The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [68]
“We reached the hills nearby. We looked back and saw the inner citadel burning.”
“So much for the sally,” Ranadar said. “Very well. You and your companion rest now.”
The runner nodded and let himself sink back into the pillows.
That night, the news spread in a wave of panic through the fortress. The prince and his council shut themselves up in the royal chambers. Master Jantalaber and the mages closeted themselves in Maraladario’s suite. The various court officers wandered here and there in the complex, trying to reassure the garrison that Garangbeltangim was a stronger fortification than Tanbalapalim, with its civilian population, could ever be. Hwilli doubted if anyone believed them.
“It’s the numbers,” she said to Rhodorix. “There are thousands of Meradan, aren’t there?”
“A horde of them, truly,” he said. “But what’s swelling their ranks are people like us. I wonder how many others there are, off to the north, waiting to join the looting?”
“People like us. I suppose they’re like us.”
“Ye gods, Hwilli, do you doubt it?”
“Not doubt it, but I don’t want to think we could be so savage.”
He snorted in disgust. “Why not? Look at how the People treated your mother! Slaves will always rise up if there’s someone to lead them against their masters. The Rhwmani war taught me that, if naught else.” He smiled with a bitter twist of his mouth. “Why do you think Ranadar sent the farm folk away?”
“To spare the food they’d eat, I suppose. Or did he think we’d rise against him?”
“Most likely both. There are more guards down in the south, from what Andariel tells me, and they have more leisure to keep the slaves under control.”
“Slaves? They never called us that, but I suppose that’s just what we are to them.”
“Most of us. They make exceptions for the likes of you and me.”
“How can you go on fighting for them?”
“Because I gave Prince Ranadar my word of honor that I’d serve him. Why do you go on doing your work here?”
“Because the people I heal are sick and injured and need me.” Hwilli heard her voice begin to shake. “They’re not to blame.”
Hwilli managed to keep from weeping only through her fear of disgracing herself in front of the man she loved. He put his arms around her and drew her close to stroke her hair. At least I have him, she thought. The gods have given me that much in life. When she remembered how much she’d feared growing old, she had to suppress a mad impulse to laugh. She had wasted her fears on something that very likely would never happen.
“They’ll come here next, won’t they?” Hwilli said. “The hordes, I mean.”
“Most likely,” Rhodorix said. “I won’t lie to you.”
“You have my thanks for that. And they’ll take the fortress, won’t they?”
“Unless the gods stop them. No one else can.”
He looked oddly calm, his eyes stripped of all feeling. She realized, that night, just how completely men like him lived to die. I’ll have to be as strong as he is, she told herself, when the time comes.
In the morning, news of another sort swept through the fortress like a winter wind. The prince had decided to hold out against the Meradan as long as possible, and thus drain off men from the Meradani stampede down to the coast, in order to let Rinbaladelan reprovision and fortify. He was planning on stripping Garangbeltangim of every servant, every woman, wife or not, and every child. Even the mages and priests would leave, every single person who could not fight, but who would prove a drain on the fortress’ provisions in case of siege. They were to march east with the Mountain Folk and try to make some sort of new life for themselves in some safe place.
At first Hwilli thought little of the news. As a healer, she would stay, or so she assumed. Master Jantalaber disabused her of that delusion with the noon meal, which they ate together in the herbroom.
“You’ll be coming with me and the others, of course,” he said.
“What?” Hwilli stared at him. “No. I can’t leave Rhodorix.”
“Yes, you can, and you will. This is the last