The Fire Dragon. Katharine Kerr

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Caudyr nodded, then got up, shaking his head, and hurried off, heading back to the circled wagons and his improvised surgery. Still kneeling, Nevyn opened his dweomer sight and looked up, searching for Branoic’s etheric double. Dimly he saw great shafts of silver light, vaguely man-shaped, surrounding the pale blue form that once had been Branoic’s soul. The Lords of the Elements had come to guide him – no, her – to the Light that lies beyond death. In her true female form she was staring down at the male body she had worn, as if perhaps in disbelief.

      ‘My thanks,’ he whispered to the lords. ‘My solemn thanks.’

      They nodded his way. Nevyn closed down the sight and scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sack of supplies. There were other men dying on this field, and his duty lay with them, no matter how badly he wished he could say farewell to the soul that he would always think of as his Brangwen.

      Maddyn had spent the battle lying under one of the wagons and cursing himself for a weakling for being unable to fight. Finally, when he heard men yelling, others sobbing or crying out, the hurrying of horses and the curses, he knew that the wounded were being brought in. He went out, found a couple of waterskins, and made himself useful as a water carrier for the wounded men. He had just refilled the skins for the fifth time when Caudyr hailed him.

      ‘Maddo, Maddo! Branoic’s dead.’

      Maddyn turned fast to see the chirurgeon limping over. He felt nothing but a chill that seemed to have frozen his mouth shut. He shrugged, tried to speak, then merely stared at Caudyr in a blind hope that he’d misheard.

      ‘I thought mayhap we could dig him a proper grave,’ Caudyr went on. ‘When there’s time.’

      Maddyn nodded to show that he understood, then turned on his heel and walked away. By then the men of the army were reclaiming their possessions from the heap in the middle of the protective wagons. Tents were already rising, men were talking about finding provisions and firewood. Maddyn found his own bedroll with Branoic’s piled under it. For a moment he nearly wept. He grabbed one of Branoic’s blankets, then headed for the long sprawl of dead men brought back to camp. He could see their friends wrapping them in blankets like the one he held to lay them out for the morrow’s burying. By then the sun hung low and striped the sky with pale gold at the horizon. As he walked down the long grim lines, Maddyn began to wonder if he’d be able to find Branoic’s body, but at length he saw Owaen, standing next to one of the dead.

      ‘Over here,’ Owaen called out. ‘I can guess who you’re looking for.’

      Maddyn joined him. Owaen had cast off his mail to reveal his rust-stained and filthy shirt; his hair lay plastered against his skull with sweat. Branoic lay on the ground, stripped of his mail and sword. Maddyn swore at the sight of the wound, a ghastly gape of red as if Death herself smiled up at them. When he knelt, he threw the blanket over Branoic’s face first. With Owaen’s help he wrapped Branoic up. For a moment they knelt at his side.

      ‘Remember us in the Otherlands,’ Maddyn whispered. ‘The gods all know we’ll be joining you soon enough.’

      Together they rose, then stood together, shoulders touching. Maddyn looked down at the old blue blanket wound round what was left of a man he’d known for more years than he could remember. He felt his grief like a blanket pressed into his face, smothering him. Involuntarily he shuddered, tossing his head as if to throw it off. He heard Owaen step back.

      ‘Did you see it happen?’ Maddyn said.

      When Owaen didn’t answer, Maddyn looked up to find him staring off at the sunset, his head thrown a little back, his jaw set tight.

      ‘Ah well,’ Maddyn said. ‘See that stone wall over there, across the pasture? On the morrow, when they bury him, I’ll be wanting to haul some stones to set up a cairn. Will you help?’

      Owaen nodded.

      ‘And what about his poor lass?’ Maddyn went on. ‘It aches my heart, thinking of her praying he’ll ride home soon, and here he’s already ridden through the gates of the Otherlands.’

      ‘Just so.’ Owaen kicked the ground hard with the toe of his boot. ‘Oh horseshit and a warm tub of it!’ He turned and ran, trotting down the long line of their dead.

      Despite the warmth of the night, Lilli had her maid build a small fire in the hearth in her chamber. She wanted light, and lanterns would, she felt, cast only shadows. As she sat in her chair and tried to read, her mind kept turning to the war and to Branoic. No matter how hard she concentrated on the book in front of her, the horrors she’d seen earlier kept breaking into her studies. Finally she laid the book aside and stared into the flames. She found herself thinking of Branoic, remembering the blood sheeting from his face. Nevyn will save him – she told herself this repeatedly but didn’t believe it once.

      Suddenly in the glowing coals she could see Nevyn, a tiny figure, it seemed, walking among the ashes. She leaned forward in her chair, concentrated on the image, saw the embers turn into the image of another fire as the darkness of a night camp appeared through the flames. The fire faded away, and it seemed to her that she walked beside Nevyn, who was carrying a cloth sack as he threaded his way through the tents. At length he returned to the tent she recognized as his from the past summer’s expedition. In a stone circle a tidy stack of wood waited for him. When Nevyn snapped his fingers, salamanders rushed forward to light it. He tossed the sack into his tent, then sat down on a stool in front of the fire. Lilli saw him lean forward – the view changed. It seemed to her that she sat on the other side of the fire and looked across at him.

      ‘Lilli!’ Nevyn’s voice sounded in her mind. ‘How did you reach me?’

      ‘I don’t know, my lord.’

      ‘Think to me, don’t speak aloud. I can’t hear you when you actually talk.’

      ‘Well and good, then. I was looking into the fire, and then I saw you. Can you hear me now?’

      ‘I can. You must be badly troubled, to reach me this way.’

      ‘It’s Branoic. I saw it – I mean, I had one of my visions, and I saw him take that wound. How does he fare?’

      ‘Oh my poor child! I’m afraid he died soon after.’

      A flood of tears washed the vision away. Lilli covered her face with her hands and sobbed, rocking back and forth on the edge of her chair.

      Although Nevyn tried for some while to reach Lilli again, he failed, picking up only her grief like the sound of distant keening. Finally he broke the link and threw a few more sticks onto his sputtering fire. As the flames leapt, he became aware that someone was standing in the shadows beyond the pool of light and watching him.

      ‘Who is it?’ Nevyn snapped. ‘How long have you been standing there?’

      ‘Owaen, my lord, and not long at all.’ The silver dagger captain took a few steps forward. ‘I – er, well – I wanted a bit of a talk with you.’

      ‘Very well. Come sit down.’

      Owaen sat down on the ground about an arm’s length away. For a few moments they stared into the fire together. Owaen’s face was as expressionless as a mask.

      ‘Ah well,’ Owaen said at last. ‘It’s about Branoic’

      ‘I see. СКАЧАТЬ