Through the trees he could see someone running, crashing his way through the underbrush. Not so far behind him came the cat-beasts, though all he could see of them was the occasional flash of spotted hide. Evandar flew a little higher and hovered on the wind to look down. The figure burst out of the trees—Shaetano, all right, screaming as he raced for the safety of the boundary. Or was it Shaetano? It seemed to be his usual form of a fox-spirit, but on his head grew a mane of honey-blonde hair. Evandar banked a wing and turned to fly after him just as he leapt up and mutated into bird form. Hair and fox-spirit both vanished in a flutter of black-and-white feathers: a shrike.
Shaetano was panicked enough that Evandar might have been able to dive and catch him from his superior height, but his curiosity had been aroused. Just what was his wretched brother up to now? When Shaetano flew off, heading for a mother road, Evandar trailed behind at a safe distance, just to see where he would lead.
“There goes Arzosah,” Rhodry said, “off to hunt, no doubt.”
Dallandra looked up in the sky where he pointed and saw the dragon, a tiny figure against the sky, heading straight west.
“It's a good thing she can fetch her own food,” Dallandra said. “Keeping her in meat isn't a job I'd want.”
“Nor I, either. I blasted well wish she'd lay off the local cattle, though.”
They were walking together at the edge of the lake. The sun was beginning to sink toward the western horizon, gilding a long streak of mackerel clouds that arched over the town.
“Looks like rain coming,” Rhodry remarked.
“It does. I suppose the townsfolk will come to the Deciding no matter what the weather.”
“No doubt. When I was walking through the town, I could hear the people talk about naught else. I hope to the gods that they see the Horsekin alliance for what it is: bait for a trap.”
“I think me most of them do.” Dallandra paused to look across to Citadel, looming dark against the sky. “They didn't escape your ancestors just to sell themselves into slavery again. Though I wonder, truly, where the Horsekin and the Gel da'Thae both get those human slaves of theirs. I've not wanted to ask Zatcheka right out.”
“It might well blight a flowering friendship.”
They continued on, walking so close together that their shoulders touched. Rhodry twined his arm through hers.
“Will you miss me?” he said abruptly. “When I leave for the Northlands?”
“I will. And you?”
“I'll think of you often.” He was staring down at the ground. “And curse myself for a fool a thousand times over for leaving you behind for naught but a daft hope.”
“Oh here, you'd not stay long anyway, even if you did come back to the grass with me. Somewhat else would catch your fancy, and you'd be off. You're that sort of man.”
“Well, I was a man like that once.”
“Not anymore?”
“I hardly know who I am anymore. I've lived too long, Dalla.”
“Oh hush!” She pulled free of him. “Don't! Just don't go on about Lady Death and all the rest of it!”
“Very well.” He was smiling at her, but a smile that hovered near tears.
“You're daft, Rori, but truly, in my own way I love you.”
“My thanks.” His smile changed, to something nearer humor. “Your own way, indeed! You're a fine one, talking about me being fickle and going off somewhere. I've never known a woman more distant than you.”
“Well, true spoken. I suppose this is why we've been able to put up with each other as long as we have.”
He laughed and caught her hand again. They walked on a few more yards, then realized that the open lakeshore by the commons was about to come to an end: ahead lay houses, built on pilings out over the water. When they turned back to return to camp, they saw Jahdo, running across the commons toward them. He was waving frantically.
“Slow down!” Rhodry yelled at him. “Or you'll fall flat on your face.”
Jahdo did as he was told. He stood panting to catch his breath and waited for them to reach him.
“What's so wrong, lad?” Rhodry said.
“Raena, that's what. Niffa did send me to fetch you. Raena be down by the gates, up on that heap of wood the council did cause to be built, and she be talking nonsense.”
Dallandra took off running with Rhodry and Jahdo right behind. As she raced across the commons and through the el-ven camp, she could see Raena, dressed in her strange black brigga and shirt, standing on the improvised platform. To her right clustered the Horsekin; off to the left stood the Westfolk and the Gel da'Thae at a cautious distance from one another; out in front a crowd of townspeople was gathering.
