Deverry - A Time Of War Part 35

When he glanced at Jczryaladar he realized that the others had heard nothing.

'It's Jill,' he said. 'I can hear her speaking.'

They merely stared, glazed and trembling.

'Jill, those Meradan, they're afraid of fire. Can't you use that against them?'

He could feel her amus.e.m.e.nt, rather than hear her laugh, though a bitter feeling it was.

'It wasn't the fire. I saw the whole fight, and I only wish things were so simple. It's you they're afraid of, Dar. Once they could see you clearly, they thought you were the children of their G.o.ds, and that they'd just committed a horrifying sacrilege by killing sacred beings. But their leaders will disabuse them of the notion soon enough.'

'What? I don't understand! No one can kill a G.o.d.'

'No time to explain. I'm exhausted, and I can't keep this up. Get to Calonderiel. Bring as many elven warriors as you can, but don't go rushing right into the sieging army. Send scouts.'

For a moment longer he could see her, speaking and gesturing, but he could not hear. She grew thin, transparent, wisping away like smoke in the fire, then gone.

'If Jill's dead,' Jezryaladar whispered. Then everything's lost.'

'She's not and it isn't! That was dweomer, you dolt, not her ghost.'

For a long moment none of them spoke. Across the stream the fire was dying down as it reached damp forest and green summer wood. Landaren groaned and stirred, 'Lie still!' Jennantar snapped. 'Don't even try to sit up.'

'We can't move him far, can we?' Dar said. 'Not right away. Listen. Jill said that there's some of the horses not far from us. Hide Lan somewhere, see if you can get some of the Wildfolk to guard him, and then go fetch the stock. Start moving south, but very slowly, a few miles at a time.'

'Now just wait. What are you -'

'I've got to try to see if I can make it to Cengarn and Carra before the siege closes round.'

'You idiot! You royal dolt!'

'I'm a dolt? If you'd only listened to me we wouldn't -'

The moment he spoke Dar regretted it. Jennantar reeled back, turning his head as fast as if he'd been slapped with the flat of a sword.

'Jenno, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.'

'Wasn't.' Jennantar's voice was barely audible. 'You're right. I wish I'd died instead of the others.'

Dar tried to speak, found no words, tried again, and then got to his feet, shuddering as if he could physically throw his botched words off and away.

'I'm heading out now,' he said. 'If I don't catch up with you in three days, ride for the south with all the speed you can.'

Jennantar nodded, staring at the ground. Jezryaladar rose.

'Don't you want a horse?'

'I'll be harder to find, slipping through the woods on foot.'

Jezryaladar nodded, considering something.

'You should have one of the bows,' he said at last.

'I'll take it, truly, but only a few arrows. You'll need them more.'

He waited, desperately searching for something to say to Jennantar, while Jezryaladar counted out their meagre stock of arrows and gave him ten, a full quarter of their h.o.a.rd, to take along with one of the bows. All at once one of the old stories of the days of the Seven Kings came back to him, and the wise words of some councillor or other in the long-dead Vale of Roses.

'Jenno,' he said. 'No man can turn aside another's fate, not even me, and I'm a prince of the last of all the royal houses. We were all instruments of Fate today and nothing more. If you forgive me my fault, I'll forgive you yours.'

Jennantar looked up with tear-filled eyes.

'Done,' he whispered. 'And rny thanks.'

'And you have mine.'

That said, Dar could turn and leave, heading upstream by the last light of the dying fire.

For two hours Dar kept moving fast, driven by sheer rage for his dead men and terror for the safety of his wife. He kept to the trees, moving from shadow to shadow in the moonless night, concentrating on making no noise, pausing often to listen. Eventually his exhaustion caught up with him. He began stumbling, kicking dead wood, cracking branches like shouts in the night. He found a thick tangle of shrubs and young growth where he could work his way inside to a profoundly uncomfortable but relatively hidden gap, too small to be called a clearing. By sitting just right and curling himself round his drawn-up knees he could drowse in relative safely, though he woke often from dreams of blood running through creeping flames and the sound of Meradan, the demons of the days of old, shrieking as they charged.

