With his lower lip stuck out, Evandar surveyed his costume.
“I thought it was rather grand,” he said at last.
“Very grand. Splendid. But you can’t fight in it.”
“Oh, very well.” All at once Evandar laughed. “I accept your guidance.”
When the Guardian waved one hand in the air, his form shimmered and wavered, then solidified again to reveal him clothed in proper brigga, shirt, padding, and mail, with a broadsword in his hand as well, though all the metal portions were made of silver and some sort of black enamel work rather than steel.
“How’s this?” Evandar said.
“Much better. Now, would you mind explaining?” Rhodry gestured with his arm at the plain. “Where are we?”
“In my own country at the battle plain, where we may find the mother of all roads. It would take our good ax-men here a long time to march to Cengarn, and they could well be ambushed on the road again, so I’m taking a hand. I can join them up with Gwerbret Drwmyc and his men in but a few minutes, off to the south of Cengarn. They can march together.”
Garin stepped forward and bowed.
“For that, good sir, you have my profound thanks,” the envoy said. “And will you be fighting with us from now?”
“I can’t, alas, not just yet. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can, but let us not forget Alshandra.”
“True spoken,” Rhodry said. “You’re the only one who can defeat her. Am I right about that?”
“I wouldn’t know, precisely, since I do not know every being that exists in every world of the vast and uncharted universe.” Evandar paused for a grin. “But if I can find her, and if I can trap her and make her stand to face me, then—and these are several ifs of great import, mind—then I can no doubt put an end to her meddling.”
“I’ll pray the gods assist you,” Garin said, bowing.
“The gods have very little to do with me or mine, alas. But before I go off to hunt, I’ll finish the muster. One thing at a time, Dalla always says.”
“Finish it?” Rhodry said.
“Prince Daralanteriel’s bringing us archers. I’m about to give them a bit of a surprise and shorten their journey considerably. Come with me, Rhodry. First, let me send the men of Lin Serr off on their way, and then you come with me to fetch the prince. There’s room on Arzosah’s back for the likes of me.”
“What?” the dragon roared. “Carry you on my back? You slimy, foul, abominable, greasy, loathsome—”
“Enough!” Rhodry held up the ring. “Carry him you will.”
She moaned, flopping her head back to implore the sky, but in the end, of course, after the dwarves had been sent on their way, she carried them both as they flew through Evandar’s country above the west-running mother of all roads.
Some days before, Gwerbret Drwmyc had led his army of vassals and allies out of Dun Trebyc and started the long march north to Cengarn. With close to twelve hundred men, a herd of extra horses, a line of provision carts, servants, and suchlike, the army could only travel some fifteen miles a day. They’d just reached Tryv Hael and picked up another five hundred riders, along with their provisions, when the dwarves joined them as well. Since he was riding at the rear of the march, guarding the supplies and breathing dust as befitted a silver dagger, Yraen only heard of these newest—and strangest—allies through the camp gossip.
“I’d heard tales of the Mountain People,” Renydd said, “but I didn’t know they were true.”
“I’ve met some of them,” Yraen said. “They’re good men to have on your side. Not so good to have against you. How many are there?”
“Close to seven hundred, my Lord Erddyr tells me. They’re camped near the gwerbret’s personal guard.”
Since Yraen didn’t realize that Garin, whom he knew, was among the dwarven axmen, he didn’t bother seeking the dwarves out. Enough men were gawking at the contingent as it was. When the army set out again on the morrow, the axmen marched in the van, while Yraen resumed his place at the rear.
On dragonback, Rhodry and Evandar flew over a misty country, where water tendrils twined silver round hummocks of green. On those they saw gardens, growing beside huts, or boats drawn up on sandy shores, but never a living soul, whether corporeal or not. Arzosah seemed to know the way. She flew fast and straight until they reached another cloud-gate, hanging white over a slow river. With a curl of her wings, the dragon ducked down, swooped through, and emerged into twilight over the Westlands. In the last of the sunlight, the grass stretched out, a green unbroken sea. Far ahead, like an islet of light, campfires gleamed.
“That’ll be the muster,” Evandar called out. “Take us there.”
