The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [70]
“Rhoddo,” she called out. “Rhodorix!”
Before Maraladario or Jantalaber could stop her, she broke away and ran to Rhodorix. He scrambled up to face her.
“Don’t let them send me away,” she said. “I want to stay with you.”
“You can’t stay here,” Rhodorix said. “Now, listen. I’ve asked the prince to let my brother go with you. His twisted leg will keep him from fighting, so the prince agreed. Gerro will take care of you and the child. Do you understand?”
His words were making little sense. Hwilli grabbed his arm with both hands. “I want to stay with you,” she repeated.
“You can’t.” He pulled his arm away. “It would mean your death.”
“I don’t care.” She raised her head to let him see the tears. “I’ll die with you when it comes to that.”
She took one step toward him, but hands grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. Master Jantalaber had reached her. She twisted in his hands, struggled to get free—until she heard a voice she recognized even in her grief.
“What’s all this?” Ranadar, the prince himself, came striding up to them.
Rhodorix knelt, head bowed. When Jantalaber let her go, Hwilli flung herself down beside him.
“She won’t leave, Your Highness,” Jantalaber said. “My apprentice, that is, because of the love she bears your horsemaster.”
Hwilli looked up at the prince, who was standing with his hands on his hips, his head tilted to one side as he considered her. The afternoon sun glittered on the sapphire in his dweomer pendant and turned the chased roses as fiery-gold as the harsh light itself.
“You have to go,” Ranadar said. “You can’t fight, and so you’re just another mouth to feed.”
“I can bind wounds, Your Highness.” Hwilli felt her voice shaking in her throat, but she forced herself to speak. “I can tend all manner of ills—”
“We have other healers, ones who can draw a bow as well as bind wounds. You swore a vow to your master, didn’t you? I pity you, but I’ll order you all the same. Go! Your prince commands you. Go with your master, child!”
Hwilli stretched out her arms to Rhodorix, who refused to look at her.
“You heard him,” he said. “Follow his orders.”
He wants me to go, she thought. He doesn’t want me here. The thought was a spear of ice, stabbing her to the heart. Her defeat tasted like a death, a cold emptiness that chilled her mind and her soul. She got to her feet, gave Rhodorix’s sullen back one last glance, and let Jantalaber lead her away.
By the gates the other refugees had drawn up in reasonable order with a squad of archers. At the rear, behind the servants and handcarts, Gerontos sat on his chestnut warhorse.
“Hwilli!” he called out to her. “Come here! You can ride behind me.”
Understanding broke through Hwilli’s grief. Rhodorix had handed her over to his brother, just as if she were a horse he no longer wanted to ride. For a moment the courtyard seemed to move under her feet. Master Jantalaber caught her by the shoulder and steadied her.
“Go ride with him,” he said. “The child you’re carrying could suffer, if you’re forced to walk the entire way.”
For the sake of Rhodorix’s child, Hwilli went to Gerontos. He dismounted, helped her climb up behind the saddle then mounted again. As they rode off, she glanced back to see Rhodorix still kneeling before the prince. Very well, she thought. I’ll do as you say, but I’ll always be faithful to you in my heart and soul.
With a sigh that was more a gasp of surrender, she slipped her arms around Gerontos’ waist to steady herself as the column began to move. He turned his head to glance her way. Despite the awkward angle, she caught a glimpse of a well-pleased smile.
Rhodorix kept silent by iron self-control as Hwilli and Gerontos rode off to catch up with the refugees, most of whom had already filed through the gates. He listened to the sound of the chains grinding through the winches as the gates closed with a rumble like thunder. Under the cover of that sound he allowed himself one long keen. Tears ran down his face; he wiped them roughly away on the back of his hand. The prince, with his hands on his hips, watched him.