Worldbinder Part 13

A thousand wyrmling troops could be hidden inside, and they'd have taken up only a corner of the fortress.

There were no fields for crops or pens for animals. Those had been razed long ago. But even from a distance he could see the remains of orchards, the larger trees standing in even rows, their fruit having gone wild, while saplings grew in their shadows.

"It looks deserted," Jaz said hopefully.

"Looks are often deceiving," Talon said.

A great bridge still spanned the river. Colossal stones served as bastions against the raging flow, and though trees and wreckage battered them, the foundations of the bridge still held. The waterline was high, though. If it rose even another two feet, it would swamp the bridge. Beyond the bridge, out in the lowlands, the waters had flooded an area that was miles wide. Fallion suspected that he might be witnessing the birth of a new sea.

At each end of the mile-long bridge squatted another ma.s.sive stone fortress with a drawbridge, guard houses, and crenellated towers. Even from here, Fallion could see that the drawbridge at each end had been raised.

"The majority of the garrison will be on the far side of the river," Talon hazarded. "In fact, I'm not sure how well-guarded it will be here on the north. There might be only a few. There might be no guards at all."

"So we might be able to fight our way through the north tower," Fallion said, "but even if we do, we have to deal with the fact that there is another drawbridge at the far end."

"True," Talon said, "but say that we fight our way through the tower on this side. We can run a mile before we hit the far side. From there, we can jump into the water and swim. It might be a distance of only thirty yards, rather than a swim of a mile."

Fallion didn't care for the plan. Even if they did swim to sh.o.r.e on the far side, they could find themselves trying to swim though a hail of arrows.

And then what? If they made it to sh.o.r.e, the wyrmlings would be on their trail at nightfall.

"Right, then," Rhianna said. "Let's get to it."

"In the morning," Fallion said. He wasn't the kind to hesitate, but the more he studied the situation, the less he liked it.

"In the morning?" Jaz asked. "Why not now?"

"It's too close to nightfall," Fallion said. "The wyrmling troops are waking. If we attack now, we'll attack them in their strength. And even if we break through to the far side of the river, we'll have to worry about them d.o.g.g.i.ng our trail for the rest of the night. We should wait until morning, hit them in the light of day."

Talon nodded her a.s.sent.

"Where will we stay then?" Jaz asked. He didn't like the idea of camping in the open. The trees along the river had been fairly thick, but in the flood, many had washed away. The scrub that was left could hardly hide a pair of rabbits.

"We'll sleep in there," Fallion said, nodding toward the ruins.

"Among the wyrmlings?" Jaz asked.

Fallion liked the idea. He was certain that the wyrmlings were hunting him, as Talon feared, and tonight they would be scouring the fields and forests. But the last place they would look would be here, in the heart of a wyrmling fortress.

"Like I said," Rhianna said, "let's get to it."

And so in the failing sun, they crept along the riverbank, keeping low.

There in the shadows, they found a vine thick with light-berries and picked a few. The vine had begun to wilt, and Fallion guessed that in a day it would be dead.

So they made their way to the edge of the ruined city. A great wall had once surrounded it, but the wyrmlings had knocked it down in a dozen places. Enormous battering rams, huge logs with iron heads shaped like foul beasts, still lay abandoned outside the gates. Evil symbols had been scrawled on the broken walls. Fallion could see the glyph of Lady Despair.

It was in the final approach, when they ran across an open field and leapt through a gap in the broken wall that they were most exposed.

But at the most, they were only visible for a few seconds.

They ran up to the side of a building and hunched, waiting to see if an alarm sounded. If they were attacked, Fallion wanted it to be there in the open, in the failing light, rather than in the corner of some dark building.

When no alarm sounded, they crept down an empty street, keeping close to the walls.

Fresh tracks in the dirt showed that wyrmlings walked down the street often.

They were in an old merchant quarter. Stalls lined both sides of the streets, and in some places the merchandise still moldered. Bolts of cotton and flax sat rotting in one stall, broken chairs and a baby crib in another, clay pots in a third.

Down the street, a gruff laugh sounded, almost a snarl. The wyrmlings were awake.

Fallion did not dare venture farther into the city. Fallion spotted a likely place and dove into an abandoned smithy with a circular forge, a bellows, and an overturned anvil.

