The Shadow Isle (31 page)

“Done, then.” Voran stood up. “I declare this court adjourned.”

Ridvar joined him. “Guards! Come with us.”

Gerran and Salamander stayed where they were as the others trooped out of the chamber of justice. Gerran heard the gwerbret snarling at someone, a lass’ flustered voice apologizing, and the sounds of a crowd of people rushing out of the way.

“Eavesdroppers, I’ll wager,” Salamander whispered. “Lots of them.”

Gerran nodded. They waited unspeaking until the footsteps died away, then left. They walked down the stairs in dead silence to find a whispering, buzzing crowd waiting at the bottom. Apparently the news had reached the great hall. Gerran was in no mood to gloat or explain. He shoved his way through the pack of gossips and strode outside with Salamander behind him.

“Gerro, wait!” Mirryn caught up with him. “Is it true? Did Oth really snatch your wife’s inheritance?”

“He did,” Gerran said.

“Hah! I always though he was too honorable to live.”

“A little compassion wouldn’t hurt,” Salamander put in. “Oth’s had a hard life of it, dealing with Ridvar.”

Mirryn blushed and looked away.

“Well, by the black hairy arse of the Lord of Hell,” Gerran said. “Branna was right again.”

“Just so.” Salamander let out his breath in a puff. “She sees things, that lass, that the rest of us miss.”

“You know, there’s somewhat—” Mirryn began, then stopped speaking and dropped to a kneel.

Gerran and Salamander joined him on the cobbles as Prince Daralanteriel came out of the dun.

“Oh, get up!” Dar snapped. “Here, is it true about Oth, that the gwerbret’s exiled him?”

“It is, Your Highness.” Gerran followed the order and rose, dusting the bits of straw and dirt from his brigga. “But the justiciar stopped him from having one of the old man’s hands cut off.”

Dar made a sour face at the thought of the maiming. “What’s going to happen to him now?”

“I’ve got no idea. He’s got a clan to go to somewhere, if they’ll take him in.”

Dar frowned down at the cobbles. Eventually he said, “I’m half minded to give him a place with us. There’s not much to steal out on the grass, and no doubt he’s learned where thieving gets a man. He did keep Ridvar from committing some grievous errors, after all.” He looked up. “Gerran, would you object?”

“It’s not my place to object, Your Highness,” Gerran said. “But truly, it’s not the theft so much that aches my heart, but the way he turned Ridvar against his sister.”

“Doubtless he did that to cover up the crime,” Salamander said.

“True, but—” Gerran ran out of words, torn between pity and rage.

“Dar?” Salamander went on. “I’d advise you one thing, however. Wait until you find out how much the old man’s stolen. If his only fault was Solla’s inheritance, then take him in. But I have my doubts.”

“I’ll go consult with the justiciar, then,” Dar said. “My thanks, Wise One.”

It was the first time Gerran had ever heard anyone refer to Salamander by that title, and it shocked him, even though he’d known for nearly a year that Salamander had dweomer. When the prince hurried back inside the broch, Gerran considered Salamander, slender and dapper in his fine wool brigga and heavily embroidered shirt. His tricks and tales made it too easy to think of him as nothing more than what he pretended to be, a chattering fop. Salamander smiled blandly back.

“Who do you think’s going to be Ridvar’s chamberlain?” Mirryn said.

A gaggle of servants passing by stopped to listen.

“I don’t know,” Gerran said. “Blethry can take over some of Oth’s duties, but I doubt me if he can do them all and still manage his own.”

“My lord?” A serving lass curtsied to Gerran. “True spoken, and now the bard’s announced that he’s leaving as well. He says it aches his heart to see Oth treated so shabbily. Though I say that the old swine never should have taken Lady Solla’s coin that way.”

The other servants all nodded their agreement. A footman murmured, “Cursed right!”

“Lady Solla was ever so kind and fair to us when she was here, my lord,” the lass continued.

“Not like now.” The footman murmured the words, as if perhaps he was addressing them to no one, but Gerran had no doubt that he was supposed to overhear.

“Is your lady well, my lord?” A second servant lass spoke up. “We all do hope so, if I’m not getting above myself to ask.”

“She is,” Gerran said. “I’ll tell her you asked after her, if you’d like.”

“We would, my lord.” The lass smiled at him, then glanced at the broch. “The prince is coming!”

The servants all hurried away as Daralanteriel came striding out of the broch. The prince joined Gerran and the others with a shake of his head and a shrug.

