As we wandered down Dun Trebyc’s winding main street, Waryn did the asking and soon found out that the Prancing Ram stood down by the river road. The twisted narrow streets in that district soon turned into alleys, scattered here and there with rubbish and garbage, more typical of most cities and towns. The tavern itself leaned a few feet from the vertical. Smoke-stained thatch covered the roof, and none of the windows held glass.
“Mistress?” Waryn said. “Do you really think you should go in there?”
“From what the priest told me, I’d say it’s safe enough. I doubt me if the silver daggers are going to ruin their reputation and their livelihood by robbing an old woman.”
And risking a good bite or three, Cathvar said.
Although the tavern room looked battered, with stained, chipped walls and tables and benches that leaned in various directions, it was surprisingly clean, with fresh straw on the floor and an innkeep dressed in unstained clothes and leather apron. He came bustling over to greet us at the door.
“Er, ah,” he said, “I’m not sure if you—”
“I wish to hire a pair of silver daggers,” I said. “I need guards for a journey.”
He smiled. “Well, then, you are indeed in the right place.”
Over by the hearth stood a table that looked sturdier than most. At its head in an actual chair sat a man with scant gray hair, a gray beard, and only one ear. Where the other should have been he had a thick clot of scar tissue. Two young men sat on the benches, one to his left, one to his right. As I approached, the graybeard got up and bowed. When the others didn’t move, he snarled a few words at them. They rose and bowed.
“Good morrow,” I said. “I need to travel to Haen Marn down in Pyrdon. I’m told I’d best hire an escort if I’m to get there safely.”
“Quite so.” Gray Beard pulled out his chair and offered it to me. “I’d say you’d best hire two guards, and I’m not merely saying that for the coin.”
“The priest of Wmm told me the same thing, good sir.”
We all sat down, Waryn and Cathvar on the floor. The innkeep came over with a small glass stoup of pale Bardek wine, a gift, which I accepted. While I had a sip, I considered the two silver daggers at the table. The older fellow introduced them. Ddary, a pale, skinny young man with gray eyes set too close together and a sharp nose, had a couple of fingers missing from his left hand. Benoic, tall and dark-haired, would have been a good-looking man if it weren’t for the barely suppressed simmer of rage in his dark eyes. His posture, so tense and watchful, reminded me of Cathvar when he was about to spring on prey. When I used a bit of the Sight, I saw red streaks and glimmers dancing in both of their auras. Benoic’s had a core of gold, as well, something of a surprise in the aura of a dishonored man.
“Both are good men in a scrap,” Gray Beard said. “I’ve fought with them, and I can attest that.”
“I’m hoping that having them along will mean there won’t be any scraps,” I said. “But that may be too much to hope for.”
“True spoken, alas. Now, since you’re heading west, this time of year a good many merchants head out to trade with the Westfolk. If you can find a caravan over in Cennyn, I suggest you join up with them. Since you’ll have your own guards, you’ll be doubly safe that way.”
“That’s sound advice.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’ve done what I can do here.”
Since I wanted to hide how much gold I was carrying, I made a great show of haggling over the price. We finally settled for a silver piece a week with provisioning at my expense. Benoic owned a packhorse as well as a mount. I handed him a silver piece to load it up with oats for all the horses in our little caravan, then returned to the Red Rose.
Just at dawn, our two silver daggers showed up with their riding mounts and laden packhorse. It took some time for me to work the dweomer—Pyr’s spell, it’s called—that calmed the horses and convinced them that Cathvar would do them no harm but, in the end, each horse touched noses with the leopard, snorted once or twice, and took little notice of him from then on. The silver daggers watched, amazed.
“I don’t suppose,” Benoic said, “that you’d tell me how you did that.”
“Would you tell me why you came to ride the long road?”
He laughed and made me a half-bow. “I understand, good dame. No more questions from me, I assure you.”