In the back, a leather curtain formed a door, separating the smithy from the living quarters.

They raced inside.

"Up or down?" Talon asked while Fallion's eyes were still adjusting to the gloom. He realized that in the change, she must have improved her night vision. When he could finally see, he made out a wooden ladder leading up to a loft. Another went down to a pantry.

A partial skeleton lay sprawled upon the floor, a few scattered bones wrapped in a rotten dress. The skull had been taken.

The ladder was rotting, too. Fallion imagined that a giant would have to worry about breaking a rung as he climbed. So Fallion decided to go up it. Besides, if the group was attacked, Fallion would rather defend from above than beneath.

"Up," he said, racing quietly up the ladder.

He reached the top, found a bedroom. A child's bed, with a mattress made of straw over some wooden slats, rested near the chimney, and a wooden horse lay on the floor. Otherwise the room was bare. A window stood closed, the last of the sunlight gleaming yellow through a pane made of sc.r.a.ped hide.

The dust on the floor had not been disturbed in years.

"This will do," Fallion said.

He peered about the room. The walls were formed from sandstone and looked to be a good two feet thick. The roof itself was a great slab of stone.

He felt safe here, protected, like a mouse in its burrow.

Everyone climbed into the room, and Fallion considered pulling up the ladder. But he suspected that if anyone was familiar with this place, they would notice what he'd done. Better to leave everything undisturbed.

17.

A TURN ON THE DANCE FLOOR.

An undeserved reward cankers the soul.

-Daylan Hammer At the feast in the great hall in Caer Luciare that night, Alun threw the remains of a greasy swan's leg over his back, food for the dogs. The king's mastiffs were quick to lunge from their beds by the fire to scuffle for it, and as the growls died down, Alun could not help but turn just a bit, to see which dog had won.

It was a pup of nine months, young enough to be fast and hungry, big enough to hold his own.

Much like me, Alun thought with a satisfied grin. He was half drunk on the king's wine, though the meal had hardly begun.

It would be a big feast tonight. The warriors would need their strength tomorrow as they ran north for the attack. The big men would keep a grueling pace. A warrior was expected to run ten miles in an hour, a hundred miles in a day, and the run would last from first light to full night.

Only by covering the ground in a single day could the warriors hope to gain the element of surprise in their attack.

Alun could only hang his head in despair. He could never make such a run. It would soon be apparent to all that though he might be named a warrior, he was in fact only a fraud.

Indeed, now that the lords were finishing the main course, the festivities would begin. There would be jugglers and dancing, a fool who aped the lords.

But first- Madoc stood, and his men began banging the table with the b.u.t.ts of their knives, with mugs or bones-whatever they had at hand.

"Good sirrahs," he roared for quiet, for the room was huge and hundreds of people sat at the tables. There had not been a feast so well attended since last summer's eve. "Good sirrahs and ladies," Madoc roared. "I have an announcement. Today let it be known to all-to lord, to lady, to warrior and commoner alike, that Caer Luciare has a new Master of the Hounds, our very own Alun."

There were shouts and cheers from the many n.o.bles gathered about, as Madoc brought out a large gold cape pin that bore the image of three racing hounds upon it. It was a lovely thing. More importantly, it was the badge of his office, and with great ceremony, Madoc pinned Alun's cape with it, inserting the p.r.o.ng and then twisting until the spiral pin was locked in place. Then he took Alun's simple old bra.s.s cape pin and set it upon the table.

The applause died down quickly as the guests prepared to return to conversations, but Madoc roared, "And, let it be known that Alun has proven himself this day to be a man of great courage, a man of decisive wit, of firm resolve, and a man of uncommon character. Indeed, he is no longer a common man at all in the view of House Madoc. Not a va.s.sal. It is with heartfelt appreciation, that I name him a warrior of Clan Madoc, and a defender of the free."

At that there was far less clapping. Many of the n.o.bles just stared in confused silence for a moment. Alun was not a warrior born, after all. He was an ill-bred gangrel. Everyone could see it.

Yet, sometimes, the honor was won, every generation or so.

There were excited whispers as women went asking their men what Alun had done.

What will they think? Alun wondered.