“Did they find more evidence of thieving?” Mirryn asked.

“None that would stand in malover,” Dar said. “But naught that would clear him, either. Still, I did offer the man my shelter.”

“Let me guess,” Salamander broke in. “Oth refused your offer.”

“You’ve guessed right.” Dar looked utterly puzzled. “He drew himself up and thanked me, but he said he’d rather starve on the road than take another great lord’s charity. I’ve no idea what he’s going to do now.”

“I do.” Salamander turned and broke into a run, heading for the stables.

“What?” Dar spun around and started to hail him.

“Let him go, Your Highness,” Gerran said. “I think I know what he means.”

Gerran waited with Mirryn and the prince to see how the matter would play out. The sun had climbed high into the sky before Oth, escorted by two Cengarn heralds, came out of the broch. Though he must have been aware that Gerran was standing off to one side, Oth looked straight ahead as if determined not to see him. The bright sun picked out every wrinkle on Oth’s thin face and showed up the exhaustion in his pouchy eyes. Out in the ward pages and grooms waited with the one horse allowed an exile.

Salamander came hurrying up, leading his own horse, saddled and bridled. When Oth mounted up, Salamander did the same. No one in the crowd spoke or jeered as Oth rode out of the gates. Salamander followed a decent distance behind. Gerran wondered if Oth realized that the gerthddyn was trailing after him, but if he did, Oth gave no sign. Once both of them were out of sight, the crowd dispersed, wandering off to the varied business of their day. Mirryn and Gerran went back into the great hall together.

“I don’t understand,” Mirryn said. “What in all the icy hells is Salamander going to do?”

“Talk Oth out of killing himself, most likely,” Gerran said.

Mirryn opened his mouth and shut it again.

“Let’s see if one of those servant lasses will pour us some of his grace’s mead,” Gerran went on. “I want somewhat to drink.”

It was close to sunset before Salamander returned. Gerran saw him walk into the great hall and got up to go meet him. Since the two princes and the gwerbret were all sitting at the table of honor, Salamander never could have seated himself there.

“Well?” Gerran.

“I think I succeeded.” Salamander’s voice rasped on the edge of hoarseness. “I talked myself breathless, and in the end Oth agreed that life was a pleasant thing and worth keeping. Since I couldn’t ride with him all the way to Trev Hael, I don’t know if he’ll change his mind or not.”

“Trev Hael?”

“His brother holds a lordship near the city. Oth also agreed that said brother will shelter him. Humiliating, truly, but better than the shadowy Otherlands. I gave the old man some coin for his journey, by the way.”

“Generous of you.”

Salamander shrugged. “I earn it with a mouthful of lies and a handful of cheap tricks, so why should I hoard it?”

“True spoken. You’d best get yourself somewhat to drink. It sounds like you’re about to lose your voice.”

“And that would be a great pity, though some might term it a blessing. I shall do so.”

All that evening and the next morning as well, gossip in Dun Cengarn gushed like a river in spate concerning Lord Oth’s sudden disgrace. Salamander, who could become not invisible but unnoticeable when he wanted to, wandered through the dun to eavesdrop. The majority of the servants regretted the lord’s departure. Though most agreed that he had made off with more than one lord’s coin, Oth apparently had never stooped to stealing from his inferiors.

The gossip grew even louder when the bard made good his threat. He packed up his goods, his wife, and his children, and headed back east to look for a better position closer to the heart of the kingdom. Bets went round that he’d turn up at Oth’s brother’s dun. Wondering why, Salamander asked outright questions of some of the servants who knew him.

“The chamberlain and the bard, they each turned a blind eye, like,” the cook told him, “to what the other was up to.” She hefted a cleaver and glared at Salamander over the blade. “Now don’t you go telling his grace any of this, like.”

“I’ve forgotten every word you told me already,” Salamander said, grinning. “My thanks.”

As the day wore on, Gwerbret Ridvar looked angry and baffled by turns; Lord Blethry began to look exhausted. Prince Voran wandered around the dun and asked discreet questions of its inhabitants, from Blethry down to the widow who tended the gwerbretal hogs. Salamander doubted that they’d told the prince as much as they’d told the gerthddyn. Eventually he went to look for Gerran and found him avoiding everyone who might make sharp remarks.

“Ye gods,” Gerran said. “I didn’t realize how much trouble Oth’s leaving would bring.”

