The Shadow Isle (23 page)

“I doubt that’s going to happen.” She smiled, but a tinge of fear colored her voice. “The women in my clan have never had that sort of trouble. I—” She paused, tilting her head to one side and considering him. “Are you truly frightened?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve never seen anything frighten you before. Even the dragon—Sidro told us all how you saved her life.”

“My life doesn’t matter to me half as much as yours does.” He sat down beside her. “As for the child, our rhan needs a son, truly, but there’ll be plenty of time for that if we have a daughter first.”

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled.

“Here, here, my love!” Gerran raised a gentle hand and wiped them from her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to distress you.”

“I’m not distressed.” She snuffled back more tears. “What you said—it gladdens my heart.”

“That’s a cursed odd way of showing it.”

“Is it? Truly, I suppose it is.” She nestled against him. “Don’t let it trouble you.”

“Well and good, then.” Gerran kissed her on the forehead. “Another thing, my love. I’ll be asking your brother about that inheritance. ”

“Splendid!” Solla sat up again. “I’ve got a bit of parchment to give you. It’s in my dower chest, the letter from my uncle, telling me he was leaving me some coin in his will. He died not long after, but I was only a lass, and so my brother—not Ridvar, but our older brother, Adamyr—took charge of the coin.” Old grief touched her face. “It was just before he rode out for his last battle.”

“And a sad thing that was.” Gerran made his voice soft. “For the rhan as well as for you and your kin.”

She nodded, then sighed before she spoke again. “But the coins must be in Cengarn still.”

“I feel dishonorable, spending your coin on the dun.”

“Why? It’ll be my home, too.”

“So it will, and my thanks. I’ll take the letter with me, then.”

Before he went to bed, Gerran found the letter and stowed it in his saddlebags, then put them by the door with his other gear. He woke with the dawn and dressed. He considered kissing his wife awake, but she looked so comfortable, nested in their blankets, that he decided to let her sleep. He gathered his gear and crept out of the chamber.

Mirryn and the riders from his warband had gathered in the great hall to bolt down a hasty breakfast. The prince, Mirryn told him, had already left to assemble his retinue down in the meadow. Gerran grabbed a chunk of bread from one of the baskets on the table and stood to eat it.

Over by the door, Branna and Neb sat on a bench and talked, their heads close together. Now and then Neb reached up to touch her cheek with gentle fingers. Finally he gave her a farewell kiss, rose, and strode out of the great hall. Branna got up more slowly, glanced around, then smiled at Gerran and came hurrying over.

“Gerro,” Branna said, “Solla told me yesterday that she hoped you’d ask for her inheritance when you’re in Cengarn.”

“I’ll be doing just that,” Gerran said. “We need every coin we can get for that new dun.”

“True spoken.” Branna was looking away with a slight frown. “Solla probably told you this already, but she mentioned that Ridvar told her once that she didn’t have any such inheritance due. She thought he was just teasing, because he laughed when he said it, but I wonder.”

“She didn’t mention that to me. Huh! I wonder if the little bastard just doesn’t want to let go of the coin.”

“That was my thought, too. Although—” She hesitated again. “Oh, I’m probably just going daft, but be careful what you say to Lord Oth about it.”

“What?”

“Maybe it won’t matter.” Branna smiled brightly. “But Oth— oh, never mind!”

“But I do mind. What do you mean?”

“It’s just one of my feelings. I’m a little daft, is all.”

“Daft? Huh! Here, Prince Voran’s been appointed justiciar. What if I take the matter to him?”

“That would be far better.” For a moment she seemed to be about to say more, then turned and trotted away before he could call her back.

With so many men and horses, servants and carts, the ride to Cengarn took two days. Whenever the road came to a bend, Gerran would turn in the saddle to look back at the end of the line out of sheer habit. Not so long ago, keeping track of the supply carts would have been his responsibility, not Mirryn’s. Salamander and Neb were also riding among the servants. At times Gerran noticed Neb riding with his head tipped back as he studied the perfectly clear and sunny sky. Finally, on the second day, with Cengarn not more than five miles away, Gerran’s curiosity won its battle with his attempt to mind his own affairs. He dropped back in the line of march to ride next to the prince’s scribe and the gerthddyn.

“What are you looking for?” Gerran asked Neb. “Another dragon?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me to see one,” Neb said, “but it’s not that.” He hesitated briefly. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Gerro. Everything seems safe enough.”

