(eng) Mercedes Lackey & James Mallory - Dragon Prophecy 01 by Crown of Vengeance

Author:Crown of Vengeance [Vengeance, Crown of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

FIRE AND FLIGHT

“Should” and “would” and “ought” are three great armies who always fight on the enemy side.

—Toncienor of Caerthalien, The Swordmaster’s Book

“We must go. Now,” Helecanth said.

“You’re right,” Runacarendalur said heavily.

When the first of the Lightborn had returned, he’d ordered word sent to Caerthalien Keep, for little as he wished Lord Bolecthindial to know of his defeat and disgrace, the information was urgent. Once again, he glanced toward the Oronviel camp. Desire warred with desire: if he’d had the least hope he could mount a successful attack, he would have done so. But the destruction of the camp had finished the task the disastrous fight had begun. The knights of Caerthalien had no more heart for battle. We cannot be all that remain, Runacarendalur thought, and each time the idea occurred to him, it was as if it were a fresh wound.

“Come, my lord,” Helecanth said gently. “We will do this quietly.”

Runacarendalur nodded. He led Gwaenor through the shattered camp, pausing at each cluster of knights to pass the order. Gathering them to march could have been done in an instant with the signal horns, but Helecanth was right: the sound would only alert their enemy. And who knew what they would do?

Beyond the far edge of the destruction, Runacarendalur found Ladyholder Glorthiachiel and Carangil Lightbrother. Glorthiachiel was seated on a battered storage chest, a cup in her hand, and someone’s fur-lined stormcloak about her shoulders.

Trust Mother to make herself as comfortable as possible.

“Come,” Runacarendalur said. “We’re leaving.”

“So I see,” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said acidly. “Slinking away like curs whipped to kennel.”

“If you wish,” he answered. “It is not as if Caerthalien has not suffered defeat before. If you wish to stay and explain to Oronviel how that is impossible, of course, I will not compel you to accompany us.”

“Would that you’d showed a fraction of such spirit in battle today,” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said. She rose to her feet, handing her cup to Carangil. “My horse,” she said.

Carangil led the destrier over and assisted Ladyholder Glorthiachiel to mount. It was undoubtedly just as well, Runacarendalur thought, that Carangil Lightbrother was able to bespell the animal to docility. He didn’t doubt his mother’s ability to browbeat any living thing into submission, but the need to do so wouldn’t sweeten her temper.

Not that anything would at this point.

“You said you would bring back her head,” Ladyholder Glorthiachiel said, in an undertone sharp enough to etch steel. “You said the Household knights would be sufficient to rout Oronviel’s meisne and a pack of lowborn mercenaries.”

I did not know I would be facing the daughter of Serenthon Farcarinon, Runacarendalur thought. He walked beside Ladyholder Glorthiachiel’s mount, leading Gwaenor. All around them, the remains of Caerthalien’s Household knights moved westward, more a disordered throng of refugees rather than an army. Some knights led exhausted destriers. Others rode. There were no horses or wagons for the servants, the Lightborn, or the arming pages. Some of the servants walked beside their masters. Some simply stood and

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