“I do come to tell you of miracles,” Raena was saying. “And a promise of life everlasting.”
Some of the townsfolk laughed, and a few others yelled out “She be daft.” Raena ignored them. Dallandra reached the Westfolk and stopped beside Niffa, who turned and mouthed “gladdens my heart you be here.” When Dallandra glanced back, she saw Rhodry and Jahdo standing with Dar.
“I come to tell you of a goddess that we all may see with our own eyes,” Raena went on, “the great Alshandra!”
“And what kind of ale have you been drinking?” a man in the crowd called out.
All the townsfolk laughed and pointed, but Raena held her ground. Dallandra glanced around, but there was no sign of the Horsekin mazrak. Perhaps he knew that his presence would only disrupt Raena's attempt to spread the word about their goddess.
“Our goddess came to us here on Earth,” Raena went on. “She did show herself to us, not hide among the rocks and the trees as do those little spirits that you do worship in your ignorance. Miracles did she show us, a thousand of them.”
The Horsekin began to chant, as if to agree with her. Rakzan Kral stepped forward and called out to the crowd.
“I did see her myself, and so did all my men here. We will witness.”
The townsfolk began to talk among themselves in a current of whispers, but Dallandra hurried forward. She climbed halfway up the stairs leading to the platform and yelled for silence. Slowly they gave it to her.
“This goddess they speak of?” Dallandra said. “She's dead. She died like any creature, because a creature she was.”
“She lies!” Raena shrieked. “Look you all there, in the sky!”
Over the commons a sphere of silvery mist was forming, swelling, growing huge as it drifted back and forth on the breeze. All at once it broke in half and the pieces fell away to disappear. Floating above the crowd was Alshandra, dressed in buckskin tunic and trousers, with her long blonde hair braided and hung with little charms in the Horsekin manner. In her hands she held an elven hunting bow.
“So!” Raena turned to Dallandra with a flourish of both arms. “And what say you to this?”
Dallandra goggled, unable to find a single word. Did Alshandra truly live then? Had Jill's sacrifice been in vain? The Horsekin threw back their heads and roared a greeting, then fell to their knees, holding their hands up high to their goddess. Suddenly Dallandra heard a soft chuckle behind her.
“Shaetano makes a better-looking woman than he did a man,” Evandar said. “Less fur, shorter snout.”
Dallandra let out her breath in a laugh.
“More fool me!” she whispered, then raised her voice. “That's not Alshandra, you fools! It's but a lying image of her.”
“Indeed?” Raena snarled. “If you be so sure, then prove it!”
“Fear not!” Evandar called out. “I shall.”
Evandar climbed the steps up to the platform and bowed to Raena, who drew back with hatred etched on her face. He tipped his head back and called to the apparition in the sky.
“Little brother! I've come for you.”
The false Alshandra shrieked in fear, a high-pitched yelp that echoed like twisted thunder. Evandar ran forward, leapt off the platform, and flew into the air in the form of an enormous red hawk. Shaetano shrieked again, then flung
himself to one side as the hawk swooped past. As he twisted, huge chunks of his illusion tore away and fell, melting like snow in sunlight. First his blonde mane shriveled and died; then the female face dissolved to reveal his vulpine features. The body thickened and his arms grew russet fur. He raised his bow, but the red hawk swooped down upon it, talons extended, and tore it from his grasp. Howling and gibbering, Shaetano fell from the sky, spinning down out of control.
The Horsekin screamed in rage. The townsfolk screamed in terror, then took off running, pushing each other and shrieking as they headed for the safety of their homes. The red hawk swooped and plunged down after the falling Shaetano, but all at once the fox-lord flung his arms out, seemed to grab some invisible thing in his hands, and vanished. The red hawk fluttered to the ground, wavered, and in a pulse of bluish light, transformed into Evandar. With a cackle of laughter he turned toward the Horsekin.
“Meradan!” he howled out. “Vengeance be mine!”