Yet in the end, they walked to the elven camp. When Arzosah flew over the herd of horses tethered out to graze, and fortunately she was flying fairly high still, the horses smelled her and panicked. Rearing and neighing, plunging and kicking, they pulled at their tethers in a frantic effort to escape. Dragons may be rare, but horses know a meat eater when they smell one. Evandar burst out laughing, but Rhodry leaned forward and screamed orders.
“Land over there! By the stream and well downwind!”
Arzosah settled to the grass a good half-mile away.
“You stay here until I call,” Rhodry said. “Evandar, you and I have a walk ahead of us. Now this is a nasty little complication. How can I travel with the army? She’ll panic every horse who gets a nose full of her scent.”
“I’ll think on it. There must be some enchantment I can work.”
In the twilight, they hiked through the grass, rustling tall around them. By the time they reached the camp, the archers had recaptured those few horses which had got free and settled down the rest, but no one seemed inclined to forgive the cause of the trouble. Rhodry found himself surrounded by a pack of angry warriors, all shouting in Elvish at once. He shouted back while Evandar laughed, making things worse, until Calonderiel shoved his way through the mob.
“I should have known it would be you,” Calonderiel snarled. “Where in the name of the Dark Sun herself did you find a dragon? More to the point, why did you find a dragon? And what in hell are you doing bringing it out here?”
“Ye gods, I haven’t seen you in years, and this is all the welcome I get?”
Calonderiel laughed, throwing one arm round Rhodry’s shoulders.
“I’ve managed to forget my manners, sure enough. Here, let me guess. There’s dweomer mixed up in this.”
“More than either of us have ever seen before, and considering some of the things we’ve seen, that’s a good bit.” Rhodry glanced at Evandar. “Care to explain further?”
“I never explain. But I will announce that I’ve come to speed your way to the muster for Cengarn. First, though, allow me to solve the problem of the horses.”
“Good,” Rhodry said. “So you’ve thought of something.”
Evandar laughed with a toss of his head, a gesture much like a horse tossing its mane, flung his arms into the air, too, as if he were a stallion, pawing the air with a laugh that turned to a whinny, and a toss of his head that did ripple his mane as his body seemed to unfold or stretch or swell—Rhodry never did quite see it happen, but all at once Evandar disappeared, and a golden stallion with a silver mane and tail pranced before them. With a snort and a flick of his tail, the stallion galloped away, turning into the herd, trotting and prancing, pausing to touch his nose to another’s here or rub companionably along a neck there. The men stood entranced and watched without a word as the stallion worked his way across the field, moving farther and farther away as the horse guards shouted and pointed, and the herd began to whicker and stamp.
“What in the name of all that’s holy?” Calonderiel whispered.
“I doubt me,” Rhodry said, “that any of our gods have aught to do with this.”
“What?”
“He’s a Guardian. Do you remember, years ago, the autumn that Oldana died? Well, he’s the Guardian I told you about then.”
“I
do remember. And the mad spirit wanted your silver ring.”
“Just that. She’s the cause of all this trouble.”
The herd fell quiet and returned to their grazing. In his elven form, Evandar came jogging back to them. He paused, not in the least out of breath, and grinned at Rhodry.
“Call her back,” he said. “It’s perfectly safe.”
Before Calonderiel could order him to wait, Rhodry held up the ring and yelled for Arzosah. In a flap of black wings, she came gliding over the camp and settled nearby. A few horses raised their heads and whickered a greeting; the rest ignored her. Calonderiel laughed in a burst of nerves.
“There you are,” Evandar said. “Doubtless you have the only horses in the entire world who consider a dragon as harmless as a stable cat.” He swung round and glared at Arzosah. “But you must never kill and eat one. Do you hear me, Arzosah Sothy Lorezohaz?”
“I do, you miserable pink worm, I hear you perfectly well.”
“Good. Any that die in battle are yours. Never ever kill one yourself. It will break the dweomer.”
“I could figure that out,” she snarled. “Just because I was stupid enough to let you ensorcel me doesn’t mean I have no wits at all.”
