Bard's Oath (24 page)

Unable to bear it any longer, Sevrynel burst out, “Fliss
is
well again, isn’t she, Conor?”

Running his hand along the mare’s back as he moved toward the stall door, Conor gave the mare a final pat on the rump. “Aside from a bit of stiffness for the next day or two and a faint scar, it will be as if naught happened to her, my lord.”

As he let himself out of the stall, Conor said to the grooms, “Feed her lightly until this time tomorrow, but see that she has plenty of fresh water—as much as she’ll drink. Is there a bit of pasture where she can spend the next day or two alone, with only an old, gentle mare that she trusts for company? There is? Good; I’m thinking it would be well for her if she can move around freely instead of standing in a stall. That will let her walk off that stiffness without the risk of a kick to that leg.”

As Conor stepped into the aisle, Sevrynel slipped past him and into the stall. While the Cassorin lord petted and stroked the mare, Linden held out a hand to Conor, who grinned at it and shook his head. He held up his blood-streaked hands.

“Hmm—you’re right.” Linden turned to look at Sevrynel once more. The man still stood by his mare’s head, petting her. Linden guessed that the little Cassorin lord had forgotten Dragonlord, Beast Healer, and likely the rest of the world. He’d never even notice they were gone. “Let’s get you outside where you can wash up.”

They left the barn. At Linden’s request, a stable hand brought a bucket of clean water and a dry cloth.

Conor squatted by the bucket and rinsed his hands and forearms. “Hoy! That’s cold,” he said, laughing as he picked up the rough cloth. At last he was clean and dry.

“Well met,” Linden said, grasping the hand now held out to him. “So—tell me how things have gone since we last saw each other. How’s Pod?”

Conor beamed like a proud father. “Pod’s doing well. A wonder with the animals, she is. She’ll make journeywoman soon even though she’s a bit young for it yet.

“The last bit of news I’ve had of our Pod is that she’ll be journeying with one of the masters of the Healwort Guild, learning to recognize the wild-crafted herbs where they grow.”

Linden shook his head, not understanding. “What journey is this? And I thought the Wort Hunters were part of the Healwort Guild, not the Beast Healers.”

“They are. But not all the herbs we Healers—beast or human—use will thrive in a garden. Shy they are, or else they want their oak to grow beneath or their marsh to bide in. So during our training we’re sent to the Worties to learn what we can. We go out into the wild with one of their masters and learn to find and prepare the herbs we use most often, as well as whatever else can be driven into our thick heads. Remember, we sometimes heal wild beasts as well as tame—and you can’t find a Simpler’s shop in the middle of the woods if you run out of slippery elm or healmoss.

“At least, that’s for those of us with a taste for wandering. Those with the knack for gardening train with their Growers—which is not Pod. She’s likely tramping through the woods even now.”

“So your guild was the proper place for her after all?” Linden asked.

“It was indeed.” There was no mistaking the heartfelt agreement behind the words.

“Thanks the gods for that. I’d always wondered.” Linden heaved a sigh of relief; sending the young orphan away from the people who had treated her hardly better than one of their animals and giving her care to Conor’s guild had been the right thing to do after all. He’d always wondered if he’d guessed right that she had a gift worth developing.

A small masked face appeared at Conor’s shoulder. Then came a huge yawn and the ferret slid bonelessly back down into Conor’s hood. A moment later it was back, nose twitching.

“Who’s this?” Linden asked, holding out a hand for the ferret to sniff.

Conor grinned. “Oh, just a bit of Trouble,” he said.

It took Linden a moment to get the joke. He groaned. “Trouble, eh? That sounds a bit safer than Havoc.”

The ferret licked Linden’s fingers. He rubbed it gently under the chin. It yawned again, but this time stayed put, enjoying the attention.

“My brother-in-law Fisher was always naming his ferrets things like that, too. Isn’t that asking for problems, giving them names like Havoc, Disaster, or Mayhem?” Linden asked, giving the ferret a final chin rub.

“I think of it as just facing the truth,” the Beast Healer said ruefully.

“Hunh—that’s what Fisher always said. Had the same martyred expression, too. Are you free to grab a pint of ale, or have you another patient?”