Evandar flung up his hands, but Dallandra was too fast for him. With a yell of “stop! no!” in Elvish, she leapt down from the stairs and grabbed him from behind, throwing her arms around his waist and hauling him around.
“Run!” she yelled in Deverrian. “Kral, get your people out of here! Zatcheka, you too!”
Evandar pulled free of her grasp, but she grabbed him by the wrists. For a moment they struggled back and forth, but he was by far the stronger. In his rage he would have thrown her to the ground, but Rhodry came running.
“Let her go!” Rhodry yelled. “You're not yourself!”
Evandar hesitated long enough for Dalla to get free of him. Rhodry threw his arms around him from behind and pinned him to his chest, talking all the while, his voice soft yet commanding at the same time.
“Nah nah nah, calm down, man! Come with me, and we'll talk this over, come along now.”
All at once Evandar surrendered. He went limp, then caught his balance and stood, head bowed, clutched tight in Rhodry's arms.
“Forgive me, my love,” Evandar whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“There's naught broken,” Dallandra said. “I never knew you could be so strong here in this world.”
“No more did I!” Evandar threw back his head and laughed. “No more did I.”
With that he let Rhodry march him away. Dallandra rubbed her aching wrists, then turned to find Niffa watching her, all eyes.
“And what were all that?” Niffa was stammering. “Never did I dream that I would be seeing marvels such as that.”
“No doubt. But here, come with me. I want a word with Raena, I do.”
On the grass Raena knelt, doubled over with weeping. She was sobbing so hard that her shoulders heaved. When Dallandra knelt in front of her, Raena raised a face wet with tears. Snot ran down her upper lip.
“Raena, please, listen to me!” Dallandra said. “It's clear that you have dweomer gifts. I can understand how you came to this pass, at the mercy of lying spirits. Ye gods, the thought of being born into some far-off village and married off to some farmer—it would have curdled my blood, too! I would have gone off with Alshandra had she asked me, had I had your Wyrd.”
The sobs quieted. Raena rubbed her dirty face on the sleeve of her black shirt, but still she said nothing.
“It's not too late to forswear the darkness,” Dallandra went on. “You'll have restitution to make. I can't lie to you and say it will be easy. But at the end, the real dweomer will be yours, and you'll never be powerless again.”
Still trembling, her lips a little parted, her eyes wide, Raena slowly looked at her.
“I mean it,” Dallandra said. “I offer you my word. If you're willing to make amends, the dweomer of light offers forgiveness to all who ask.”
Raena stared, trembling—whether from hope or fear Dallandra couldn't tell. Dallandra got up, holding out her hands. Raena rose as well, and her hands were shaking. It seemed for a moment that she would reach out to Dallandra, but suddenly her eyes filled with tears, and she turned away with a wrench of her entire body.
“My lady, my own true goddess,” Raena whispered. “I cannot desert her. You understand naught, naught! She did come to me, she did take me for her own, she did save me. It were like a mother, whose house does burn, and in the house her baby still does lie. Would the mother not rush back into the burning house to save her child? So did Alshandra come to me, when we were a-sieging the city.” She turned back, her eyes glowing again with an unnatural light. “Never will I forswear her! Never!”
“But please, talk with me! If I could only help you see—”
“I wish to see naught of your ugly ways! Leave me be, witchwoman!”
With a toss of her head Raena fled, trotting across the commons toward the open gates. Dallandra took a few steps after, then stopped. Out on the road Kral and his men waited. Raena ran straight for them, and they surrounded her like a wall. Dallandra could only watch helplessly while the Horsekin and their priestess hurried down the road to their camp. She had known the truth about the gods for so long that this simple fact had never occurred to her: Raena loved her goddess with a passion straight from the heart.
For want of anywhere else private, Rhodry half shoved half guided Evandar into Dar and Carra's tent. In the diffused light and relative coolness Evandar grew calmer. He ran his hands through his hair and caught his breath with a long hard sigh. Scattered on the painted floor cloth lay blankets, tent bags, saddlebags, and other clutter. Rhodry shoved a mound of it to one side, found a pair of floor cushions, and sat down. Evandar turned his back on him.