Dar woke to a cry in the real world, but one far distant in the greying dawn. For a long while he sat dead-still, listening, but no other cries reached him. Slowly he began to move, working each cramped muscle in turn, letting his circulation return, until he could get up without making noise and work his way free of his shelter. All round him the oak forest was coming to life in the dawn, the leaves shivering in a rising wind, the birds singing and flying, Here and there he could sense animals rustling through the underbrush. They would warn him by falling silent if the clumsy Gel da'Thae came tramping through the woods.

All that morning he worked his way north, keeping to the wild country and angling round to the east, where a rise of hills and forest would shelter him. Every time he felt hungry or tired, he would think of Carra, and her danger drove him worse than any spur or whip. Yet in the end, he found her beyond his reach and protection. Late in the day he eame free of the forest, just at the crest of a rise. Down below him rocky hill fell away to a little valley and a stream, then rose again to a gra.s.sy crest, bare except for one scraggly copse of second-growth saplings. By his reckoning Cengarn would lie not far beyond.

Although he debated crossing the open country, he knew that time was slipping away.

He gathered his strength and ran, leaping downhill, letting his momentum carry him through the shallow water, racing uphill with his heart pounding and his breath coming in big gulps to plunge at last into the relative safety of the copse. There he could pause to catch his breath and look ahead. Sure enough, Cengarn's familiar hills rose about a mile away, topped with their walls and towers. Yet, far off in the distance across the plain he saw what seemed to be a cloud of dust or smoke ringing the city round in one vast swirl, moving and pulsing, glittering with points of light reflected from metal. For a long time he stared, bewildered, until he realized that he was seeing an army. The siege of Cengarn had begun.

'Carra!' He forced himself to whisper, though he would rather have howled like a madman. 'Carra!'

He turned on his heel and trotted off downhill, heading south to rejoin his men. Though he had only his rage to guide him and his men and keep them safe during their long hard ride to CalonderieFs camp, he knew it would be enough. If the G.o.ds had any heart for justice, soon he would ride back at the head of an army. He vowed it deep in his very soul, that his dead men would be avenged - a hundred deaths for each of theirs.

'There's one thing I simply don't understand,' the chamberlain said. 'How do these creatures think they can possibly win this siege? My lord Cadmar's called in his alliances - two other gwerbrcts in Arcodd alone, and another in northern Pyrdon, and in this grave need, they'll be gathering all their va.s.sals. And if they can't lift the siege, then the High King himself will march. It's not just a question of his highness honouring obligations, though we know he will. His interests demand a secure northern border.'

'We know it,' Jill said. 'They don't.'

'But Lord Tren -'

'Is probably being ignored. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he's good and sorry that he betrayed Gwerbret Cadmar, now that he's seen who his new allies are.'

The old man turned to give her a look of pure surprise. In the hot summer sun Jill and Lord Gavry were standing on the catwalks of Dun Cengarn, looking over the town and out to the besiegers beyond. The army spread out round the walls in a vast flood of men and horses. Red banners fluttered; armour and swords winked and glinted in the noon-tide. Jill estimated that there were at least three thousand men, though many of those at the rear would be servants and horse-handlers. For all that she'd survived many a war, every one of them had taken place on the kingdom's borders in poor provinces, and she'd never seen such a large army in her life.

'I doubt me if Tren knew before,' Jill went on, 'about his fellow devotees of this new G.o.ddess not being ordinary men like him. Weren't we all taken by surprise when we found out that the Hordes were real enough and still a threat?'

He nodded, sighing a little in agreement. Jill shaded her eyes with her hand and peered into the enemy camp. So far, at least, no one had seen one single piece of siege equipment, not one ballista or catapult, not so much as a ram. Whether this was a good omen or an ill one, she didn't know.

'How fares the Princess Carra?' Lord Gavry said.

'Better. She steadied down somewhat when I told her that her husband still lived, and breakfast seems to have done her some good after all those hysterics.'

'My good sorcerer, please! Don't be so harsh with the la.s.s, because, truly, a la.s.s she still is, and carrying her first child, too.'

'Well, that's true-spoken. Tell me, how long do you think the town can hold out?'

'Months if we have to. The trouble will come later, if the farmers never get to plant the year's second crop.' All at once his voice cracked. 'It's going to be a hard winter for Cengarn, a hard hard winter indeed.'

'How long before -'

'A turning of the moon, no more, or so the yeomen tell me, if we're going to get a full yield at harvest.

We have a few weeks more if we bring in a scant one, and then beyond that-' He shrugged, holding empty hands palm upward.