He had decent manners, Benoic, not courtly, mind, nothing that would have marked him as noble-born, but he must have come from a good family, a well-off merchant clan, perhaps. Ddary, on the other hand—he was never downright rude, but things like a bow or a pleasantry lay beyond him.
They were further amazed when they saw that Cathvar had his own horse. Strong as the leopard was, he could never have traveled a steady fifteen miles a day on his own four paws. Old Dee, as we called him, a black with a white star on his forehead, came from broad-backed plowhorse stock. Rather than an ordinary saddle, he carried a contraption of leather and thick quilted wool pads, shaped rather like a gravy boat, that allowed Cathvar to ride securely without his claws digging into Old Dee’s back.
For several days we traveled southwest on the decent road that brought us to Cennyn. The little town sat behind walls on the crest of a low hill. At the foot of the hill a ramshackle village spread out along the road to cater to the merchant caravans that camped there before the trip west. Beyond Cennyn lay a range of higher hills that marked the border of the central province of Deverry with the western province of Pyrdon. The road and a decent pass ran through them and down to Dun Drw.
Once we rode within sight of the town, we saw horses and mules grazing in meadows to either side of the road, a sign of at least two caravans. Both had set up tents, odd, considering that they normally stayed no more than a day or two in Cennyn. We found out the reason when we arrived at the only inn in the village at the foot of the hill.
“Bandits,” the innkeep told us. “Harrying travelers in the pass, they were. Our Lord Avy’s gone after them with his warband. No one wants to travel through until he does summat about them.”
I groaned aloud. Sitting around Cennyn with a pair of silver daggers for company struck me as a tedious prospect. Cathvar growled under his breath, and Waryn sighed.
“Howsomever,” the innkeep continued, “one of the merchants, he’s an impatient man. He told me he’s going to lead his men out on the morrow to turn south and head over Eldidd way. I’ll introduce you, if you’d like.”
“I would.” I handed over a couple of coppers. “That’ll be the pass at Bryn Tamig, I suppose.”
“Right you are.” He pocketed the coins.
I felt rather than saw Benoic stiffen. Cathvar turned his head to consider him.
Fear, Cathvar told me. I can smell it on him.
“Benno!” Ddary snapped. “You can’t spend the rest of your cursed life avoiding the place. This hire’s a good one, and you can’t desert the lady, anyway.”
Benoic scowled at him but said nothing. Ddary walked some distance away, and Benoic followed him. They stood arguing in a corner of the innyard while I haggled with the innkeep for a night’s shelter. They returned to carry our gear upstairs.
“Is somewhat wrong?” I said to Benoic.
“There’s not.” He spat the words out. “If we go south, we go south.”
“Well and good, then.” I could guess that Bryn Tamig had something to do with the dishonor that had earned him the silver dagger. “Now, Waryn will share a chamber with you lads, but Cathvar will come with me.”
The moment smoothed out, but for the rest of that day, Benoic said barely two words to anyone.
The innkeep earned his coppers at the evening meal by introducing me to Graun, a short, barrel-chested merchant from Arcodd province. He was more than willing to let us travel with his caravan.
“Now
, Lord Avy’s a good man,” Graun said. “I’ve no doubt he’ll put an end to these bandits once he finds them. It’s the finding that could take half the summer. I can’t afford to sit here and miss the big horse fair near Haen Marn.”
“You’re going all the way to Haen Marn? So am I!”
“Splendid! You’ll be welcome, good dame, and your silver daggers, too.” He paused to look Cathvar over. “Er, I take it he’s tame?”
“Very. Most well-mannered.”
“Good, good. Then all should be well.”
In the morning, however, it took me a fair while to introduce Cathvar to Graun’s long line of mules and horses. My silver daggers grinned as Graun and his muleteers watched, amazed and a little frightened. After that, the muleteers made the sign of warding against witchcraft every time I passed by them.
