The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [184]
The smoke began to clear almost immediately. The cries of the horns and the shouts of the Horsekin died away. Kov assumed that someone inside had figured out how to smother the flames with dirt rather than aggravating them with water. Up on Zakh Gral’s walls the helmets of its guards returned, black with ash.
The little door beside the gates swung open. Minaz the herald appeared, waving his staff.
‘Worked like a charm,’ Brel muttered—then realized what he’d just said. ‘Luck, that’s all that blasted storm was! Couldn’t be dweomer, just couldn’t.’
Larn, Grosh, and the sappers ignored him—militantly.
Tricked out with his wolfskin and drum, Salamander hurried after Indar and Maelaber as they went to meet the Gel da’ Thae herald. Minaz smelled of smoke, and a layer of ash dusted his stiff reddish mane, but he stood proudly, his head thrown back, as they greeted him.
‘We have an offer to make your princes,’ Minaz said. ‘We will give you all our slave women and a tribute of gold if you’ll withdraw from our lands. We have a hundredweight of gold as you reckon weight. Load it upon your carts and leave us in peace.’
‘We don’t want tribute,’ Indar said. ‘Your goddess wishes her devout women to live long lives so that they may spread her teachings. We are offering them the opportunity to do so because we believe that helpless women should not die for the sins of their menfolk. We offer your priestesses as well as your slave women refuge and life.’
‘The priestesses perhaps might be persuaded to leave. And the gold? Is a hundredweight not enough?’
‘We are not here for plunder. We ask you to flee Zakh Gral so we may finish burning it to the ground without burning you with it. And we demand you stop the raids on our farmlands.’
Maelaber stepped forward. ‘Prince Daralanteriel adds this message: we will not tolerate a dagger laid against our throat. Zakh Gral must be the last fortress you ever build upon the Galan Targ.’
Minaz considered. The young bard drummed out a restless rhythm with his long fingers while he turned his eyeless face this way and that. Salamander broke into chant, reciting the few lines that he could remember, in Elvish, of ‘The Burning of the Vale of Roses’. When Minaz raised his staff, Salamander fell silent, and the bard followed his example.
‘I hear Ranadar’s name on the lips of your bard,’ Minaz said. ‘The message is clear. I shall tell the rakzanir of your demands.’
Bard and herald retreated, a little too fast for dignity, back to the fortress. Both Indar and Maelaber glared at Salamander.
‘The message, or so I’d guess, is that we want vengeance,’ Salamander said. ‘Their ancestors burned Ranadar’s city to the ground and slaughtered everyone they could grab, too, women, babies, the lot.’
‘The sentiment’s appropriate enough.’ Indar considered him with pursed lips. ‘Next time, however, do warn me before you chant somewhat with so much meaning.’
They returned to their own lines and commanders. While Indar gave his report, Salamander stood off to one side with Grallezar.
‘May I ask you somewhat?’ Salamander said to her.
‘You may, though I may not answer.’
‘Minaz the herald—you knew him before?’
‘I did. He were a man loyal to Braemel many years ago, and at that time he did court me. Almost did I marry him, but my mother, may she have rest in the Deathworld, did forbid it. At the time, I did weep, but I see now that she were right. He be a person of weak character, if he’d turn traitor to his city.’
When Indar finished, Prince Voran called Grallezar to his side to join the council. Salamander sat down on the ground, but he’d barely got comfortable when Minaz and the bard appeared in front of Zakh Gral and signalled