The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [166]
‘Oh, true spoken!’
Salamander’s tone struck Gerran as oddly brittle, but his face gave nothing away. Gerran looked back up and studied the raven—a strangely large bird, he realized. All of a sudden the raven croaked and flew, darting away as fast as its wings would work and heading north to the forest cover. Gerran heard a sound like a distant drum, coming closer.
‘The bird’s got good ears,’ Gerran said. ‘It doesn’t seem to like the dragon’s company.’
‘Sensible, I’d call it,’ Salamander said, grinning. ‘Shall we go back to camp?’
The dragon turned out to be Arzosah, returned with the news that Rori was scouting out the fort itself and would bring back information shortly. Gerran overheard Kov ask Salamander for an introduction to the black wyrm. Since he’d always wanted to meet her, he followed them out to the sunny spot where Arzosah was resting. She greeted them all graciously and listened with attention when the envoy showed her its staff.
‘None of those runes are Dragonish,’ Arzosah said. ‘Those four peculiar ones, though—I did see somewhat very much like them once, cut onto rocks up in the north country.’
‘You don’t think they’re a different form of Horsekin writing, do you?’ Kov said.
‘I don’t, because that far north none of the Horsekin know how to read and write. It’s a Gel da’ Thae trait, writing. Let me think—where was—by a river. That’s all I can remember, alas. It was in the wilderness somewhere, a big river that was flowing south. Not very helpful, I’m afraid.’
‘Still, my humble thanks for allowing me to impose upon you,’ Kov said.
‘Ah, what nice manners!’ Arzosah swung her enormous head towards Salamander. ‘That banadar person could take lessons.’
‘What counts now,’ Salamander said, suppressing a grin, ‘is crossing the river we know and see. We’ll have time later for worrying about the rivers we know not, if the gods kindly allow us all to live long enough.’
In the event, the army crossed the ford without incident. Although the Mountain Folk grumbled about the depth of the water, they eventually got their carts across dry by hoisting them up, six men to a cart, and carrying them. By the time everyone had crossed and reformed the line of march, the sun hung low in the western sky. The army found, running parallel to the river, a decent road of gravel and hard-packed earth mixed with some sort of binding substance that none of the Deverry men or Westfolk had ever seen before. Envoy Kov, however, knew exactly what it was.
‘Rhwmani stone, we call it,’ Kov told Gerran. ‘I don’t know why, but that’s its name. We make it, too, but I’m shocked to see that the Gel da’ Thae know the secret.’
The Rhwmani road turned out to make travelling a fair bit easier for cart and horse alike. The army, however, had marched for only a mile or two when the silver dragon reappeared, circling high over the line. One massive paw dangled under him.
‘Is he hurt?’ Gerran asked Salamander.
‘He’s not,’ Salamander said. ‘He’s carrying somewhat. His dinner, most like.’
Rori came to earth a decent distance away among the brush and scrub growth off to the west. When the order came down the line to halt and make camp for the night, Salamander dismounted and called to Gerran that he was going to speak with the dragon. Gerran swung down from the saddle, tossed his reins to Clae, and followed the gerthddyn out of simple curiosity.
As they approached, Gerran realized that the dragon’s prey was no deer or cow, but a Horsekin warrior, lying sprawled on the ground in front of the silver wyrm. Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth and stained the sides of his pale tan brigga. A few drops spattered his linen shirt as well. Salamander hurried forward and in Elvish spoke to the dragon, who was sitting on his haunches like a giant cat, tail wrapped around his front paws.
‘Is he dead?’ Gerran was speaking to Salamander, but the dragon answered in perfect Deverrian.
‘He’s not,’ Rori said. ‘Fainted dead away, but not truly dead. You’d best disarm him while he’s still out.’
The Horsekin carried