For our long ride down to Bryn Tamig, the weather held mostly warm and pleasant, marred now and then by a brief spring shower. Cathvar grumbled mightily about the rain. Just like a house cat, he hated being wet. Fortunately, I was the only person who could hear his constant whining and snarling every time the sky dripped on him. Most of the men ignored the weather, thanks to the general good cheer among them. They’d been spared a dangerous journey through an area known for murderous thieves.
The only exception was Benoic. The closer we got to the town, the darker his mood became. On our last evening before we reached it, young Waryn had a chance to speak with me alone while the silver daggers were tending our horses and Cathvar was off hunting his dinner in the hedgerows and coppices.
“Mistress,” Waryn said, “the muleteers told me that the Bryn Tamig pass is haunted.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. A long time ago there were slavers taking travelers on the roads around there, but the local gwerbret caught and slaughtered them all. That’s why it’s called ‘tamig.’ But don’t you worry. They can’t hurt us now. They’re dead.”
“Well and good, then. But do you think Benoic’s afraid of the ghosts?”
“Because of the way he’s brooding? I think he’s dreading seeing some real flesh and blood person, someone who knows of his dishonor.”
“Oh. It’s a hard thing, being a silver dagger. I forgot about that.”
“Benoic can never forget it. So don’t blame him for his black moods.”
Of course, nattering old woman that I am, by then I was thoroughly curious about the reason he was riding the long road. Unfortunately, I found out in a way that caused the lad a great deal of pain.
Round noon on the morrow our caravan reached the walls of the town of Bryn Tamig, nestled between two foothills on the eastern side of the pass. Graun the caravanmaster paid over some taxes to the town guards for the right to camp on a broad common just inside the east gate. Since big white clouds were sailing in from the north, the muleteers unloaded their stock and stacked up the packs under rough canvas shelters. I’d had quite enough of sleeping on damp ground and told my silver daggers that I was going to find an inn.
“You’re quite welcome to come with me at my expense,” I said. “We need to buy provisions, too.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Benoic began.
“Oh, by the black hairy—” Ddary caught himself with a sideways glance my way. “Umph, well, don’t tell me you’re going to hide out here like a rabbit!”
Benoic’s face turned bright red, and his eyes narrowed with rage. Ddary set his hands on his hips and looked at him, his mouth twisted with disgust. Young men! Benoic couldn’t take the charge of cowardice, I suppose.
“Oh, very well,” Benoic said. “Lead on, good dame!”
So we rode into town and found an inn that was respectable enough, just barely, two stories built around a circular courtyard—humans on one side, horses on the other. I hired two reasonably clean chambers, and the men stowed our gear. I’d planned on letting Ddary and Benoic go down to the stables to bargain for oats from the stableman, but Cathvar stopped me.
I smell danger, he said. But not to you or me or our lad.
Had I best go down with them?
You should, and I will, too.
So we all trooped down together and found the stableman more than willing to sell us oats at a reasonable price. I’d expected to haggle. Perhaps it was the way Cathvar glared at him the entire time that made him so generous.
“Well, lads,” I said to my silver daggers, “I can give you some of your wages if you’d like to have a tankard. I see that this inn sports a tavern room.”
Ddary grinned and held out his hand, but Benoic stood silently, his thumbs hooked over his sword belt. He was looking across the innyard, I realized, at a man who was just dismounting from a blood-bay Western Hunter. He was a tall young man, dressed in the tartan knee breeches, leather vest, and embroidered linen shirt of the noble-born. At his side he carried an elven finesword in a scabbard of pale Bardek leather. His boots were of the same and set with silver buckles on the side. He threw the reins of his horse to the stableman, turned, and saw Benoic. He sneered and spat on the ground. Benoic stiffened and laid a hand on his sword hilt.
The lordling strolled over. “I’m surprised you’ve got the gall to ride into this town,” he said.
Cathvar growled and took a step toward him. The lordling yelped, then flushed with embarrassment.
“What’s this?” he snapped. “Can’t be a dog.”
I took the chance to intervene. “He’s a leopard from the eastern lands. A species of large cat.”