They glared at each other until she looked away, muttering to herself.
“You’ll have to do the same for Drwmyc’s horses,” Rhodry said. “Once we catch up to him, I mean.”
“You speak true. We’d best be on our way. I’ve got a battle of my own brewing.”
“Now wait a moment,” Calonderiel broke in. “We can’t travel at night.”
“Oh, yes we can.” Rhodry flashed him a grin. “Or rather, it won’t be night where we’re going.”
Calonderiel looked at the dragon, then out to the herd, back to the dragon again.
“Well, I’m not inclined to argue with one of the Guardians,” he said at last. “Where’s Prince Dar? We’ll get the men packed up and ready for the road.”
“Good,” Evandar said. “My plan is this. I’ll take you into the lands of men, then sneak on ahead and settle things with Drwmyc’s horses before we bring the dragon among them.”
“Splendid.” Rhodry flashed him a grin. “Now that we know—oh, by every god in the sky!”
Calonderiel and Evandar were both looking at him, waiting no doubt for him to explain, but all at once he began to laugh his mad berserker’s chortle, howling and choking and laughing some more until Arzosah swung her head round and hissed.
“My apologies,” Rhodry gasped out. “But I’ve just realized why you had the omen about the dragon, Evandar. She’s a weapon in herself, all right, a knife at the Horse-kin’s throat.”
Arzosah understood first, rumbling and snorting in laughter, and one at a time the men joined in, while their enchanted horses grazed at peace, with barely a flick of their tails for the dragon in their midst.
As impatient as the combined army of men and dwarves was to reach Cengarn, horses are horses, and theirs needed to graze every morning. The men would water them, then let the stock feed for an hour or so while they rolled up their bedrolls and got their supplies stowed in the carts. That particular morning, when he cut his mount out of the herd, Yraen found himself wondering if someone had been prowling round the stock. The animals seemed restless, though not particularly frightened. When he asked one of the night guards, the lad confirmed his guess.
“There was an odd thing, just before the sun rose. I thought I saw a man walking out in the herd, but then I looked again, and I couldn’t see a cursed thing. So I went out, like, just to see what I could see, and I thought I saw a stallion, a golden stallion with a silver mane and tail. So I rub my eyes, and by the gods, he’s gone! I’m dreaming, I tell myself, but now I wonder.”
“Maybe it was Epona’s husband, come to cheer them up a bit.”
They shared a laugh, and Yraen thought no more of it.
It was but a little while later that the men standing guard on the south-running road started to shout an alarum—dust rising, men on horseback coming! With no time to saddle up and arm properly, the men ran to the southern edge of the camp, formed into a shouting, cursing line, and realized that the contingent approaching was coming at an easy walk.
“More allies, maybe,” Erddyr said. “That would be a pleasant thing.”
Allies it turned out to be, over five hundred men of the Westfolk, archers all, with Prince Daralanteriel at their head, and best of all, they’d brought provisions and extra mounts. Since Dar knew him from their time together in Cengarn, Yraen introduced the prince to Gwerbret Drwmyc, then stood to one side of the circle of lords and half-listened to the exchange of ritual courtesies. He felt as if his blood would curdle with envy as he watched Dar, so much a warrior, such a good-looking man even if he wasn’t quite human, with his raven-dark hair and deep-set gray eyes, slit like a cat’s to reveal pupils of darker lavender, and with his straight stance and arrogant toss to his head, so much a prince, as well. Carra’s husband. Yraen turned away and hoped that the prince’s life never depended upon him in the coming war.
At the far edge of the camp, someone shouted a yelp of surprise like a kicked hound’s bark. Other men took up the cry and began pointing at something. At first, all Yraen saw was the shadow, a birdlike shape winging over the farmlands; finally it occurred to him to look up. He thought it a shape-changer at first, in the form of some peculiar bird, but as it circled, dropping lower, he realized the truth from its huge size.
“A dragon! Oh, by the black ass of the Lord of Hell, Rhodry did it!” Yraen tossed back his head and howled triumph. “He truly went and did it!”
“What?” It was Lord Erddyr, who’d wandered his way. “What are you saying, man?”