'Well, if the winter comes late this year, the growing season will be a few weeks longer.'

'If. How can we know that it will be?'

Jill merely looked at him and smiled.

'Well, then.' Gavry swallowed heavily. He seemed a bit pale. 'We might have two turnings of the moon, then. But I hope that my Lord Cadmar's allies will have ridden before then to lift the siege. I worry about keeping up people's spirits, and panic in the streets, if it seems our enemies work magic against us.'

'Just so, but I don't intend to let things come to that.'

Although she spoke confidently for the sake of his morale and the dun's, Jill was suffering her own doubts. While she might well have tested the raven mazrak in some sort of battle, there remained Alshandra. Jill had never seen this strange and powerful being, merely heard reports of her, garbled ones from Rhodry, careful and technical ones from Dallandra, but second-hand information, all of it. Jill did know for a certainty that her ignorance of the dweomer of the roads put her at a decided disadvantage when it came to dealing with Alshandra and her followers. Could her army establish some line of supply with a territory far away, thus allowing them to outlast the town's provisions? What if it were possible for Alshandra to lead part of her army to Evandar's country and then march them back to dump them into the middle of town? Jill simply didn't know what her enemy had the power to do or not.

Lord Gavry spent the rest of that first day of the siege in drawing up a plan for allotting food and water.

Jill spent it constructing magical defences. The first thing she did was find the arms master and get a couple of old iron pot helms that were too dented and rusty to be much good in a battle. The blacksmith supplied a small puddle-ingot, once a knife blade that had got snapped; he'd melted it down but never got round to using it again. These Jill took up to the women's hall.

She found Carra alone, sitting in a chair by the window with sewing lying unfinished in her lap. Since the la.s.s's dress hung loose and unkirtled, Jill noticed that her pregnancy was beginning to show. Although Carra looked pale, she greeted Jill calmly, even steadily.

'What have you got there, Jill?' she said, managing a smile. 'Am I to arm and ride to battle? I wish I could, frankly. It'd be better than sitting round here.'

'I can sympathize with that, but I'm afraid you've got the harder task of just waiting. I've brought these old helms because they're iron and no reason more. You see, the being that's trying to harm you can't stand its presence. I want you to keep these two helms on either side of your bed, and here, take this little lump. Keep it tucked into your kirtle at all times. I see you've got a table dagger, too. Good. Carry that with you always, whether it's time for a meal or not. Sleep with it, too.'

'Very well.' Carra took the ingot, which just fit into the palm of her hand. 'If somewhat happens, should I throw this or suchlike?'

'Never that. Keep it with you always. Just hold it up, just like you're showing it to me. That should do the trick.'

Although Carra looked profoundly puzzled, Jill had no time to explain, and indeed, she understood little of the theory behind the iron herself, except for a few vague remarks that Nevyn had once made about lodestones. In fact, beings who exist on the etheric plane but can take on physical form, thanks to the weaving of astral substance, exist in a magnetic field and in a state of magnetic flux, which iron will first absorb, becoming magnetized itself, then disrupt to painful effect. Jill only knew, at that historical point in the development of dweomer knowledge, that beings such as Alshandra and Evandar couldn't abide the touch or close presence of iron. The effect, she hoped, would work without Carra having to know the cause. It occurred to Jill as well that with all the armour and weaponry the Horde outside the gates was carrying, Alshandra couldn't possibly be there upon the physical plane with them. Even though she could work harm just as easily from the ctheric, the thought was somehow cheering.

After she left the princess, Jill was crossing the ward on her way to her own side broch when she saw a small party forming at the gates, a herald, carrying a staff wound with ribands, and an escort of warriors to take him through the town. The equerry and Gwerbret Cadmar himself, leaning on his stick, were standing talking with the young herald. At his right hand, and all dressed in clean clothes for the occasion, stood Meer with Jahdo to lead him. When Jill joined them, the bard stepped forward, swinging his ma.s.sive head from side to side.

'Is that the mazrak?' he bellowed.

'It is, indeed,' Jill said. 'What are you doing here?'

'I have offered my services to the gwerbret in thanks for his generous treatment of me and my lad.

Among our people one of the twelve essential conditions for a parley is the presence of a bard. Besides, if these savage swine don't speak your language, the herald will need a man along who speaks theirs.'

