward around the temple walls, men shouting, running back and forth, horses neighing and rearing, servants yelling at each other as they packed up the supply wagons. He could never have scried in such chaos. He climbed the ladder up to the catwalks, then walked around the top of the wall to a spot opposite the gates. He sat down, cross-legged