“No more did the gwerbret,” Salamander said.

“I’ve gotten a fair number of ugly looks today. I wonder if the pages are going to poison my meat.”

“I doubt it, though they might be slow in bringing it to you. Still, you did the right thing, Gerro. Don’t let it trouble your heart. Voran’s here to keep an eye on the upheaval, a most fortuitous happenstance indeed.”

“Well, true spoken. With the Horsekin on the prowl up north, Cengarn’s vital to the whole blasted kingdom. He can’t let it tear itself apart.”

“Lest the kingdom be blasted, indeed.”

They were leaning against a wall near the stables, idly watching Clae curry Gerran’s horse. Grooms trotted back and forth, watering the mounts of the various warbands, bringing them to the long stone troughs two at a time. It was one of life’s little pleasures, Salamander reflected, to lounge in the warm sun and watch other men work.

“Any news of Oth himself?” Gerran said abruptly.

“And why do you think I’d have some?”

“Oh, spare me the horseshit.” Gerran gave him a sour look. “Wise One.”

Salamander laughed, then answered. “He’s joined up with a merchant caravan heading toward Trev Hael. The suicidal fever’s broken, and I think he’s out of danger now.”

“Good. He had his cursed gall, insulting my wife and stealing from her, but he didn’t deserve a madman’s death.”

“My thought exactly, and you’ve got the coin, which is what matters. With that many silver pieces you’ll be able to hire a master stonemason to oversee the building.”

“Just so. I’ll doubtless use the same man Cadryc did. I want to get started, curse it all!”

“Who’s going to supply the labor?”

“Ah, horseshit, I don’t know!” Gerran sighed and looked away. “Life was a lot simpler when I was just the captain of Cadryc’s warband. ”

“No doubt. But there might be more immigrants arriving from the Southern Isles, come autumn.”

“Good idea. My thanks.”

“We’ve got plenty of other troubles on our hands for now, for that matter. No doubt you’ll be well occupied this summer.”

“True spoken. Here, can you find out where Govvin is? I’m as sick as I can be of waiting around for that stinking, arrogant priest.”

“I spied upon him yesterday morn, and lo, he and his men were praying in their temple. I can’t believe he’s staying away, frankly. To refuse a direct summons to a gwerbretal malover goes beyond arrogance to rash stupidity.”

When Clae finished with Gerran’s horse, Gerran led him back to the stable himself. Clae took his brushes over to Salamander’s roan, tethered nearby, and began currying it down. Salamander was considering going back inside when a young page with Cengarn’s blazon on his dirty shirt came skipping up to them.

“Gerthddyn?” he said. “Lord Blethry wants to talk to you. He’s just over there.” He pointed to the end of the stable row, where, hands on hips, Blethry was standing in the shade of the stable wall.

“I’m on my way,” Salamander said, “though it looks as if he wants to scold, berate, and castigate me.”

The equerry, however, had something quite different in mind. “It’s about that scribe of Prince Dar’s,” Blethry said when Salamander joined him. “Is he daft?”

“At moments I can think of him no other way. What’s he done now?”

“Well, late last night it was, and I couldn’t sleep, what with worrying about everything.” Blethry paused to scowl in the general direction of Gerran, who was just coming out of the stable. “So I got up and left the broch for a bit of air. I came down here to take a look at one of the mares who’s due to foal, and as I was leaving the stables again, I looked up. Right on the roof of the main broch there’s Neb, standing with his arms in the air and not a stitch of clothing on, far as I could see by the moon’s light.”

Salamander groaned inwardly.

“So I hurried inside to speak to him about it,” Blethry went on, “but he’d already left the roof. What if our lady Drwmigga had seen him, eh?”

I’m sure she’s seen a naked man before
, Salamander thought,
considering she’s pregnant.
Aloud he said, “True spoken. I’ll speak to Neb about it.”

“Good. He seems to be a friend of yours and all, which is why I’m bringing the matter to you.” Blethry hesitated. “But what was he doing up there?”

“Praying to the Star Gods, most likely.” Salamander pulled a useful lie out of the air. “Now that he’s a servitor of the Westfolk prince, he’s adopted their gods.”

Blethry slapped his forehead with the flat of his hand. “I should’ve thought of that,” he said. “I’ve heard the Westfolk calling on them, now that you mention it. Worms and slimes, I’m just so tired today.”

“No doubt, and you have my profound sympathy.”