The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [217]
‘What are you going to do?’ Sidro said.
‘Stay in camp,’ Faharn said, ‘until Laz comes back.’
Although he was facing her, he was looking past her, his head held high, chin up, his blue eyes focused on some far-off thing.
‘And if he doesn’t?’ she said.
‘He will. Maybe you don’t have any faith in him, but I do.’
‘I’ll hope you’re right.’
He continued staring over her head. With a sigh Sidro walked away and rejoined Pir. He helped her mount the black mare, then collected the twelve men who’d accepted him as their new leader.
In a ragged line they rode to the edge of the forest, where they would wait while Pir and Vek rode down to the Ancients’ camp. Pir left the men back at the camp a horse apiece, but he’d taken all the rest and the pack mule as well. Sidro had collected the few things she now owned—the books, the red pottery plate, the kitchen knife, the blankets, and the length of stolen linen—as much out of a desire to have some small reminders of Laz than because she valued them in themselves.
While they waited, Sidro kept to herself as much as possible. She found a fallen log a little ways from the clearing where the others waited, kicked it hard a number of times to drive out snakes and spiders, then sat down in the forest silence. At moments she scried for Pir; she saw him speaking with Evan. A second man appeared, but since she’d never seen him on the physical plane, his image blurred and wavered. He had red hair—that was the only detail clear enough for her to see. Her mind kept wandering away from the visions. She’d been attempting to scry for Laz ever since she’d woken, but she picked up not a trace of him beyond her untrustworthy dream.
Finally, when the sun hung low in the sky, Pir and Vek returned, waving and calling out in triumph.
‘The surrender’s arranged,’ Pir said. ‘Very well, men. If you have any doubts about this, leave now and go back to camp.’
None did. Sidro felt a last stab of doubt, but she realized that she had no real choice. Zakh Gral destroyed, Lakanza a prisoner, Laz disappeared, most likely forever—the fates had left her Pir and her life, naught else. When he strode over to her, she managed to smile at him, but she knew she was trembling. He caught her hand and helped her up.
‘Can you really do this?’ Pir said.
‘Of course. We can’t stay in the forest forever.’
‘That’s true. All we can do is hope for the best.’
With their ragged troop behind them, they led their horses down the cliff path, then mounted up when they reached the grasslands. Ahead of them the encampment rose out of the grass, like a billow of grey clouds among the green. When she glanced up at the sky, she saw a white bird, circling high above them—an omen. During the rest of their ride to the enemy camp, she felt danger pricking at her mind, but she thought she understood the sensation. Of course the situation was dangerous, turning themselves over to the Lijik Ganda! Some hundreds of yards away from the tents, Pir called a halt. Everyone dismounted and led their horses towards their surrender.
Men left the clustered tents and walked out to meet them—a lean fellow with thin grey hair and a thick grey mustache, the red-haired fellow she’d seen talking with Pir, and a man, who seemed to have both Ancients and Lijik blood, carrying a herald’s staff. A gaggle of poorly dressed men she took for servants trailed after them. Sidro hung back behind Pir at first, then decided she was acting like a frightened child and hurried to walk next to him. He caught her hand in his but said nothing.
The herald trotted forward, staff in hand. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘You know that Lord Gerran’s sworn that he’ll stand surety for your safety, but Tieryn Cadryc adds his pledge as well. In return, they ask you to give up your weapons, except of course for table daggers and the like.’
‘Well and good, then.’ Pir turned and repeated the request in the Gel da’ Thae tongue. Some