Free The Gold Falcon by Katharine Kerr

villagers have been training with the longbow.”
    “Splendid, my lord!” Gerran said. “How many?”
    “Well, um, two.”
    “Oh.”
    “We’re badly outnumbered.” Pedrys leaned forward. “Is that it, Captain?”
    “It is, my lord, though it gripes my soul to admit it. We’ve all faced the Horsekin before. They know how to swing a sword when they need to. If we had more than two archers to call upon, the situation would be different.”
    The three lords nodded agreement.
    “So, I don’t think it would be wise to follow them, your grace,” Gerran said. “What if they have reinforcements waiting farther west?”
    Cadryc stabbed a chunk of bread with his table dagger and leaned back in his chair to eat it.
    “It gripes my soul,” Pedrys snarled, “to let them just ride away with our people.”
    “It gripes mine, too,” Cadryc said, swallowing. “But what good will it do them if we ride into a trap? We’ve got to think of the rest of the rhan, lads. If we’re wiped out, who will stand between it and the Horsekin?”
    “That’s true,” Samyc said. “Alas.”
    Cadryc pointed the chunk of bread at the two lords in turn. “We need more men, that’s the hard truth of it. I know I’ve said it before, but it’s the blasted truth.”
    “Just so, Your Grace,” Gerran said. “It’s too bad we don’t have wings like that dragon.”
    “Indeed.” Cadryc glanced at Samyc. “Do you know you’ve got a dragon in your demesne?”
    “It’s not mine, exactly,” Samyc said with a twisted grin. “It comes and goes as it pleases.”
    “When did you first see it, my lord?” Gerran said. “If I may ask.”
    “Well, it was a bit over a year ago, just when the snow was starting to melt. It came flying over the dun here, bold as brass. I’d heard of dragons before, of course, but seeing a real one—ye gods!”
    “Truly,” Cadryc said. “I don’t mind admitting that the sight was a bit much excitement at the start of a day.”
    “Let’s hope it likes the taste of Horsekin,” Gerran said.
    Cadryc laughed with a toss of his head. “I’ve got a scribe now,” he said with a nod at the two lords. “So I’ll send a letter to the gwerbret and see what kind of answer he has for us. Get the warbands ready to ride, Gerro, will you? We’re going home.”
    “I will, Your Grace,” Gerran said. “One thing, though, that last man from Neb’s old village.” He looked Samyc’s way. “Did he take shelter with you, my lord?”
    “Not that I know of. Did someone escape, you mean?”
    “Just that. I’d like to hear what he has to say. Any information we can get about the raid is all to the good.” Gerran stood up. “I’ll ask around out in the ward.”
    Unfortunately, no one, not farmer nor member of the warband, had seen any escapee arrive at the dun, nor had the woodcutting expedition turned him up that morning in the coppice. It was possible, one farmer pointed out, that the man or lad was hiding in the wild woods across the river to the west.
    “They’re not far, about three miles,” Gerran told Cadryc. “Do you think it’s worth a look?”
    “I do,” Cadryc said. “I want to hear what he can tell us.”
    When they rode out, the warbands clattered across Lord Samyc’s bridge, then headed out into the meadowland on the western side of the river. They found the last man from the village long before they reached the wild wood, along with the site of what must have been one of the raiders’ camps, judging from the trampled grass, fire pits, scattered garbage, and the like.
    The villager, however, could tell them nothing. About a hundred yards west of the camp, they found a lumpish low mound covered with blankets that had been pinned down at each corner with a wooden stake. They all assumed that it was a dead Horsekin, covered to protect him from scavengers. With a dragon hunting their mounts, the Horsekin would have had no time for a proper burial.
    “Let’s take those blankets off,” Cadryc