Conor shook his head. “Not another patient as such—here now, I washed this morning, so stop licking my ear, young lady,” he complained as Trouble set about her task with a will. “What was I—oh, right; Therinn Barans, Lord Lenslee, is here and sent word that he wishes me to stop in and have a look at the horses he’ll be running in the big race.” As he spoke, Conor eased the ferret from his shoulder—and away from his ear—then cuddled her in his arms.

“Is something wrong with his horses?”
That would be a nasty bit of luck, to come all this way and have your horses fall ill!
he thought.

“Not that I was told of—I think he’s just being cautious. He’s like Lord Sevrynel that way, I hear; nothing’s too good for his horses.”

Conor paused to sling the strap of his scrip over his head. Then he smiled wryly and went on, “And since Lord Lenslee’s given the guild the land and monies to build a fine new chapterhouse in Lenslee, with plenty of prime pasture and good water for it, well…”

Linden whistled in appreciation. That was a princely gift; Lord Lenslee must do well wagering on his horses. “Your guild is willing to indulge him a bit. I don’t blame you.” He thought a moment. “I remember his great-grandfather; the man had an uncanny talent for breeding.”

“Did he now?” said Conor. “Wonder if the great-grandson fancies he has the same knack? It would explain some of the things I’ve heard. Ah, well, I’d best be off to see him. He’s staying with his kinsman, Lord Portis, so I was told.”

“You’re going to Portis’s?” a voice demanded behind them.

They turned as Lord Sevrynel bustled up to them. The little Cassorin lord must have finally decided his “sweet lady” was indeed out of danger, Linden thought with amusement; he’d left the stable and was no longer pulling out bits of his beard. There was even a hint of color in the ashen face once more.

“That I am, my lord, unless there’s something else wrong with Fliss,” Conor said with some alarm. He slipped Trouble back into his hood. “Stay there,” he ordered her.

Sevrynel waved his hands in extravagant negation. “No, no! Everything’s well now, thanks to you, Conor,” he exclaimed. “Fliss is even now going out to a pasture. No, no, what I meant was: you’re going to see Lenslee’s racers, not one of Portis’s horses?” He stared intently at the Beast Healer as if trying to get an unspoken message across.

“Aye, that I am,” Conor said cautiously. He frowned slightly.

Linden could understand his concern. What was Sevrynel getting at? Surely he wasn’t going to ask a Beast Healer to harm another man’s horses—especially not in front of a Dragonlord!

Please don’t let Sevrynel say anything stupid…,
Linden thought unhappily. He liked the little horse-mad Cassorin lord.

Sevrynel, completely oblivious of the sudden wariness of the other two men, went on in a worried tone, “I just wanted to warn you about that stallion of his, the one who’s winning all the races for him these days. Big, beautiful animal, runs like the north wind, and…”

Here Sevrynel paused; then, with the expression of someone jumping off a bridge, went on in a rush, “Oh, hang it all! The damned horse is as chancy and foul-tempered as they come, Conor. Vicious, even. He’s crippled a groom since Therinn got him, and two before that, I’ve heard. And there’s worse.”

Conor’s eyebrows went up. “Would this be a chestnut stallion?” he asked. “Color ‘like a new copper penny,’ I was told.”

Lord Sevrynel nodded. “That’s the one—Summer Lightning by Stormcloud out of Sun Lady, and
her
dam was—oh, never mind.”

“What else did the horse do?” Linden asked, remembering the grim tone of Sevrynel’s “worse.”

Sevrynel took a deep breath. “The brute killed a boy who tried to ride him.”

For a moment Linden thought Sevrynel would elaborate, but it seemed that was as much as they would get. After a moment, the little earl said in a colorless tone, “Yet as ill luck would have it, Therinn’s best jockey, another one of his grooms, and Therinn himself are among the few people the beast will tolerate. And since the horse wins and wins, Therinn doesn’t give a fig what it does to anyone else. Myself, I don’t care how many races it’s won, I wouldn’t have a horse like that in my stable,” he ended in a final burst of vehemence.

It was clear from his expression what he felt should be done with such a vicious animal. Surprised, Linden glanced at Conor and saw the same thought in the Beast Healer’s eyes as their gazes met:
If
Sevrynel
speaks ill of a horse
 …

That was damnation indeed.

The little Cassorin lord went on, “But Therinn can be reckless, you know. Gods, he’s even standing the creature at stud.” Sevrynel put an imploring hand on the Beast Healer’s arm. “So
do
be careful, Conor. You’re too good a man to lose to an animal like that.”

