"We can't do anything until the war is over," Pol cautioned her, as he sensed her relief and enthusiasm. "A great many things could change between now and then—"
"I know—I know—"
"And during that time we're going to have to bear with her tears and tantrums," Pol continued. "Not to mention every other wretched thing that a war can throw at us."
"But I can put out my hand and feel the candle, even if I can't light it yet," Ilea replied, sounding much less anxious already. "Just knowing it's there is enough."
Pol just nodded, and tightened his arm. Sometimes knowing that there would eventually be an end to something was enough. Strange, that Ilea could cope cheerfully with the endless flood of injured and dying, and be thrown so off-balance by the mere heartache of their daughter.
And of her own inability to create a miracle.
"I have to go; the Healers should be packed up by now," Ilea said abruptly. "I suppose—"
"You know where to find me," Pol replied, with a final squeeze before he let her go. "You go to your duty, love."
"And you to yours," he responded, and waited until the creak of her footsteps on the snow faded out of hearing range before summoning Satiran.
:Are we ready to join the Lord Marshal, old friend?: he asked, as he felt his Companion's warm breath on his neck.
:Better ask if they are ready for us!: Satiran replied, with a mental chuckle, as he linked in with Pol and gave him sight again. :Let's ride!:
TWENTY-THREE
Lan lay flat on a rocky overhang, peering down at his latest target, with the shepherd Wulaf beside him. Young Wulaf was a native of these parts; he and his shaggy pony could go very nearly anywhere that a goat could go. The boy was far more intelligent than he looked, and so was the pony; Lan and Tuck marveled at how much he knew about the area, and his pony's clever ability to find trails where there was no sign of where to go. Both pony and boy were, in the main, shaggy, untidy, brown. Both surveyed the world from beneath heavy forelocks of brown hair with blond streaks bleached by the sun.
So far Lan had managed to eliminate two potential trouble spots without actually killing anyone; both of the Karsite strongholds positioned strategically above the route the army would have to travel had been simple wooden fortresses, thrown up out of local logs, and just starting a fire that the enemy couldn't put out had driven the Karsites into the open. He burned their fortresses to the ground once there was no longer anyone in them to prevent the enemy from retaking and repairing the places. Once they were no longer protected behind walls and out of local logs, just starting a fire that the enemy couldn't put out had driven the Karsites into the open. Once they were no longer protected behind walls, the garrisons retreated back south and east without even putting up token resistance.
This place, however, would prove a harder nut to crack.
Below Lan, tucked into a flat space about halfway down the mountain, was what had begun its life as a robber-baron's stronghold. Built stoutly of stone, kept even safer within high stone walls, it must have taken a very clever plan to capture it in the past. Subsequently, it had become a farm; mainly raising sheep, goats, and mountain ponies. Then the Karsites took it for themselves, and it became the platform from which they could prevent any passage through the pass below.
"Look, yon," Wulaf said, pointing at the largest building in the complex, with a round, squat construction beside it. "That war yon barn an silo, an' reckon they hain't took out fodder an' th' like, nan?"
"Huh. Hay burns," Lan replied, shading his eyes to get a better view. "And their main gate is wood. I can take that out, and leave them without a way to keep attackers out."
"Aye that," Wulaf agreed. "Reckon ye burn all what hain't stone, they canna stay. Burn gate, food, beddin', clothes.... Start wi' barn, belike, an' silo."
Lan narrowed his eyes, held tightly to the dragon's bonds with both mental hands, and allowed it to wake—a very little.
He projected the power past the slate roof of the round towerlike silo, sending a little spark into it to find tinder.
He sensed it catch.
Then the mountainside beneath him shook with a deafening roar!
The mountain trembled; he and Wulaf clung to their rocky perch and stared at each other; Wulaf s pony locked his legs in place but screamed with fear, tossing his blunt head upward, his eyes wild beneath his shaggy brindled forelock. Beneath them, a fountain of rock, dust, and snow blew out in an extravagant plume from the spot where the farm had been.
"Get cover!" Wulaf shouted, far quicker of wit than Lan; he and his pony scrambled back beneath the safety of an overhang, while Lan and Kalira followed—and just in time, as a rain of rocks, some half the size of the pony, plummeted down on the mountaintop. For a few moments, all they could do was cower as boulders crashed all around them, chipping ice and rock from their protection, landing nearly at their feet. Every time one crashed near them, the rock under their feet vibrated.
When the last pebble ticked down, a heavy silence descended. The haze of dust hanging over everything made Lan cough.
"Wha' the de'il hoppened?" Wulaf asked rhetorically, and sneezed, his eyes as round and big as prize whortleberries.
"I—don't know," Lan said, who had heard him only through a ringing noise in his ears. He made his way to the edge of the precipice on his hands and knees, testing each step before he took it, and looked down.
The fortress was gone. Where it had been was a tumble of rock shaken down from the mountain above it, a tumble that continued down the side of the mountain and into the valley, seen imperfectly through a thick cloud of dust. Lan's jaw dropped; Wulaf appeared beside him, and whistled.
"Way-ell. That be a nest'a snakes we hain't to handle," Wulaf said, with a studied air of disinterest.
But Lan could only think that once again, the dragon had feasted on blood, for no one in that fortress could have escaped.
They found their way down the mountain with some difficulty; in many places the path was blocked by boulders or small landslides and they had to backtrack to find another route. When they finally reached the scouts, however, they found that the mood was one of elation—and there was no question there about what had happened. They had already worked out what had caused the explosive eruption.
"It was a farm, you see?" Diera said as Lan and Wulaf waited for someone to enlighten them. "You must have ignited the grain dust in the silo."
Lan's complete bafflement prompted more of an explanation. "The dust from grain—powdered chaff, pulverized grain, bits of straw—can build up in a silo. And the silage at the bottom can ferment and give off fumes, too—sometimes farm workers drink the stuff to get drunk. Set a spark to that, if it's thick enough, and you get what—you got."
"Oh," was all that Lan could think of to say. "Were there any captives in there? Women? Children?"
"Probably not," Diera replied, dismissively. "And even if there were, all you did was set a spark to what would have gone off eventually anyway. Anyone poking around with a lamp, a candle, or a torch would have done the same, and they were obviously too ignorant to prevent it from happening."