The Gold Falcon (55 page)

“Not a word of this to your lord or any of the lords,” she finished up. “They need to surround the dun and ensure that Honelg won’t be sending any more messengers. I don’t want them rushing off to the Westlands.”

“Very well, then,” Neb said. “I take it Salamander can scry the messengers out because he’s seen them before.”

“True-spoken. Here! Did you just remember that?”

“I did. It’s been interesting, the last few days. I’ve found bits and pieces of lore coming back to me at odd moments. I’m cursed glad, too. I want to be worthy of Branna, after all.”

“I’m quite sure you already are.” Dallandra gave him a smile. “Now, listen carefully. I think we’re being spied upon by a particular kind of dweomerman, and perhaps one of Alshandra’s priestesses can see us as well. I want you to stay on your guard. If you ever have the slightest sensation that might mean someone’s trying to scry you out, tell me straightaway. I don’t care how silly or small you think it is. Tell me anyway.”

“I will. You needn’t worry about that.”

Salamander found that riding on dragonback was a much greater adventure than he’d anticipated, and most assuredly less comfortable. Like all children raised among the Westfolk, he had learned to stay on a horse so early that he couldn’t remember not knowing how to ride. He’d been assuming, therefore, without really focusing on the assumption, that he could easily adjust to riding on Arzosah.

He was, of course, quite wrong. To an observer on the ground, she seemed to fly steadily and straight, but in fact the beating of her enormous leathery wings produced a rocking motion, a quick lift up and then a sink down. She stirred up quite a wind, too, forcing him to hunker down to find shelter behind the spiky scales of her crest. They’d traveled a good many miles before he learned how to roll with her motion. Still, his discomfort was a small price to pay for her speed. When he looked down, he saw the countryside moving far below as if it were a Bardek carpet, slowly unrolling itself across a floor. Well before sunset they spotted Lord Honelg’s dun, a small dark wart on the green landscape far below.

“Turn west here,” Salamander called out.

“Hang on!” Arzosah banked one wing and swung herself around, heading toward the lowering sun.

The maneuver left Salamander feeling sick, but he clung to the ropes and managed to stay secure. Not long after, they left the farmland north of Cengarn behind them, covering a distance that would have taken a horse half a day. Just as the sun was touching the horizon, they saw Twenty Streams Rock, an apparent pebble, gray against a blanket of green. Thin lines of blue water gleamed amidst the grass.

“Land there!” Salamander yelled.

Arzosah banked into a turn and circled down to land gently in the tall grass. Salamander slid down from her back and squelched a desire to throw himself down on solid ground and kiss the earth in greeting.

“Now what?” Arzosah said. “I don’t suppose you’ll take these wretched ropes off me.”

“If I did, I’d never get them back on. I thought you’d like a rest and a chance for a drink. I’ve got to scry for our prey.”

“Some water would be very nice, indeed.”

Arzosah waddled over to the nearest stream and hunkered down to drink, lapping water like a dog with her long black tongue. Salamander was amazed at how clumsy she seemed on the ground. Her short legs bent outward at the knees, and while they supported her full weight, long graceful strides were beyond her. In flight, however, she moved like a dancer.
A true creature of air,
he thought to himself,
but still fiery withal.

Salamander sat down and watched the bluish twilight play on the long grass. As the sunset wind picked up, the grass bowed and sighed as it moved. Against it, he formulated an image of Valandario, and she answered him immediately. He could see her standing out in the grass and looking up at the sky to the east, where a few stars were already shining like carelessly dropped gems.

“Where are you?” Salamander thought to her. “The dragon and I have reached Twenty Streams.”

“We’re not far, about half a day’s ride to the west. Have you spotted those messengers yet? In the flesh, I mean.”

“No, but we’ll be flying again as soon as Arzosah’s rested. I’m expecting them to light a campfire. After all, they don’t know we know and all that. Once I spot them, I’ll contact you again.”

“Very good. I’ve got eight archers and two swordsmen with me. Do you think that will be enough? I don’t understand matters of war, I’m afraid.”

“More than enough, really.”

“What about the prince and the others? Where are they?”

“Still crawling along north with the Roundear army. It will take them a while to reach Honelg’s dun.” Salamander paused to glance behind him. Beside the stream Arzosah was wiping her chin dry on a patch of grass. “Ah, the dragon’s finished her drink, I see. We’d best get on our way.”

Sure enough, a trace of twilight still gleamed in the west when Salamander spotted a pinprick of fire glowing among a tumble of boulders about five miles north of Twenty Streams. Rather than announce their presence to the messengers by flying directly over them, they made a wide circle around. As a gibbous moon rose in the east, Salamander’s half-elven eyes could spot various landmarks, a stream with a tangle of hazel wands along it, and the boulders themselves.

“That’s enough for tonight.” Salamander had to yell at the top of his well-trained voice for the dragon to hear him. “Head straight south from here.”

“Are we joining up with the other dweomermaster?” Arzosah’s rumble carried quite well.

“Yes, we are.”

“I’ll look for another campfire, then. Hang on tight!” Salamander wrapped his arms around the nearest spike of her crest. The dragon dropped one wing, banked into a steep turn, then righted herself and headed south.