Gerran considered probing further, but Neb was looking straight ahead with the sour expression of a man who’s got nothing more to say. Salamander rolled his eyes in mock disgust.

“He’s looking for that raven,” Salamander said, “the one I told you about last summer, the one who stole the crystal from me.”

Neb slewed around in his saddle and started to speak, but Salamander held up one hand for silence.

“There is no use,” Salamander went on, “in keeping secrets from a man who already knows them.”

Neb returned to staring at the road ahead. Gerran made the gerthddyn a half-bow from the saddle, then turned his horse out of line and trotted up to take his position behind the prince.

"Oh for the love of all the gods,” Salamander said, "there’s also no use in sulking.”

Neb glanced his way with a scowl, then replaced it with an expression that revealed no emotion whatsoever. Salamander waited, letting his roan gelding amble along on a slack rein. Around them the countryside burgeoned with spring grass in the meadows and sprouting grain in the fields. They passed white cows with rusty-red ears, grazing busily in a long meadow, while in the distance stood a farmhouse circled by a low packed-mud wall. The sound of barking dogs drifted out to the road.

“Well,” Neb said suddenly. “I don’t see why you’d tell Gerran about dweomer matters.”

“Why not?” Salamander said. “Some of them he needs to know. When it comes to mazrakir, another pair of eyes on watch is always a good thing.”

“I suppose so. Still, I don’t see why he gets to know things I don’t. You never told me that Laz Moj stole that crystal when he was in raven form.”

“My apologies. I thought I had. There were a fair number of things on my mind, you know, what with the war and all just over. What counts after all is the theft, not how it happened. There’s no need for you to resent—”

“Well, how do you think I feel?” Neb said with a snarl in his voice. “I only hear half of what goes on. Dalla dribbles out information like honey out of a spoon.”

“That’s part of being an apprentice.”

“Oh, I suppose, but ye gods! Here I used to be the Master of the Aethyr, and now they don’t even recognize me.”

“They? What?” Salamander looked straight at him. “Have you been trying to contact the Kings of Aethyr?”

“I—” Neb turned scarlet. “Uh, I—”

“You have, haven’t you? I can’t believe that Dalla thinks you’re ready to do so.”

“And I suppose you’re going to run right to her and tell her, you fool of a chattering elf!”

“Ah, alas, Nevyn used to refer to my younger self in just that unflattering manner. Here’s somewhat Neb needs to know. I can still play the chattering fool when I need to, but I’m much less of a fool than I used to be. For one thing, I know a dangerous trick when I see one played.”

Neb set his lips together tight. He slapped his reins on his horse’s neck, turned out of line, and trotted back toward the rear. Salamander twisted in the saddle and watched until he saw Neb guide his horse safely into line behind the wagons. Salamander turned back and let his horse follow the riders ahead while he focused his mind on contacting Dallandra. When he reported his conversation with Neb, Dallandra’s first response was to blame herself for not riding to Cengarn with them.

“Don’t,” Salamander told her. “You would have had to bring the baby, and how much attention could you have paid Neb anyway?”

“That’s very true. Getting pregnant when I did was the worst thing that could have happened. Dari’s going to take more and more of my time and attention.”

“Oh, come now. It’s not like you and the child are all alone in the world. You’ve got as many women around you as the queen herself! ”

Dallandra’s image grinned at him. “Very true,” she said, “and a very bracing thought. I don’t mean to wallow in self-pity. I just wonder if I should have asked you to take Neb on.”

“He would never have listened to me. He remembers too much, though not, alas, enough.”

“Judging from the way he insulted you, I’d have to agree. Of course the Kings of Aethyr won’t recognize him! He hasn’t developed the proper symbols in his aura, and he doesn’t really know how to greet them, either. Wretched little colt!”

“Mayhap we should be glad he doesn’t remember everything.”

“Well, that’s true. He might just leave his apprenticeship and try to strike off on his own.”

Salamander felt a ripple of omen-warning run down his spine. “Just so,” he said. “Wild and stubborn colts have a tendency to bolt. And then they get eaten by wolves.”

“Another good thought.” Dallandra pursed her lips in a sour scowl. “Do share it with Neb, if you’d not mind, and as soon as possible. Anything you can do to help him—I’ll be grateful.”

