The Silver Mage (59 page)

“Yes, the long days in the saddle were too hard on him.” Cal finished her thought. “Two days out he turned back, but by then, Dar had the ideas he needs.”

“Wait! Dev rode back by himself?”

“Of course not! I sent a man back with him. Besides, the alar was following us along, so the two of them probably only spent one night out alone.”

One of the archers strode up to Calonderiel to ask him a question about pitching their camp. Dallandra looked up at the torn gray clouds and used them as focus. When she thought of Devaberiel, she saw him sitting in front of a tent and talking with Carra. She broke the vision with a small sigh of relief.

Although Jahdo invited the prince to stay in his house up on Citadel, Daralanteriel insisted on camping on the commons with his men. Grallezar, however, did accept Jahdo’s hospitality.

“I be too old for all this sleeping on hard ground,” Grallezar said. “Still, I do feel that my place be here. I do wish the townsfolk to see that they may trust Gel da’Thae, though not Horsekin.”

After the evening meal, Jahdo left the house to meet with his fellow council members. Dallandra nursed Hildie’s baby, then left the house to go speak with Arzosah. She found the black dragon lying on the roof of the ruined temple, facing west and contemplating the red-and-purple streaks of sunset clouds. As Dallandra picked her way through the fallen stones, Arzosah wiggled around to face her.

“I wanted to thank you,” Dallandra said, “for guarding the prince.”

“You’re most welcome,” Arzosah said. “Do you want me to stay here for another day or two?”

“No, there’s no need. No doubt your hatchlings want to see you.”

“So I’d hope, though I must say, hatchlings can be wretchedly ungrateful at times! Be that as it may, I’ll be off with the dawn on the morrow.”

Later that night the Council of Five sent messengers through the town to announce a meeting—a council fire, as custom called it—some hours after dawn. As soon as the sun rose, workers carried the planks and beams of the Chief Speaker’s platform out of the council house and began to assemble it, a solid wood structure wide and long enough for twelve people to stand upon it. Jahdo and Dallandra stood to one side of the plaza and watched the work go forward.

“Dar needs to speak, of course,” Dallandra said. “And Grallezar wants to say a few words as well. Cal and I should probably stand with Dar.”

“That be true, to show that the prince, he does have a retinue,” Jahdo said. “Grallezar may wish to have one of her guards as well, that fellow Drav, mayhap. I shall be there, and Cleddrik, for he be the only Chief Speaker Penli has, though he be not much of one.”

“You may want to add a couple of the men of the town militia.”

“That I shall do.”

Jahdo was about to say more when a louder drumming sounded over the hammering of the workmen. Arzosah flew up from the temple and circled the plaza once. She roared out a farewell then headed off north. They watched until she dwindled to the size of a crow and disappeared into a trail of mist.

“Ai!” Jahdo said. “It does make my heart beat faster, to see a dragon fly, still yet after all these long years.”

Once the workmen had finished the platform, the town drummer climbed onto it and set up his enormous leather drum. When Jahdo gave the signal, the drummer began to beat upon it with two sticks in a slow but steady rhythm. A few at a time, at first, the townsfolk who lived on Citadel began to climb the path and gather on the plaza. When Dallandra looked down to the lake, she saw a bobbing flotilla of coracles making their way across from the crannog town.

It took some while to assemble the citizens on the plaza and the officials on the platform. Dar stood off to one side, his eyes fixed on the horizon, his lips moving as he mouthed parts of his speech to come. Jahdo and Grallezar conferred briefly, while Calonderiel and Drav talked with the two militia men who’d been chosen to stand with them as a show of joint force. Cleddrik kept off by himself, his face gray with fear. Occasionally, he took a rag out of his brigga pocket and mopped sweat from his face.

Artha arrived and Niffa with her, squabbling over some fine point of theology, to stand behind the platform with the rest of the Council of Five. As she watched the two women together, Dallandra realized that they had known each other since childhood. Their arguments, doubtless continued over the years, offered them as much comfort as reassurances would have given to someone else.

At last the pounding drum fell silent. Jahdo stepped forward and raised both hands in the air. The crowd quieted down, quickly in front, slowly at the rear.

