The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [146]
‘Oh yes,’ Salamander said. ‘I can understand very easily indeed. But please, could you tell me just one more thing? What of Sidro?’
‘I don’t know if he’ll leave her alone or not.’ She cocked her head to one side and considered him. ‘I suppose you want her dead, too.’
‘No. I’ve come to pity her. That’s why I asked.’
‘Well, there’s one of you sane, anyway.’ Dallandra smiled briefly, then turned and strode away. Salamander sat down to watch the dice game. In but a few moments, Clae came running with the news that the princes were summoning Kov to the council of war. The dwarven envoy scrambled up, grabbed his staff from the blanket, and trotted off after the page. Gerran scooped up the dice in one hand and held them out to Salamander.
‘I doubt me if I can think clearly enough to count the pips,’ Salamander said.
Gerran nodded and put the dice away in a leather pouch. Far above the army’s tents, the sky shone an opalescent blue, touched here and there with clouds turned gold by the setting sun. Salamander stared at the sky but barely saw it. The memory of Rori’s human eyes, staring desperately from a reptilian head, filled his inner vision.
Without an army and bad weather to hold them back, the messengers—two men, their horses, and a pack mule—made good speed back to the Red Wolf dun. Dusty, sweaty, and exhausted, they walked into the great hall some hours before sunset, when Neb, Branna, and Lady Galla were sitting at the table of honour. With a sigh of relief Daumyr knelt by the lady’s side and pulled a silver message tube out of his shirt.
‘Took us just four days, my lady,’ Daumyr said. ‘We pushed it a fair bit, of course. We had two horses a-piece, you see, so we could change back and forth.’
His companion, Alwyn, raised an eyebrow and gave Neb a weary grin.
‘Well, lads,’ Lady Galla said. ‘You’ll sleep well tonight, and we’ll give you fresh horses in the morning. Go get somewhat to eat and drink.’
‘My thanks, my lady.’ Daumyr got up, staggered, and steadied himself by grabbing the corner of the table. ‘A tankard will be welcome just now.’
Alwyn nodded his agreement and got up as well. Together they hurried over to the servant’s side of the hall, where the men of the fortguard were waiting for them. Neb pulled the letters out of the tube and looked them over.
‘All the news is good so far, my lady,’ he said to Galla. ‘In fact, there’s not much news at all, except that the silver dragon’s joined the black one and pledged his help.’
‘I suppose that gladdens my heart,’ Galla said. ‘Everything’s turned so strange lately that I’d not be surprised if one of the gods came to the door and announced that he’d like to join us for a meal or two.’
‘No more would I, my lady. We seem to live in peculiar times.’
‘Does it say anything more about the dragon?’ Branna put in. ‘The silver one, I mean.’
‘It doesn’t, just that he’s joined his mate.’ Neb suddenly realized that he felt jealous of this Rori creature. Why was Branna always so interested in him, anyway? You’re going daft, he told himself. Jealous of a wild animal, ye gods!
Neb spent the rest of that evening first reading the letters to the noble-born, then writing their answers. On the morrow, Daumyr and Alwyn, with their fresh horses and a fresh mule laden with supplies, stood by the gates while Neb handed them the messages and told them which tube went to which lord.
‘Are you going to be able to find your way back?’ Neb said,
‘Don’t trouble your heart about that,’ Daumyr said, grinning. ‘The army’s left a trail of ruts and filth behind it as broad as a river.’
With the messengers on their way, Neb returned to his work in the herb garden. The Red Wolf cook had planted a few table herbs: sage, thyme, mustard, and rosemary. The mustard would also make a useful rubefacient. Neb searched through the meadows and hedgerows around the dun until he found more medicinals: coltsfoot, comfrey, feverfew, horehound, and, out by the fence in a fallow cow pasture, valerian. When he was digging up the valerian to transplant, its disgusting smell brought