'Just so, and my thanks. Savage swine, is it? They're Horsekin from the north, then.'

'They are, and I don't like the smell of them. Somewhat evil's afoot here, but you don't need me to tell you that.'

'I'm afraid not, good bard, I'm afraid not.' Jill turned to the gwerbret. 'Who's called for the parley, Your Grace?'

'They have. They want to deliver a demand and terms.' Cadmar's face flushed red with rage. The filthy gall, thinking they can make demands upon me!'

'I'm willing to wager what they'll be, too,' Jill said. 'Hand over Princess Carramaena and thus the unborn child.'

Although the herald looked profoundly sceptical, in the end Jill was proved right. Those sent to the parley rode back soon and fast. Though the herald himself was white and shaking, Meer raged, bellowing and stomping his way into the great hall. Jill hovered by the dragon hearth while the herald delivered his news. Everyone in the hall, whether n.o.ble or common born, went dead silent to listen.

'They demand we hand over the princess, sure enough,' the herald said. 'The only terms they offer are these, that we may kill her ourselves, to a.s.sure ourselves that her death is a merciful one, and hand over her dead body instead.'

The hall broke out in rage - curses, shouts, inarticulate howls of sheer horror. Meer turned to Jill and hissed a single word, 'Blasphemy'. Cadmar rose, pounding on the honour table with his stick until he got silence.

'It gladdens my heart to hear you as furious as I.' The gwerbret's voice rang loud but steady. 'Never fear. Never would I turn over any woman to this swarm of filthy maggots, whether she were princess or tavern wench.'

A roar of approval answered him. Jill could only hope that they'd feel the same if the siege dragged on into long months of starvation and disease. With Jahdo at his elbow, Meer strode forward and made a bow in the gwerbret's direction. The hall silenced itself again, straining forward in curiosity.

'Your Grace, I have a thing that I must say, for it burns in my mouth. These people are not my people.

They may be Horsekin, but they are not Gel da'Thae. They would kill a woman who carries a child, and such is one of the four greatest offences to our G.o.ds. They are blasphemers, idolaters, followers of perverted magicks, filth clotting the pure face of the earth and a stinking dung heap under the sky. I abjure them, I abhor them, I turn my back upon them forever and utterly.'

The crowd in the hall muttered to one another, but quietly, waiting for his grace's answer.

'For that you have my thanks, good bard,' Cadmar said. 'And from now on, I shall consider you one of my own men. Even if you choose to leave us, you will always have a place here in my dun and at my table, any time you see fit to return.'

The crowd sighed, nodding approval.

'My lord has my humble thanks. He has shown the greatness of his heart and soul this day.' Meer bowed again, then whispered something to Jahdo, who turned him in Jill's direction. 'Mazrak, everything I know, all my twelve levels of lore, arc at your disposal. Ask, and I shall answer everything, with naught locked behind walls.'

The delighted crowd applauded, even though they doubtless had no idea of the enormous scope of the gift he was offering. Jill was so pleased that she found it hard to speak. Here was a weapon she'd never hoped to earn: Meer's aid.

'My thanks, good bard. Tonight, if it please you, we shall dine together in my chamber.'

'It pleases me indeed, mazrak.' Meer hesitated. 'Wait. Such address is not correct. It pleases me - Jill.'

With one last bow the enormous bard gestured to Jahdo and strode off, swinging his head from side to side with a rustle of his braided mane, tapping his way with his long staff through the crowd, which parted to let him pa.s.s. No doubt he needed to be alone with his grief, that a tribe of his own kind, even if it weren't his own tribe, would betray their G.o.ds and all that such stood for.

'We shall have mead,' Cadmar called out. 'I need to wash the taste of these impious demands out of my mouth. Let the swine wait for their answer.'

The crowd roared again. As the serving la.s.ses and pages scurried off, Jill glanced round, but there was no sign of Carra. Yraen, however, was standing by the foot of the spiral staircase. He seemed carved of granite, he'd gone so grey and still. When Jill hurried over, he bowed to her, but he said not a word.

'Where's Carra?' Jill snapped.

'In the women's hall, where I can't go.' His voice shook badly.

'Well, there's Lady Ocradda, over there by the window with the bards. Get her to take you up. Carra's Agoing to hear the news sooner or later, and I'd rather she heard from you and Occa, not from her maid's gossip or suchlike.'