“Citizens!” Jahdo called out. “We all do know why we do gather here. The times be grave and fearsome. Let us delay no longer in facing what we must do.”

The citizens clapped their approval. The older people in the crowd called out Dar’s name with some enthusiasm, though some of the younger women looked as gray and fearful as Cleddrik.

Grallezar, however, spoke first, with Drav standing behind her on guard.

“Ye good folk of Cerr Cawnen!” Grallezar began. “I come here in shame to offer my apologies to you all. My own city of Braemel once did count you as allies, and faithful allies you were. Alas, as you well know, the foul swine who serve the demoness Alshandra did wrest that city from me and mine and send us into exile.”

The crowd murmured in acknowledgment. Dallandra kept a sharp watch on Cleddrik and saw him wince over Grallezar’s sneer at Alshandra.

“All I can offer you now is my advice,” Grallezar continued, “to take or spurn as you will. Behold Prince Daralanteriel of the Westlands, another faithful ally of yours. I would ask you all to listen most carefully to what he does say.”

Grallezar and Drav moved back to allow Daralanteriel to come forward on the platform. He bowed to the crowd, then launched straight into his speech.

“Exalted Mother Grallezar called me a prince, but truly, the lands I was born to rule lie in ruins far to the west. You may have heard of them as the Seven Cities of the far mountains and the Vale of Roses. The Horsekin destroyed them, burning, looting, raping our women, killing anything that lived within our walls. The bards have passed the tale down, and truly, I think your scops, as you call them, know it as well.”

Among the crowd, the older people murmured their agreement.

“I am not your prince,” Dar went on. “I cannot command you or enslave you. You are a free people. All I can do is offer to help you stay free. I have archers, I have swordsmen, I have riders who have fought the Horsekin before and won. You have brave soldiers who can fight beside mine. Yet neither you nor I have enough men to save this city. All we can do is save your lives, your children, your livestock, and whatever you can carry away.” He paused, looking out at the assembly, staring directly at one person then another, and by catching their individual gazes, he caught the entire crowd. “I can give you land, but you shall rule that land. Not me, not mine, not the lords who have sworn to me—but you in your free assemblies. In return I ask only for food to feed my army and yours, food and supplies for the men and women who will keep us all free.”

The crowd had fallen silent, so quiet that Dallandra could hear the wind in the trees behind the plaza. Dar cleared his throat then continued.

“If you agree, we will swear a solemn bargain, you and I, under the eyes of the gods of both our peoples. I will swear that forever you will be free. You will swear that you will help me keep your lands free. We shall build together a new Rhiddaer—a land that’s free indeed, a land free of the tyranny of kings and priests alike.” He paused, then held out both hands in supplication. “Will you join me?”

The assembly roared like a breaking wave, cheering, screaming out “We will,” over and over. The noise echoed around the plaza, booming like the sea against rocks at high tide. Dallandra glanced around and saw Cleddrik glowering, glaring—and slowly, carefully, drawing a dagger from its sheath.

“Dar! ’Ware!” Dallandra screamed, but in the noise he never heard her.

She turned and flung up both arms to summon Wildfolk, but Drav had seen the threat. With a howl of warning, he lunged at Cleddrik, who twisted away and made a feeble strike in Dar’s direction. The Gel da’Thae grabbed Cleddrik’s left arm and swung him away from the prince. Cal leaped forward, but Cleddrik slashed up with the dagger in his right hand. Drav made no noise, merely stared at Cleddrik with a look of mild annoyance as blood gushed from his throat. His knees gave way, and he fell, crumpling over like an empty sack stood on end.

From behind, Cal threw one arm around Cleddrik’s neck and hauled him back while he choked and writhed. Dar grabbed his wrist and twisted so hard that Cleddrik howled and dropped the dagger. Dallandra rushed forward and flung herself down in a kneel beside Drav, but all she could do for his physical body was to close its eyes. As she bent over him, she felt the touch of Grallezar’s mind on hers. She looked up to see Grallezar kneeling at the back of the platform. Dalla realized that her fellow dweomermaster would lead him to whatever after-death place of peace the Gel da’Thae might have.