They found Valandario’s small encampment easily. A small herd of horses, watched over by a mounted guard, grazed at tether near a single large tent. A campfire burned in front of the tent, and Salamander could see the men of the squad, figures as small as dolls from the air, walking back and forth on various errands. Arzosah landed some distance away to avoid spooking the Westfolk horses. Salamander slid down from her back with a small silent prayer of gratitude to the solid earth. All that circling had left him more than a little queasy.

“I want to go hunt,” Arzosah said. “I spotted some deer not far away.”

“You certainly may,” Salamander said, “but if you make a kill, bring it back here before you eat it. I don’t want you falling asleep while you’re off somewhere.”

“How very clever of you to think of that! Oh, very well. I’ll nest here after I eat. When do we leave again?”

“After the dawn.”

“At least it should be warm and sunny tomorrow. I should be thankful for small boons, I suppose.”

With a long rustle of her wings, the dragon dashed forward and took to the air. Salamander watched her fly for a moment. He was remembering scrying out his brother and seeing him in dragon form, stooping to kill a deer. The huge silvery mouth had closed around the fleeing doe’s neck with a spurt of red, an omen of the raw feast to come. With a shake of his head Salamander banished the memory. He strode off, heading for the Westfolk camp, where Valandario stood waiting for him.

“All’s well so far,” Salamander called out.

“Splendid!” Valandario said. “Come have dinner. You’re just in time.”

“Good, good.” Salamander realized that his stomach had a very different opinion than his mind about eating right away. “I’ll just contact Dallandra first, I think. She might be worried.”

“She probably is. So are we all, worried that is. Ebañy, I had an awful thought. You told me about that raven mazrak. Why can’t he just fly off to Zakh Gral and warn them?”

“What would he tell them? That he found out we were attacking by using forbidden dweomer? And then flew all the way there in mazrak form? They’d kill him on the spot.”

“Oh.” Valandario allowed herself a soft, warm smile. “It’s lovely when your enemy throws his best weapon away, isn’t it? Well, you contact Dalla, and I’ll finish getting dinner ready.”

In the middle of the noise and bustle of a camping army, Dallandra was kneeling by a small fire, feeding it twigs to keep it burning. Even as she reached for a larger stick of wood, she kept her gaze firmly on the flames, her body as taut and poised as a strung bow. Now and then her lips would move as if they were forming words. Neb watched, awestruck. She was speaking to someone through the fire. He was so certain that he knew what she was doing that when she finally broke her concentration, he knelt beside her.

“Did Salamander find the messengers?” Neb said.

“He did, and they’ve joined up with Valandario as well,” Dallandra said, then sat back on her heels with a laugh. “You took me by surprise there. When did you remember?”

“Just now, watching you.”

“That’s truly interesting.” Dalla cocked her head to one side and considered him for a moment. “You may remember a great deal more than we thought at first. You don’t have the words for your memories, but you recognize dweomer when you actually see it worked.”

“So I do!”

“That pleases you, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Neb gave her a sheepish grin. “I’ve been so jealous of Branna, you see, with her wonderful dreams, and I felt lower than a snake for envying her, too.”

“Well, it’s perfectly understandable, the jealousy, I mean. Don’t berate yourself for it.”

“My thanks, I shan’t, then. Do you think I could try scrying in the fire? I’ve been wondering how Branna is—”

“Nah nah nah! Slowly, now! I know it must be horribly tempting, the idea of just plunging ahead, seeing what you remember and what you can do with those skills, but it could also be very dangerous.”

“Dangerous? How?”

“In a number of ways. First, it comes down to the old adage about learning how to mount a horse before you can ride. Or, wait, here’s a better example. When you learned to write, did your father just show you a page from a book and tell you to copy it?”

“He didn’t. First he made me analyze each letter, how many strokes made it up and what kind of strokes they were. Then I filled lots of wax tablets with just the strokes, up and down, round and round, and the like. It was tedious, as you can well imagine, but I was glad I’d done it when it came time to form the letters themselves.”

“Well, dweomer is much the same. You’ve got to learn all its tricks of the mind first, to say naught of the lore, details like the names of spirits and the various levels of existence. You have to know everything as well and instinctively as you know how to walk, so that you can do certain actions without having to concentrate upon them.”

“I see. It’s going to take years, isn’t it?”

“It is, but you’ve got to be patient. Now, as for trying to scry right now, what if some enemy is watching us? What if they overheard you, as it were, instead of Branna? Do you know the seals and commands to banish their efforts?”

“I don’t, truly.” Neb felt a cold wave of disappointment. “Very well, I can see what you mean by dangers.”

“Good, but here’s another one. If you rush ahead without knowing what you’re doing, you could go mad.”

“What? How?”

“By opening yourself up to unseen things without knowing how to seal them off again. When Salamander returns, I want you to ask him about this. He’s in position to know how badly things can go wrong if you’re not careful.”

“Well and good then, I will. He should be back soon, shouldn’t he?”

“I hope so, and if everything goes well on the morrow.” Dallandra hesitated, glancing into the fire again. “Salamander always has to do things in the most elaborate way possible. It’s enough to drive one daft!”