“Be sure I’ll remember your warning, my lord,” Conor said. “And my thanks for it. I’ll keep my eyes open around him, be certain of that, my lord earl.”

“Do that,” Lord Sevrynel commanded. “And—oh, bother! Now what?” he said as a servant jogged up to them.

“Your Grace,” the man said with a quick bow that included all of them, “my lord earl, Beast Healer. Lord Sevrynel, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but Lord Furney, Lord Havillar, Lord Portis, and Lady Donatalia arrived for the meeting—” Here he coughed discreetly. “—some time ago, my lord.”

“Meeting? Meeting? What mee— Oh, bother it, bother it,” Sevrynel complained under his breath. “I’d forgotten about it and them.”

“They’re the other marshals for the horse fair, aren’t they?” Linden asked.

“Indeed they are, Your Grace. Fliss’s accident drove it out of my head that I’d asked them to meet with me today. I was going to propose to them that we ask you Dragonlords to be among the marshals in the big race.” He peered hopefully up at Linden.

Linden managed not to smile. “I can tell you now that Maurynna, Shima, and I would be honored.”

Sevrynel beamed like a little boy with a sack of barley sugar treats. “Oh, wonderful, Your Grace! Could I ask you to come and meet my fellow marshals?”

Linden nodded. “Of course, my lord. Are they meeting you at the grape arbor? Good—I know how to get back there. I shall meet all of you there. I wish to speak a little longer with Conor first.”

Sevrynel bowed, then turned and set off after the servant. But before he disappeared around the corner of the stable, he called back, “Mind you watch that animal, Conor!”

When they were alone, the Beast Healer undid the leather thong holding his long hair back and ran his fingers through it, picking out stray bits of hay. “Whew!” he said. “I was afraid there for a moment! Thought he was about to ask me to put Lenslee’s horses out of the running. D’you think he’s right, my lord? About that horse?”

Linden thought for a moment, then said slowly, “I’ll tell you this: If I were you, until I found out otherwise, I’d take Sevrynel’s opinion as the word of the gods. The man can be flighty and a bit daft, but from all I’ve seen, Sevrynel knows horses. And think about this—he didn’t say ‘it’s
rumored
that the horse killed a boy.’”

“Eh—that’s right. When he spoke of what the horse did to those two earlier grooms, he was careful to say then that it was something he’d only heard about.”

“Just so,” Linden said. “And if anyone will give a horse the benefit of the doubt, it’s our horse-mad little earl.”

“I’ll not argue with that, Your Grace. You wouldn’t believe some of the tales I’ve heard of the man.”

Just so, Linden thought, remembering some of the tales
he’d
heard about Sevrynel; tales someone else had told him.… He shook his head, refusing to go where those memories led. “Sevrynel spoke as one who
knew
that the story about the lad’s death was true.”

“As if he knew the boy, you mean?” Conor said.

“Or knew someone who saw it happen. Someone whose word he trusted. I’d be damned careful if I were you, Conor.”

“Your Grace, I’ll take that as Dragonlord’s orders,” the Beast Healer said solemnly, though his eyes were twinkling as he bound his hair back again.

“You do that,” Linden said with a grin. “My lady, Shima, and I are having dinner with Lady Gallianna this evening, but that’s a few candlemarks yet. Shall I wait for you by that big red tent in the food merchants’ row?”

“If you’ll let me buy the first round,” said Conor.

“Done,” answered Linden.

Twenty-five

“Hoy! Raven!” Maurynna called to
the rider ahead of her.

Raven looked back over his shoulder as Stormwind pirouetted in place. “Hoy there, Beanpole! I was wondering if I’d find you wandering about. This fine lad and I were on our way to a place we know. Want to come?”

Maurynna pressed her heels against Boreal’s sides and urged him forward. Soon the former stablemates were walking side by side, walking swiftly through the fair as their riders talked.

As they reached the line of yellow banners that marked the edge of the grounds, Maurynna asked, “So how has the fair been for you so far? Aside from playing with Kella and Rann—she told me about it.”

“And besides being challenged to a race that I know I’ll win? By a cheating dog who has weaseled out of paying his wager before the race is even run, no less? Fairly uneventful. My only annoyance is all the people who won’t believe Stormwind’s a Llysanyin.” He grinned. “But there are enough who know what he is—like Lord Sevrynel and a few other nobles.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t spread the word,” Maurynna said.