The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [185]
‘The rakzanir say that they will send out the women,’ Minaz said, ‘if your princes will let us fight and die like men. Take the women away. Then let us sally before you attempt to burn the fortress.’
‘And the rest of the terms?’ Indar said.
‘Our rakzanir cannot speak for every Gel da’ Thae warrior in our lands. If you win this battle, you may rest assured that none of the men here will ever raid your farms again. Never have I heard of a man coming back from the dead to swing his sabre once more. If you lose, then we shall see. The future is a very dark place, good herald. No man can peer into it and insist he has seen clearly what dwells inside.’
‘That is very true.’ Indar smiled with thin lips. ‘I shall tell the princes what you’ve said here.’
Before the commanders and the rakzanir agreed on terms, the heralds went back and forth three more times. At last, when the sun hung well past its zenith, Minaz announced that the women would be coming out as soon as they could gather their possessions together. By then Salamander was trembling from the twin exhaustions of fear and hope. Soon he would see Rocca—if all went well, if the Horsekin refrained from some quick treachery. As he followed the heralds back to the front lines, he staggered and nearly fell. Maelaber grabbed him to steady him.
‘Take off the wolfskin!’ Grallezar ran out to meet them. ‘The day’s heat be troubling you. Your face, it be red as sunset.’
Salamander did just that, then allowed her to lead him, because he was nearly as blind as the Gel da’ Thae bard from heat stroke. She fetched water in a leather bucket and handed him a dipper. He sat on the ground and drank as much water as he could get down, then poured the rest over his head. As his vision cleared, he looked around and realized that the men were arming and rushing past to saddle their horses.
‘What is this?’ Salamander said. ‘Is the battle going to start right now?’
‘Nah, nah, nah, or so we do hope.’ Grallezar smiled, all fangs. ‘Your princes, they be wise not to trust the rakzanir, so the army does go on alert. I think me, though, that the Gel da’ Thae inside Zakh Gral will make the Horsekin keep their word.’
Salamander felt well enough to rejoin the heralds at the call for another parley. Maelaber was helping Salamander put on the wolfskin when a young Deverry man came trotting up to fling himself down to a kneel in front of Indar. A skinny lad, neither handsome nor ugly, with thick brown hair slicked back from his forehead, he wore no mail or helm, nor did he carry a sword.
‘Please, good herald,’ he said, ‘a boon!’
‘What’s all this?’ Indar said. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Tarro, my lord. I ride for Gwerbret Ridvar, but I disarmed so I could go with you—well, if you allow it. I think my sister might be one of the slave women. We lived out on the Great West Road, the village they burned early this summer.’
‘I see,’ Indar said. ‘Very well, then, come along.’
‘My humble thanks, my lord.’ Tarro got up. ‘I can’t bear waiting. She’s the only kin I’ve got left in the world.’
Salamander could understand how the waiting would eat at Tarro. He was feeling the same sharp teeth himself. Out in the neutral ground the two heralds stood with staves upraised until, after what seemed hours, the little door of the fortress swung open. Minaz stepped out, staff held high. As he walked to meet them, a long line of women followed, led by High Priestess Lakanza and the two Gel da’ Thae priestesses, all of them as grave and stately as if they were leading some holy procession on one of Alshandra’s festival days. But where was Rocca? Salamander rose on tip-toe, looking frantically up and down the straggling line of slave women in their dirty dresses.
All at once Tarro whooped in triumph and rushed forward. A brown-haired skinny girl broke out of line and ran to him, threw herself into his arms, and burst out sobbing. She was no more than a lass, Salamander realized, certainly no more than twelve summers old if that.