“To forgive you?”
“No. I-no, not that. Just to show that we could talk to each other. If-I thought of apologizing, but that would have been silly. Many of them probably couldn’t even speak Common.”
Pirvan became aware that his head had begun resting on cloth, and now rested on bare skin. Then he became aware of hands at work on his own breeches, his only garment.
“What are you doing?”
“We are going to talk in an old language, that we have spoken for twenty years. Do you remember it?”
Pirvan’s reply lacked words.
“It was the language we spoke that night, when I came to your house in the village. I said that we had stood far apart long enough and now it was time to stand close.”
“We aren’t standing now.”
Haimya pulled off the last of her husband’s garments and the last of her own. “No, we are lying down on the bed.”
On that bed, in that language, they had a long conversation. Pirvan fell asleep quickly afterward, and Haimya was slower getting to sleep only because her husband started to snore as she had never heard him do, and she had to stifle her giggles to keep from waking him.
Chapter 16
While Pirvan slept, the dwarven tunnel between the wells broke through. A line of sweating, weary, smiling soldiers and refugees began replenishing the water.
Two days later, the first party of refugees left the citadel of Belkuthas, for whatever safety the forest might offer. They were fifty, all the dwarves could promise to shelter at the moment, mostly women and children, but with enough men to keep watch and hunt.
With them also went Tharash and twenty-five scouts and rangers. They were a mixture of Lauthin’s guards and Belkuthans. It was noted that while Lord Lauthin said nothing in favor of their going, he also said nothing against it. He kept very much to his chamber, and except for the guards actually on duty there, his archers began to take their turns on the walls.
On the fifth day, the lines around the citadel drew tight again-at least tight enough to make it fortunate that the water carne in and the refugees out by means no sell-sword could discover. Some of the Gryphons thought the siege lines were so thin that a brisk mounted sortie would shatter them all over again. Then everyone could ride for home.
“This is the home of Krythis, Tulia, Rynthala, and their folk,” Pirvan reminded Threehands. “If we leave, they can only go with us by abandoning their home and becoming wanderers.”
“Yes, eldest son of Redthorn,” Hawkbrother added. “Remember also that our fighting for half-elves greatly annoys Lauthin. You once said that you would love to be a leech on a part of his body that he has probably not used for centuries. This is even better. We can be a worm in his guts.”
So there were no wild raids, only scouts slipping in and out through the tunnels and sometimes on the surface when rain or clouds made the darkness thicker than usual. The men on the walls kept the besiegers out of bow shot, the scouts took an occasional prisoner to gain recent knowledge of the world outside Belkuthas, and Tarothin and Sirbones healed the sick and the handful of wounded.
The day the last refugees squeezed themselves into the tunnel to the forest, Tarothin came to Pirvan with a frown on his face. The Red Robe seemed to wear moroseness like a cloak these days. It certainly fit his gaunt frame better than any of the warm garments Haimya had made for him over the years. But this was more than Pirvan had seen.
“I fear Wilthur the Brown has not finished with us.”
This seemed likely enough. The nightmares and the ghosts of his slain no longer troubled Pirvan much, but he had small patience with being told what he already knew. He said so plainly.
Tarothin shook his head. “I believe he has withheld his major spells for two reasons. One, he exhausted himself emptying the old well. That had to have been brutal work, mixing all three colors of magic. Such sorceries are even more wearying to the spellcaster than spells of only one shade.”
That Pirvan knew to be true. The conflict between white, black, and red could be overcome by a mage with sufficient power and a sufficient lack of scruples. A dire tension remained, which had to be constantly fought lest it sunder the spell-and probably the mage-in midcasting.
“The other is that I think someone-perhaps our friend Zephros-has command of the besiegers. He may be waiting for reinforcements so that he can exploit any opening Wilthur’s magic may give him. Or he may fear that Wilthur will reduce Belkuthas to blackened rubble. That would make Zephros’s name stink even worse and for far longer than our corpses.”
“Your good cheer knows no bounds,” Pirvan said. “When did you last eat?”
“My good cheer, you could bound in a thimble,” Tarothin said. “My appetite, you could pass through the eye of a needle.”
Gildas Aurhinius wadded up the parchment of Carolius Migmar’s latest letter and threw it at the door. He had moved his quarters into a rough stone building, and the parchment struck the wood just as it opened to admit Nemyotes.
“What does Migmar think he is doing?” Aurhinius exclaimed.
“I become more and more persuaded that not as much thinking is being done in this campaign as has been the case with past ones.”
Aurhinius glared. “Do you include me in that remark?”
“Well, my lord, you did say that you would give much to find a way of lifting the siege of Belkuthas. But what have we done here?”
“Not enough, I admit. But from this letter, Migmar will throw an iron wall around Belkuthas within the month. Thousands of sell-swords, siege engines, the gods only know what magic if the kingpriest turns a blind eye-enough to finish the work.”
“Perhaps, if you are not there.”
“And if I were? Migmar has years of rank over me, apart from favor in Istar. Also my orders are to remain here, to hold the Silvanesti in the front.”
“We are a long way from the nearest elf, if the reports are true. The desert riders will leave us alone if we return the favor, and the cliff-dwellers have not come out of their holes in living memory. As for orders-did you not once speak of establishing a line of outposts, between this camp and Belkuthas? Would not that be work so important that you had to command it yourself, and report to Migmar afterward? I acknowledge that Carolius Migmar will still have command when you are together. But much may happen when you are at Belkuthas, things that cannot happen when you are here.”
“You speak of what could well end our service, or even our lives, Nemyotes.”
“I know that, my lord.”
Aurhinius laughed softly. “And to think I was being so careful to remain loyal, for the sake of you and others who might fall with me. Who else thinks as you do?”
“A good many captains. Enough that the camp will be safe if you march west.”
“Then I shall do so. Nemyotes, arrange matters for that purpose, and also bring me writing material. No, forget that. This must remain a surprise, even to Migmar and our kin.”
“I would say, especially to Migmar.”
“Don’t cut them that way, you dolt! If the horses don’t charge aright, they won’t hit the sentries! Who do you think you are?”
Horimpsot Elderdrake glared at his companion. It was plainly a glare on his face, even in the darkness and under the dirt of many days in the forest. It was fortunate that kender grow no facial hair, or both of them could have had beards well down toward their chests. The hair on their heads was frightful enough.
“I am someone who has learned much about horses. And you are making too much noise.”
It said much about the changed relationship between the two kender that Imsaffor Whistletrot was silent. He remained silent, as did the night, until all the tethers were cut. Then the two kender stationed themselves behind the horses, and went to work with hoopak and whippit to make as much noise as possible.