The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [188]
He dove and flew so close to the treetops that they shook and dropped leaves. When he roared, he heard the panicked neighing of horses and the braying of mules answer him. Men shouted to one another. Although he heard animals moving in a rustle of underbrush and a crack of breaking branches, nothing broke free and tried to run. The Horsekin must have tied and hobbled their stock.
He took another turn over, looking for a spot where perhaps he could break through the canopy or even knock down a few of the smaller trees, but the raiders had chosen their hiding place well. Old-growth timber stood like a dun wall around and over them. And what if he reopened that wound in an attempt at breaking through? He roared a second time. Again he heard panic, but again, their discipline and their ropes both held, keeping them and their animals beyond his reach.
The third time he roared it was out of sheer frustration. He flew up high, turning to wing away from the forest. He would go back to the barrow and wait there for a while, he decided, then swoop back to see if they’d foolishly left their improvised lair. He badly wanted to kill something, to release all the rage he felt at the very thought of Laz Moj, kept as safe by his promise to Berwynna as the Horsekin were by the forest.
As soon as he’d seen the man, Laz’s image had wavered and blurred into three images, shifting from the sharp-faced man in front of him to Lord Tren to Alastyr, the vilest of them all in his fused memories. It had taken his entire will to refrain from raising one huge paw and killing him on the spot.
And all because of his newfound daughter and her begging that boon—although, as he thought about it, Dallandra as well had spoken to him of forgiveness and mercy, back in the summer past. Mercy. Once he’d understood that word. Now—had he forgotten it? Did it mean nothing? Long ago, his ancestor Prince Mael had written that mercy toward a noble lord’s inferiors was a good thing, one of the qualities that marked a man as noble. I’m not a man any longer, he thought, noble or common! And I’m glad of it!
But was he truly? He thought of Berwynna, the daughter he’d never known he had. On Haen Marn she had a twin sister—and a mother. Angmar had returned. He could see her again, if he could face letting her see him in dragon form. Once he got their daughter to safety, he could fly off and find Haen Marn. If he dared.
For a fourth time he roared, a huge trembling of sound that echoed across the barrens. With the roar he sent his thoughts away, troublesome, painful thoughts that vexed him more than spears or arrows ever could. What counted now, he reminded himself, was getting what remained of the caravan to safety and delivering his report to Prince Dar. He refused to let himself think beyond that.
Rori settled down on the barrow to brood and wait, but although he stayed until the sun was low in the sky, the Horsekin never left their refuge in the forest.
Berwynna knelt by Dougie’s grave. Since the wooden cross she’d made would never last beyond the summer, she’d gathered small rocks, which she laid into the dirt to form a cross shape that would endure. She patted the earth down around it with both hands.
“Farewell, beloved,” she whispered in the language of Alban. “May you ride in Lord Jesu’s warband forever, just like you wanted.”
“Wynni!” Mic was calling to her in Dwarvish. “Come mount up!”
Berwynna got up and blew the grave one last kiss, then turned and walked off to join her uncle and the caravan without looking back.
With such a late start, the caravan could travel only a few miles south that day. Still, Richt kept everyone moving as long as possible through the unfamiliar country, until they’d left the road far behind them. If anyone wanted to follow them, Berwynna supposed, they could track them by the trail that the mules and horses trampled into the grass. She doubted if anyone would, thanks to the silver dragon. She kept a watch on the sky, hoping to see him, but it was late afternoon before he rejoined them.
At times he circled high above