The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [193]
Still, once the Horsekin held the town, they could send out fast-moving patrols to search for the refugees. Once they spotted the townsfolk, they would be able to strike fast, too, without worrying about their supply train, safe behind good stone walls. When Dallandra scried for Cerr Cawnen, she saw the town clearly. Just to the north, she spotted the tangled mass of the army’s auras. As she watched, the red-and-gold clouds of etheric energy, shot through with the black lightning of sheer hatred, poured in through the north gates. Detachments broke off and swirled east and west to secure the other breaches in the walls.
Oh, dear gods, Dallandra thought. Our only hope now is whatever Arzosah has in mind.
Rori had followed the army for the last mile or so as it approached Cerr Cawnen. He too saw the Horsekin ride up to the north gates and find them open. The rakzanir at the head of the line of march drew their horses up to one side and conferred for a few brief moments. Squads trotted through and paused their horses to look around, then trotted out again. Brass horns blared as shouts spread up and down the line. Although he couldn’t understand them, he could assume that the men were being warned to ride ready for a trap.
Detachments of several hundred cavalry each broke off from the main army and trotted round the walls to secure the east and west gates. Another hundred horsemen rode straight through the north gates to the commons, where they paused, guarding archers who climbed up the catwalks on the inner wall and secured the high ground. Only then did the rest of the army ride in, breaking into two columns, one spreading east, the other west, along the grassy area below the walls.
Citadel presented a nice military problem. The rakzanir rode down to the lakeshore and drew up on horseback. Rori could see them shading their eyes with their hands as they peered through the lake mists at the rocky island across the water. The council barge, tied to a nearby pier, sat invitingly close at hand, but Rori doubted that the rakzanir would risk using it, not so close to nightfall. If the townsfolk had planned some sort of ambuscade or armed surprise, they would have laid it on Citadel, and doubtless the rakzanir could figure that out for themselves. Sure enough, they turned their horses and rode back to the army.
Brass horns blared once more. The army began to ride, half east, half west, around the lake, spreading out as they rode. Some men dismounted and peered into the houses built onshore. Some, bolder than the rest, found their way through the maze of steps and piers to the crannog houses and gardens. As the sunset turned the lake mist pink and gold, the Horsekin slowly took over the entire town. Rori circled high above and watched them tethering out their horses in the various sectors of the grassy commons near the gates. Squads climbed the catwalks and manned the walls while down below them, slaves pulled the gates shut under the eyes and whips of the Keepers of Discipline.
The rats had helped build their own trap. With a rumble of laughter Rori flew back to Arzosah through the gathering twilight.
Still bruised and sore as he was, Salamander had spent a painful day riding south among the Westfolk archers. Sleeping on the ground proved worse. In the middle of the night, just as the tide of Water was flowing out and that of Earth flowing in, he woke, squirmed, turned over several times, swore, squirmed some more, and finally got up. Besides his stiff muscles, he felt a sense of dread, a coldness in his mind and very soul. The Horsekin were near, too near—he could feel it. He put on his boots and picked his way through the sleeping camp. Out among the sentries, Prince Dar greeted him in a voice just