The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [220]
At his call, Maelaber appeared along with a young Lijik boy, who told her his name was Clae.
‘He’ll take you to a tent,’ the herald said. ‘It’s on the edge of the camp, where’s it quieter. It’s near Lord Gerran’s.’
‘You don’t need to be afraid of anything,’ Clae said. ‘Not with Lord Gerran right there.’
‘I see.’ Pir smiled at him. ‘You do honour Lord Gerran.’
‘Oh, he’s the greatest lord in all Deverry, but I don’t suppose anyone but me knows it.’
‘I’ll tell you somewhat, lad,’ Sidro said. ‘I too know that he be so, and I will tell it to anyone who might ask.’
The tent proved to be a typical soldier’s shelter, a prism shape of canvas pegged down and slung over stretched rope between poles, but it did offer privacy. Sidro spread out their blankets, which completely covered the floor cloth. Two people could sleep side-by-side, but should it rain, they would have to shrink back from the stretched canvas or let the water in. Sidro pulled off her leather dress, folded it, and laid it down for a pillow. In her linen shift she knelt on the blankets. Pir ducked inside and knelt facing her.
‘You must be weary,’ Pir said. ‘The night’s dry and warm. I can sleep outside—’
‘No. I can’t bear to be unfair to you.’ The moment she spoke she regretted it. In the dim light filtering into the tent from the campfires outside, she couldn’t see his expression, but she could hear him sigh clearly enough. ‘That sounds so cold,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘I don’t see you like—well, like what? a meal you might owe me for tending your horses.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.’
‘I’d best leave.’
‘No.’ She reached out and laid her hand flat on his chest. ‘Pir, make me want you.’
‘I can’t do that. It’s against every vow I ever swore.’
‘No, it’s not. I’m willing. That makes all the difference.’ She ran her hand down his chest. ‘Please?’
He made no answer at first, then caught her hand and raised it, kissed her wrist, then the palm. She could smell his desire, smell Desire itself, or so it seemed, a flood of scent that eddied around her, filling her lungs, sweeping over her. In that mist of scent, he turned into the most desirable man in the world. With a sigh of anticipated pleasure she lay down on the blankets. He followed, settling himself next to her on his side. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss her.
It took the exhausted army a day and a half to join up with the contingent waiting across the ford. Dallandra rode towards the rear of the line of march to keep an eye on the recently wounded. Two of them died on the way. The army stopped each time to bury them as well as to repair the inevitable broken wheels on the carts. When at last they saw the tents of the encampment, like dirty flowers rising from the tall grass, Dallandra felt she’d been given a promise of sanctuary, though a treacherous one. No one knew how the Gel da’ Thae leaders in Braemel and Taenalapan would respond to the demands of the two princes.
‘They’ll bluster,’ Grallezar said. ‘Truly, you may count upon that, much blustering and threats. But as to acts of war—well, I wager it were some time before they mount one again.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ Dallandra said. ‘A long long time.’
As soon as they reached the tents, Salamander came running to meet them. Since they’d talked mind to mind many times in the last few days, he had little new to tell her, which didn’t stop him from telling her the old news all over again. Neither he nor Sidro, the upshot was, had been able to scry out the slightest trace of the black pyramid or the raven mazrak.
‘I told Sidro you were coming,’ he finished up. ‘Do you want to meet her now?’
‘By all means,’ Dallandra said. ‘I take it she can stand the sight of you?’
‘Yes, and oddly enough it’s because she was right about me.’
Sidro was sitting on the ground in front of the tent she shared with the horse mage, another person Dallandra wanted to meet. As they approached, she got up and stood waiting, her head held high, her hands clasped in front of her. Her raven-dark