“Ah.” The lordling recovered his composure and made a half-bow my way. “Are you the one who’s hired this silver dagger? If so, good dame, watch your coin. He’s been caught thieving once.”
Ddary moved so fast that it took me a moment to realize why. He grabbed Benoic’s sword arm and hauled him back before Benoic could draw his blade.
“I’m in no mood to see you hang,” Ddary muttered. “Let it pass, Benno!”
Benoic took a deep breath. “That’s a false charge, my lord Aeryn,” he said. “If it had been true, I’d have only one hand.”
“Huh! You mean, if they’d been able to prove it.”
Ddary grabbed Benoic a second time and pulled him a couple of steps farther away. I stepped in front of the lordling and sent a line of etheric force to his aura. “My dear sir,” I said. “Perhaps if your lordship could be so kind as to let the matter drop?” I curtsied to him while I gave his aura a good spin.
“Of course, good dame.” Aeryn shook his head and yawned. “My apologies. Unpleasantness. Must mind courtesies in front of a lady.” He staggered off to the tavern room as unsteadily as if he’d already drunk his fill.
Ddary nearly ruined everything by laughing aloud, but luckily Aeryn didn’t notice. “You are a handy sort of woman to know,” Ddary remarked. “Come along, Benno. You go upstairs to our chamber. I’ll buy a flagon and bring it up.”
“Splendid idea!” I said. “You all go up. See if they have Bardek wine, Ddary. I wouldn’t mind a wee drop of summat myself.”
Ddary, Benoic, and Waryn all followed my orders. Cathvar and I walked over to the stableman, who’d been watching all this while clinging to the reins of Lord Aeryn’s horse.
“Do you know aught about this matter?” I said to him. “I could have sworn that Aeryn was hoping Benoic would draw on him.”
“So could I, good dame. It chilled my blood, it did. Don’t want no bloodshed in my innyard! All I know is that young Benoic there got turned out of our local lord’s warband last summer. That be Lord Marc, not that young popinjay you just met. Lord Aeryn’s betrothed to Marc’s daughter, but he comes here for one of the tavern lasses, you see, who doesn’t mind earning a bit of coin on her back.”
“Indeed?” I fished in my pouch and brought out some coppers. “That’s very interesting.”
He paused to glance around and make sure he couldn’t be overheard. “There
was ever so much gossip about the affair at the time. Benoic was accused of stealing from the lord’s daughter, but no one believed it.”
“Didn’t they now?” I handed over the coin. “Did they have someone else in mind?”
“Well, who else would have been in her chamber but her betrothed? I—” He broke off and bowed to me. “My thanks, good dame. I’ll have oats sacked and ready for your men on the morrow morn.”
I turned round to take my leave of him and saw Lord Aeryn and a blowsy blonde lass just leaving the tavern room. She was giggling because he had his hand on her buttocks. When he saw me, he had the decency to blush. I nodded, Cathvar flicked his tail, and we hurried upstairs.
The pair of chambers joined with an open doorway. In theirs, Ddary and Benoic were arguing, or rather, Benoic was snarling at his fellow while Ddary tried to calm him down. Waryn hovered nearby, watching open-mouthed.
“Why in the names of the gods did you think I wanted to stay away from here?” Benoic was saying. “One of these days I’ll kill that stinking little bastard. I dream about it, spitting him like a chicken.”
“And they’ll hang you if you do,” Ddary said.
“I don’t care. It’s the honor of the thing!”
“Silver daggers don’t have any honor, you dolt!”
“It’d still be worth it just to watch him bleed.”
“Now, now,” I said. “You wouldn’t think so when they were putting the rope around your neck.”
Benoic crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me, but he stayed silent.
“You can go down to the tavern now, Ddary,” I said. “Lord Aeryn’s taken his doxy off to the hayloft. Waryn, our things are in the other chamber. Find our drinking cups. I’m afraid I can’t remember where I packed them.”
In your saddlebags, Cathvar said.
Sword of Fire Page 42