The entire scuffle ended so fast that only those in the first few rows of the assembled townsfolk even saw the murder. They began to shout the alarm. As the news of this treachery spread, the crowd began to move, to pull back, to shout in response, a slow churn toward panic. Dallandra got up, wondering if she should try to calm the crowd, but Jahdo limped forward and held up the staff of his office.

“Citizens!” he called out. “Citizens, hold and stand! The traitor’s been caught.”

The two militia men stepped forward and took Cleddrik from Calonderiel. They twisted his arms behind him, then shoved him to the edge of the platform on display while Jahdo went on speaking in a calm, steady voice that worked on the crowd like dweomer. The citizens held still, stopped shouting, began to reassure each other, and finally fell silent to listen.

“Tomorrow we shall do one last piece of business here in our beloved town,” Jahdo called out. “The traitor shall have a fair trial according to our laws. In the meantime, may his men guard our prince well.”

“Cursed right!” Calonderiel muttered. “I blame myself for Drav’s death. I should have been—”

“Hush!” Dallandra said. “He took us all by surprise.”

“We did doubt his good faith,” Jahdo put in, “but none did think he had the courage for such a strike.”

Calonderiel shrugged, started to speak then knelt down by the Gel da’Thae’s corpse. “Let’s give him a decent funeral at least,” he said.

“Just so.” Dar stepped forward. “I owe him my life. I only wish I could have saved his.”

Between them, Calonderiel and Daralanteriel picked up the corpse and carried it off the platform. Dallandra glanced at the pool of blood, turning thick in the sunlight, and nearly vomited. Jahdo caught her arm to steady her.

“Come away,” he said. “There be naught more to say here. The prince did win them over.”

The crowd was beginning to disperse. Those at the back of the plaza were turning and filing down the path, heading for the lakeshore, while those waiting milled around, finding friends, talking amongst themselves, picking up frightened children, but always moving steadily off the plaza like slow water running over an outcrop of rock.

Dallandra allowed Jahdo to help her down from the platform, but they lingered, waiting for the crowd to thin. Some of the militia men filled buckets at the well and sluiced down the platform. Dallandra turned her back rather than watch Drav’s blood run along the cobbles.

“Well,” she said, “now we know for certain that Cleddrik was a traitor. I just wish I’d seen it sooner.”

“I do wish the same for myself,” Jahdo said. “Niffa did have her doubts, and now I do wish I’d listened more carefully. But there be naught we can do now. I be remembering my time in Cengarn, and what the folk there might say, ‘It were Drav’s wyrd, and no man can turn his wyrd aside.’ Somewhat like that, at least.”

“That’s true enough. But I still wish I’d sniffed out Cleddrik earlier.”

That afternoon, the Council of Five walked through the town to speak to the citizens. They came to the conclusion that they had no need to call for a formal Deciding, as the Cerr Cawnen people called their method of voting. Almost everyone in town wanted to leave now that Dar was offering them a destination. Those few who didn’t would be coerced by their kin. Still, it would take several days for the town to pack up and leave in a orderly fashion, as Jahdo pointed out that night at the evening meal.

“We don’t have two days,” Niffa’s voice shook. “I did scry out Rori this morning. He be harrying the army, be they be close, mayhap four days’ ride at the most. If they do find us gone, but we do linger close by, then they will be riding after us.”

“Slaves are a valuable commodity to the Horsekin,” Calonderiel said. “We’ll have to fight some kind of delaying action.”

“We don’t have the men to spare,” Dar said, “so we have to make all possible speed. Jahdo, please, tell your people to take only what they can grab and carry away fast. If they’re dead or enslaved, their possessions won’t do them any good, will they now?”

“True spoken, Your Highness,” Jahdo said. “Food first, clothing and blankets next, and then whatever trinkets do pack fast and easily. I think me we all ken what evil comes toward us, and none will linger to feel its whips.”

“Good. Once we’re all heading south, then I’ll give you horses for messengers. They can ride to the farms with the ill news and collect those people, too.”

Late that night, Dallandra and Calonderiel were talking over the evacuation plans in their chamber when she heard Jahdo calling for her. She opened the door to find the Chief Speaker pacing in the corridor. Two town guards stood nearby.

“Ill news,” Jahdo said. “Cleddrik did hang himself.”

“Ye gods!” Dallandra said. “How?”