He did not care, or at least he told himself that he didn't. He peered across the room, to the royal table off to his left, where the High King ate. There, to his right, in a place of honor, sat the king's long-time ally and best friend, the Emir of Dalharristan, resplendent in a coat of gold silks, his white turban adorned with a fiery golden opal.

And four seats down sat his daughter Siyaddah, her dark eyes glistening in the candlelight. She looked at Alun and smiled gently, as if welcoming him to the n.o.bility.

She remembers me, Alun realized. And she thinks fondly of me.

His heart hammered and his mouth grew dry.

She is not so far above my station. I am a warrior now.

He took a drink from the goblet of wine, but a single swallow did not satisfy his thirst, so he downed it all, a rich red wine in a silver goblet.

He had never taken a drink from a goblet before. He picked it up, looked at it. It was a beautiful thing, with two feet like a swan on tall legs, and feathers on the outside, and a swan's long neck bent and forming a handle.

Such a mug, he realized, was worth more than his life had been worth as a slave. With it, he could have bought his freedom twice over.

Now?

He nodded to one of the serving children that waited against the wall. A boy of six ambled forward, struggled to fill the mug from a heavy cask of wine.

Alun sat and waited. He waited while the fool went strutting around the room, aping the lords and ladies. He waited as minstrels sang while the dessert pastries were pa.s.sed around.

He waited until the king called for a dance.

Then he downed another mug of wine and went to ask Siyaddah to join him upon the dance floor.

His feet were unsteady and his aim went afoul as he veered across the room, avoiding collision with those on the dance floor only by swerving wide.

He was greeted with astonished looks as he got to Siyaddah's table, bowed, and asked, "Your Highness, may I ask you to dance?"

Alun looked to her father, the legendary Light of Dalharristan, whose face remained expressionless, but who merely gave a slight nod.

"I think you just did," Siyaddah said.

Alun had to stand there thinking for a long moment before he figured out the logic to her words.

She joined him on the dance floor. Alun had never danced like this before. It was a stately court dance, with lots of strutting about together while the men occasionally stopped and raised the ladies' hands while they twirled.

Alun had no knack for it. His overlarge feet kept getting tangled, and he didn't know when to let a lady twirl, and twice he imagined that he was supposed to twirl, too. He heard some fellow laugh, and Alun's face grew red as he realized that a great deal of the problem had to do with the fact that he was falling-down drunk.

He stopped dancing then, and Siyaddah gave him a warm smile. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's only your first dance. You'll catch on."

And then the tense moment was over and she was moving again, and he was content to prance and watch her twirl. There was light in her eyes, and laughter, and light in her hair. It seemed to sparkle, until he realized that she had a powder in her hair, a powder made from diamonds, he imagined.

"Congratulations," she said at last, "this is a great day for you. You should be proud-Master of the Hounds."

He liked the sound of that, coming from her lips. But it reminded him. He had not gone to the kennels yet tonight. He had several b.i.t.c.hes ready to whelp, and he really thought that he should go check on them. It was a good time of year to be Master of the Hounds, with the puppies coming.

"We're expecting new litters soon. Hart's Breath, she should have her first litter tonight or tomorrow. Do you remember her?" Siyaddah had played with her as a pup, not more than two years ago.

Siyaddah shook her head no.

Of course she doesn't remember, Alun thought. She played with so many pups. She didn't know their names. You are such a fool, he told himself.

Embarra.s.sed, he quit talking. It was time for Siyaddah to twirl again.

She looked lovely, so dainty. Her dark skin, almost chocolate in color, contrasted sharply with her white silks. And beneath the silks, he could see the shapely contours of her body.

That is the whole reason for the dance, he realized, to allow young bachelors like himself to ogle the maidens.

"Tell me," Siyaddah asked, "what great deed did you do to deserve such an honor, being raised to the warrior clan?"

Cold fear ran through his veins, and Alun found that his tongue would not work. He did not want to tell her what he had done. "Oh, nothing," Alun said.

He hoped that she had not heard the truth yet. He hoped that she would never hear.

"Was it for spying upon Daylan Hammer?" she asked.

"I...yes," he admitted. He stuttered to a stop for a moment and then continued prancing.