“Well, your lordship, Rhodry went off hunting for a dragon, you see, and by the look of that, I’d say he found one.”
Open-mouthed, Erddyr swung round just as the enormous creature landed out in the road. Dust plumed, then settled to reveal Rhodry indeed, sliding down from the dragon’s neck. With him was a man that Yraen recognized from years earlier, though it took him a moment to remember the name.
“That’s Evandar, my lord,” he said to Erddyr, “and he’s the greatest dweomerman in the world, as far I know, anyway.”
Erddyr made a strangled sort of noise, but no words came. The camp fell utterly silent, the men staring but never moving, never saying a word, never breathing, it seemed. A few had drawn their swords, but they held them loose in flaccid hands. The Westfolk archers merely smiled, watching the men’s reactions more than the dragon. With Evandar in tow, Rhodry came strolling up, grinning in his usual daft way, and bowed to Lord Erddyr.
“It gladdens my heart to see you again, my lord.” Rhodry glanced at Yraen. “You bastard! How did you get out of Cengarn?”
Yraen swung a pulled punch at him and hit him in the arm.
“A silver dagger’s luck, and a little help from dweomer. I never thought I’d see you alive again.”
“Your luck’s not that good, to get rid of me so easily.”
They shared a grin; then Rhodry turned to the noble-born, hurrying up to stand safely behind Lord Erddyr.
“My lords, Your Grace. We’ve brought you archers, Evandar and me, by dweomer as much as treaty bond.”
Gwerbret Drwmyc stepped forward. “My good sir, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” He bowed in Evandar’s direction. “Is there aught we can do for you in return?”
“Just carry on. Defeat the Horsekin, rescue the princess, save Cengarn. All that will please me more than I can ever say.”
“Well, we’ll do our best.”
All at once, Evandar winced, tossed his head, bit his lip, and started to turn away, only to stumble. Rhodry grabbed his arm and steadied him.
“The iron. I’ve got to get away. Fare thee well, Rori.”
Evandar took one step forward and disappeared with a flash of silver light. The noble-born stared open-mouthed for a long time, while Yraen shook his head and swore.
“Very well, Silver Dagger.” The gwerbret turned to Rhodry. “You’re going to explain all this, and you’re going to do it now.”
Evandar could remember a time when he had worn no form at all, but he couldn’t, as he thought about it, remember how it had felt to be formless. He did know that life had seemed far more precarious then than it did now, that with no pattern to contain his consciousness, he might have ceased to exist at any moment. On the other hand, it also seemed to him that he’d been able to see farther in those days, farther and in all directions at once as he and his kind moved among the stars or upon the higher planes. Now he had eyes, or images of eyes, to channel his seeing, just as Alshandra had a discrete body, or the image of a body, that she could hide behind and within other images. He would have found her at once, back in the time when neither of them wore forms. Now he would have to hunt.
He stood upon a hilltop in his familiar country, the Lands, as they were known, and looked down at the green meadows, divided in one direction by the boundary forest and in the other, crosswise, direction by the silver river. He had created the entire landscape, so large that even from his height he couldn’t see the edges of it. It stretched on into mist and a horizon where, or so he suspected, other lands had sprung up following the pattern of his own, wild lands with no lord to rule them. What if Alshandra had taken shelter there and made those lands her own?
Evandar took off his semblance of Deverry armor and heaped it on the hillside, then stripped off his semblance of clothes, too. As soon as he turned his attention away from them, they dissolved in a shimmer of mist. Naked, he crouched down and stretched out his arms. No tedious process of imaging for him—in an instant, he became a red hawk, crouched upon the ground. He shook his wings, bunched, leapt into the air, and flew. With a screech, the hawk circled the hillside once, then set out, flying fast and hard, for the horizon and whatever might lie under the distant mists.
On the day after Rhodry and the dragon joined them, the army finally reached Cengarn. Some five miles south of the city, Gwerbret Drwmyc halted his army on the north-running road for the noon meal. While the men tended their horses, his grace and his vassals met in council, pacing back and forth in a cow pasture.
Days of Air and Darkness Page 32