Late that afternoon Prince Daralanteriel and his escorts reached Cengarn. High on its rocky cliffs the gray city loomed above the green meadows below. The gwerbret’s dun loomed over the city, with its dark towers that rose high from a forest of slate roofs and stone walls. The prince called a halt in the meadow at the south gate, then turned in the saddle to consult with his vassals.

“Gerran,” he said, “I’d rather we all camped out here. Is that going to be acceptable to the gwerbret?”

“It won’t be, Your Highness,” Gerran said. “It’d be taken as an insult to his hospitality.”

Dar muttered something in Elvish under his breath.

“Most of our men can raise tents, if you’d like,” Gerran said. “But you and the banadar—and maybe Mirryn and me—we’ll have to stay in the broch for courtesy’s sake. Well, assuming his grace offers to put me and Mirro up. I’m sure Your Highness and the banadar will be welcome.”

“If my vassals aren’t welcome, then I’ll be leaving suddenly.”

“Your Highness?” Mirryn bowed from the saddle before he spoke. “I’d rather make a camp with my men out here if I can. It’s because of the way the gwerbret insulted my father. I’ll eat at his table tonight for the sake of peace, but cursed if I’ll sleep under his roof.”

“Very well. I’d feel the same, were I you.” Dar looked over the warbands, assembled behind them. “Let’s leave most of the men here now, and just take a minimal escort up with us. I remember how much trouble Oth had trying to cram all the wedding guests into that dun. Mirryn, bring your men, and the banadar and I will take twenty-five of ours. Gerran, well, I guess your page will have to do for an escort at the moment. Oh, and Neb had better come with us.”

As they rode up to the gate at the base of the cliff, Gerran noticed Salamander tagging along uninvited after Neb. At the city gates, the guards raised a cry of “Prince Dar, Prince Dar!” and ushered them into the winding streets of the town. As the prince led his men up the long steep ride to the gwerbret’s dun, the townsfolk turned out to greet this welcome novelty of a royal visit with shouts and cheers.

Despite Gerran’s worries about the sort of reception he’d get in the dun itself, the gatekeeper welcomed him warmly along with the prince and his escort and Mirryn and his. As the men were dismounting in the ward, Lord Oth, the gray-bearded chamberlain, and Lord Blethry, the stout equerry, hurried out of the great hall to greet them, followed by a bevy of pages and grooms. Oth bowed low to Prince Daralanteriel, then to Mirryn and Gerran with one sweep of his arm that included them both.

“His grace Ridvar’s listening to witnesses in his chamber of justice, Your Highness,” Oth said to the prince. “A thousand apologies, but he couldn’t come out to greet you.”

“I quite understand,” Dar said. “Is it an important affair?”

“One of the local farmers has accused a neighbor of stealing his chickens.” Oth smiled briefly. “It may not sound like much of a trouble, but his grace has jurisdiction over every little thing that happens in his rhan.”

“Just as I have in mine, so I quite understand.”

“Then do come in, Your Highness, and partake of our hospitality, ” Oth continued. “Ah, here are the grooms to see to your horses. Lord Blethry, if you’ll ensure that our guests get somewhat to drink, I’ll sort out the matter of chambers.”

“My lord?” Mirryn stepped forward. “I’ll be making camp down in the meadow with my escort. I’m the captain of my father’s warband now, and that’s where my duty lies.”

“Oh.” Oth paused in surprise, then nodded. “Well and good, then, as you wish.”

As Oth bustled away, dispensing orders to the flock of pages, Gerran found himself remembering Branna’s strange remarks about this most punctilious of servitors. Once he would have dismissed them, but now that he knew about dweomer and the insights it gave those who could work it, he decided he’d best take the remarks seriously.

“Salamander? Mirryn?” he said. “Don’t mention Solla’s inheritance until Voran gets here.”

Salamander’s eyes widened. “Very well,” the gerthddyn said, “but may I ask why?”

“When we get somewhere private.”

The gerthddyn’s eyes grew wider, and his nose twitched as if he smelled the secret.

As they walked into the great hall, the gwerbret’s wife, Drwmigga, dressed in flowing blue, was just coming down the winding stone staircase. The flowered scarf of a married woman wrapped her raven-dark hair. Around her flocked her unmarried servingwomen, each with their hair caught back in a simple clasp.

Mirryn elbowed Gerran in the ribs and whispered. “That blonde lass there in the green dress. I think that’s Lady Egriffa.”