The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [136]
“No doubt. What about the rest of the army?”
“The only Horsekin numbers I know are those from one to six and for some reason, fourteen, so I have no idea of how big it is. Huge, according to him, and very far off to the north. He told me they marched for weeks to get here. This was a scouting force, mostly, though they had orders to burn and raid where they could.”
“I see. Well, when we get back to the Red Wolf dun, Lady Grallezar should be able to get more out of him.”
“True spoken. I cannot imagine anyone refusing to answer Grallezar when she’s in a questioning mood, as it were.”
“No more can I. Very well, I’m going to go tell Prince Dar what we know.” Gerran turned to Clae. “Let Canna and her children have my tent when she wants to sleep.”
When Gerran started to get up, his head swam from the sudden pain in his shoulder. He shifted his weight to the other side, got to a kneel, then allowed Salamander to help him up the rest of the way.
“I’ll just come with you,” Salamander said. “I want to talk with the prince myself.”
By then, those men who weren’t on watch had rolled themselves up in their blankets and gone to sleep. Campfires were burning themselves out, casting a glow like sunset among deep shadows. On the ground by the supply wagons rescued women sat huddled together, weeping or silently rocking back and forth like terrified children. Most had infants clinging to them.
“Canna had a younger son,” Salamander said abruptly. “Besides the one whose burnt bones I found, that is.”
“And?” Gerran said. “I assume he’s dead.”
“He is. They tried to geld him, but the chirurgeon did a ghastly bad job of it. The lad’s balls hadn’t come down yet, of course, since he was so young. When the chirurgeon tried to get at them to cut them, he pierced the lad’s guts. A long loop was hanging out, Canna told me, and of course he bled horribly. The chirurgeon swore and stamped, but there was naught he could do. He was going to slit the lad’s throat, but the priestess insisted that Canna be allowed to hold him till he died.”
Gerran briefly felt like vomiting. “I can’t even think of an oath foul enough for that,” he said instead.
“Me, either. I’m truly grateful that you’ll take her in.”
Gerran made a noncommittal noise. He was beginning to realize, he felt, what lordship truly meant, but not in a way that he could put into words.
Prince Dar and Calonderiel listened carefully to what little Gerran and Salamander had learned from Sharak. A little, as Dar remarked, was better than naught.
“Just so,” Salamander said. “Cal, I have a question for you. There must have been two lots of Deverry people in the camp. The slave women we know about. But there had to be others, ones that worshiped Alshandra, and they doubtless came willingly when the Horsekin appeared. Some of them would be branded on their face from last summer’s arrests.”
“That’s odd,” Cal said. “I’ve no idea what happened to them. Dar, did anyone report to you?”
“No one,” Dar said. “Some of the Deverry men might know.”
“I’ll ask around,” Salamander said. “For now, though, I think I’d best escort Gerran here back to his camp. Gerro, you look like you’re going to fall over.”
“It’s just a—” Gerran said. “Well, mayhap it’s not just a bruise. Ye gods, that chirurgeon! I swear he made it hurt worse.”
“I didn’t like the look of him myself,” Salamander said. “Well, we’ll be heading back to Cengarn on the morrow.”
On the morrow morning Gwerbret Ridvar reprovisioned the fortguard and left twenty more men to reinforce it as well. The rest of the warbands assembled out in the road, while the two princes and the gwerbret stood beside their horses and conferred. Gerran and Mirryn led their horses up to the princes, while their men trailed after them out of habit. Gerran noticed that Canna, the baby, and her younger daughter were riding Salamander’s horse, while Salamander walked, leading it.
When Gerran started to kneel,