“I have to admit it,” Rhodry said. “I liked hearing those hairy bastards squeal when you tore their false goddess to shreds.”
“I only wish Dalla had let me turn them all into swine,” Evandar said.
“Here! Is that what you were up to?”
“It was. I wanted to show them their true natures. Swine! The turds of swine! They killed the first thing I ever loved, and I loved it more than you and Dalla put together.”
“Rinbaladelan, you mean?”
“Just that. And they acted like swine, too, rooting in the ruins, leaving their filth and stench everywhere! I laughed when they began to rot, you know. It was a glorious little plague, Ranadar's curse. I only wish it had spread farther and killed every pustule-laden one of them.”
“You hate them still? Ye gods! That was over a thousand years ago.”
“So what? You can't imagine the havoc they wreaked. It was horrible.”
“I can, at that,” Rhodry said. “I sieged and killed a city once, myself, back when I was Gwerbret Aberwyn.”
Evandar turned and at last looked at him. When Rhodry pointed to the second cushion, he sat down upon it.
“Slaith, was it?” Evandar said. “The pirate harbor? Well, they were stinking foul swine, too, and you did a right thing.”
“Mayhap. But I remember how sick I felt when I came to myself after the slaughter and saw the children. Dead children in the ruins, that is, only a few of them stabbed, more of them burnt to death when the buildings collapsed. We fired the place, you see, in the king's name. Once the siege fell, there was no stopping my men. Or me. I laughed when we were burning it. But later, I found the children. And I never laughed over the city again.”
Evandar's eyes narrowed.
“And so I think me,” Rhodry went on, “that some of the Meradan did the same as me—thought twice about things when it was too late, I mean. And they're the people we call the Gel da'Thae. Meer's people—Zatcheka's people. Civilized people now.”
Evandar growled like a dog, and for a moment his form darkened and wavered, as if he might transform into a hound right there and then. With a little shudder he caught himself and returned to his blond elven self.
“Back then they were filthy savages,” Evandar said. “Why did they destroy the cities? There was no why! They swept down from the north with no reason but plunder and killing.”
“No reason? Here, don't you know
? I learned the lore up in Lin Serr, the Dwarveholt.”
“You what?” Evandar stared for a long moment. “I have to know, I must know! Tell me, tell me now.”
“Well, the real culprits were my ancestors, the people of Bel, way back in the Dawntime. They made landfall at some harbor far in the north, then rode south, looking for the omens for the right spot to found their kingdom. And as they rode they slaughtered the Horsekin—took their women as slaves, stole their horses, killed any man who dared to fight back. By the hells, the Horsekin were only savages! They knew nothing of the Rhwmanes, nothing of the troubles that had driven my ancestors here. So they— the Hordes, the Meradan—they fled south. When the People tried to stop them, they fought their way through.”
Evandar stared at him for a long moment.
“Not what you thought, was it?” Rhodry said.
“No!” Evandar slumped and folded over his own lap until his head nearly touched the floor cloth. “It can't be.”
“It can and it is. I saw it all in the pictures on Lin Serr's doors. Go look yourself if you don't believe me.”
For a long while Evandar sat still and silent.
“Oh come now!” Rhodry snapped. “What's so wrong?”
“You don't understand.” Evandar was whispering. “I brought your ancestors here. The people of Bel. I did it for a friend, my only friend, then, Cadwallinos the Druid. He begged me to save his people when the Rhwmanes moved in for the kill. I led them across the sea and through the mists on the mothers of all roads. I promised them a kingdom of their own. I found them the harbor. Here. Where they—ye gods, forgive me!” Evandar sat up at last. Tears ran down his face.
It was Rhodry's turn for the shock. For a long while they merely sat and stared at each other. From outside they could hear murmurs of conversation, as the men of the People walked back and forth, talking among themselves. At last Evandar wiped his face on his illusion of sleeve, though the wet-looking tears never dampened it.
“Ah well,” Evandar said. “You've spoken true, Rori. If a man lights a fire on a floor, the wood's not to blame for burning.”
The Fire Dragon Page 36
