The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [170]
Rori dropped a little lower, close enough for Salamander to see the tiny figures of riders dismounting. He noticed that they kept glancing up at the sky. As the army spread out into the grassy meadows on the western side of the river, Rori banked a wing and turned toward the western hills. On the highest hill, huge boulders and outcrops of pale brown rock emerged from the forest cover like the knuckles of an enormous fist. Rori soared up to the summit, circled once, and landed upon one of the outcrops. Salamander slid down from his back.
“How’s this?” Rori said. “You’ve got a clear view down to the valley floor, but you can hide among the trees as well.”
“It should do splendidly,” Salamander said. “Are you going back to the lair?”
“No. If you’re spotted, they’ll come after you, and you’ll need a way out.”
“I can fly, you know.”
“As fast and far as I can?”
“Well, no, and I think me I see some archers down there. An arrow that would bounce off you would skewer the magpie. Your company will be much appreciated as always.”
Salamander untied his saddlebags and bedroll from the dragon’s harness. As the sun beat down on the pale rocks, sweat began to soak through his linen tunic. He took his gear and slid down between two massive boulders to the bare dirt and sliver of shade between them, but Rori stretched out in the full sun with a sigh like the sound of a wave breaking on a graveled beach.
Thanks to the steep rise of this particular hill coupled with his elven sight, Salamander could indeed look straight down to the army below. He was searching specifically for the white garments that marked the priestesses of Alshandra and the white mules they generally rode as well. Fortunately for his plans, he saw a good two dozen women in white, surrounded by slaves and servants, all in darker clothing, and among the horses, a little herd of white mules. The large number of priestesses in fact surprised him, until he remembered that their Holy Witness Raena had died in Cerr Cawnen. Most likely they were planning on founding a temple and shrine once the army had taken the city.
He could also pick out the tiny figures of the warriors by the glint and glimmer of their weapons and the mail they wore under long surcoats. It was odd, he reflected, that they’d chosen to ride in armor. Were they expecting an enemy force, out here in the wilderness? Or was it some mark of manhood among them, to expose themselves to heat and exhaustion by riding encased in metal on a summer’s day?
“Rori?” he called out. “Are you asleep?”
“I’m not.” The dragon slithered to the rim of the outcrop and hung his head over the edge to reply. “Why?”
“The Horsekin are riding fully armed. Do you know why?”
“The slaves, of course.” Rori paused for a huge yawn. “When you depend upon slaves, you fear your slaves. I learned that in Bardek. Here they are, some hundreds of miles from home. If all those slaves rose up to murder them, they’d have a nasty fight of it.”
“So they keep their weapons close to their hands, not on a wagon or suchlike where the slaves could steal them.”
“Exactly. Any more questions?”
“None for the nonce, my thanks.”
“Good.” Rori slid his bulk back from the edge. “Wake me when the army saddles up again.”
Waking a sleeping dragon struck Salamander as dangerous enough for a proverb, but he could always, he decided, throw rocks from a distance.
Salamander sat down cross-legged and braced his back against the rock face behind him. He went into a light trance in order to stay fully conscious and alert while he formed the Alshandra image in his mind. He imagined her as a towering figure, her honey-blonde hair pulled back into a single braid, her face grim and glowering with disapproval. He gave her mail to wear and a bow and arrows to carry. Once she lived apart from his will, he slowed his breathing and sank down into a deeper trance.
On the etheric plane the Alshandra image took on dimension and life. She seemed to breathe;