“My name is Carra, and this is Nedd, who’s sort of my servant but not really, and Thunder and Lightning.”
The dogs thumped their tails; Nedd bobbed his head. The innkeep came bustling over with a big basket of warm bread for the table and a tankard of ale for her. He also brought news of roast chickens, and while he and Yraen wrangled about how many there’d be and how much they’d cost, Carra had a brief chance to study the silver daggers, though most of her attention went to Rhodry. It wasn’t just because of his good looks; she simply couldn’t puzzle out how old he was. At times he would grin and look no older than she; at others, melancholy would settle into his eyes and play on his face like a fever, and it would seem that he must be a hundred years old at the least, to have earned such sadness.
“Innkeep?” Rhodry said. “Bring some scraps for the lady’s dogs, will you?”
“I will. We butchered a sheep yesterday. Plenty of spleen and suchlike left.”
Carra gave the man a copper for his trouble. Yraen drew his dagger and began to cut the bread in rough chunks.
“And where is my lady bound for?” His voice was dark and rough, but reassuringly normal all the same.
“I . . . um, well . . . to the west, actually. To visit kin.”
Yraen grinned and raised an eyebrow, but he handed her a chunk of bread without comment. Even though Carra told herself that she was daft to trust these men, she suddenly felt safe, and for the first time in weeks. When Rhodry took some bread, she noticed that he was wearing a ring, a flat silver band graved with roses. She was startled enough to stare.
“It’s a nice bit of jewelry, isn’t it?” Rhodry said.
“It is, but forgive me if I was rude. I just happen to have some jewelry with roses on it myself. I mean, they’re very differently done, and the metal’s different, too, but it just seemed odd . . . ” She felt suddenly tongue-tied and let her voice trail away.
Rhodry passed Nedd the bread. For a few minutes they all ate in an awkward silence until Carra felt she simply had to say something.
“Where are you two going, if you don’t mind me asking, anyway?”
“Up north, Cengarn way,” Yraen said. “We’ve got a hire, you see, though he’s barricaded himself in a woodshed for the night. Doesn’t trust the innkeep, doesn’t trust us, for all that he’s hired us as guards. Calls himself a merchant, but I’ve got my doubts, I have. However he earns his keep, he’s a rotten-tempered little bastard, and I’m sick to my heart of his ways.”
“Your own temper at the moment lacks a certain sunny sweetness itself.” Rhodry was grinning. “Our Otho’s carrying gems, and a lot of them, and it’s making him wary and even nastier than he usually is, which is saying a great deal. But we took his hire because it may lead to better things. I was thinking that maybe Gwerbret Cadmar up on the border might have need of us. He’s got a rough sort of rhan to rule.”
“Is that Cadmar of Cengarn?”
“It is. I take it you’ve heard of him?”
“My . . . well, a friend of mine’s mentioned Cengarn once or twice. It’s to the west of here, isn’t it?”
“More to the north, maybe, but somewhat west. Think your kin might have ridden that way?”
“They might have.” She busied herself with brushing imaginary crumbs off her shirt.
“What did this man of yours do?” Rhodry’s voice hovered between sympathy and a certain abstract anger. “Get you with child and then leave you?”
“How did you know?” She looked up, blushing hard, feeling tears gathering.
“It’s not exactly a new story, lass.”
“But he said he’d come back.”
“They all do,” Yraen murmured to his tankard.
“But he gave me—” She hesitated, her hand half-consciously clutching at her shirt, where the pendant hung hidden, “Well, he gave me a token.”
When Rhodry held out his hand, she debated for a long moment.
“We’re not thieves, lass,” Rhodry said, and so gently that she believed him.
She reached round her neck to unclasp the chain and take the token out. It was an enormous sapphire as blue as the winter sea, set in a pendant of reddish-gold, some three inches across and ornamented with golden roses in bas relief. When they saw it, Rhodry whistled under his breath and Yraen swore aloud. Nedd scooted a little closer to look.
“Ye gods!” Yraen said. “It’s a good thing you keep this hidden. It’s worth a fortune.”
“A king’s ransom, and I mean that literally.” Rhodry was studying it as closely as he could in the uncertain light, and he muttered a few words in the language of the Westfolk before he went on. “Once this belonged to Ranadar of the High Mountain, the last true king the Westfolk ever had, and it’s been passed down through his descendants for over a thousand years. When your Dar’s kin find out he’s given it to you, lass, they’re going to beat him black and blue.”
“You know him? You must know him!”
“I do.” Rhodry handed the jewel back. “Any man who knows the Westfolk knows Daralanteriel. Did he tell you who he is?”
Busy with clasping the pendant, she shook her head no.
“As much of a Marked Prince as the Westfolk will ever have. The heir to what throne there is, which isn’t much, being as his kingdom lies in ruins in the far, far west.”
She started to laugh, a nervous giggle of sheer disbelief.
“Kingdom?” Yraen broke in. “I never heard of the Westfolk having any kingdom.”
“Of course you haven’t.” Rhodry suddenly grinned. “And that’s because you’ve never gotten to know the Westfolk or listened to what they’ve got to say. A typical Round-ear, that’s you, Yraen.”
“You’re having one of your jests on me.”
“I’m not.” But the way he was smiling made him hard to believe. “It’s the solemn truth.”
To her horror Carra found that she couldn’t stop giggling, that her giggles were rising to an hysterical laugh. The dogs whined, pressing close to her, nudging at her hands while Nedd swung his head Rhodry’s way and growled like a wolf. The silver dagger seemed to notice him for the first time.
“Nedd, his name is?” Rhodry spoke to Carra. “I don’t suppose he has an uncle or suchlike named Perryn.”
“His grandfather, actually.” At last she managed to choke her laughter down enough to answer. “A priest of Kerun.”
Rhodry sat stock-still, and in the dancing firelight it seemed he’d gone pale.
“And what’s so wrong with you?” Yraen poked him on the shoulder.
“Naught.” Rhodry turned, waving at the innkeep. “More ale, will you? A man could die of thirst in your wretched tavern.”
Not only did the man bring more ale but his wife trotted over with roast fowl and greens and more bread, a feast to Carra after her long weeks on the road, and to the silver daggers as well, judging from the way they fell upon the meal. In the lack of conversation Carra found herself studying Rhodry. His table manners were those of a courtly man, one far more gracious than any lord she’d ever seen at her brother’s table. Every now and then she caught him looking her way with an expression that she simply couldn’t puzzle out. Sometimes he seemed afraid of her, at others weary—she decided at length that in her exhaustion she was imagining things, because she could think of no reason that a battle-hardened stiver dagger would be afraid of one tired lass, and her pregnant at that. Once she’d eaten, though, her exhaustion lifted enough for her to focus at last on one of his earlier comments.
“You know Dar.” She said it so abruptly that he looked up, startled. “Where is he? Will you tell me?”
“If I knew for certain, I would, but I haven’t seen him in years, and he’s off to the north with his alar’s herds somewhere, I suppose.” Rhodry paused for a sip of ale. “Listen, lass, if you’re with child, then you’re his wife. Do you realize that? Not some deserted woman, but his wife. The Westfolk see things a good bit differently t
han Deverry men.”
The tears came, spilling down before she could stop them. Whining, the dogs laid their heads in her lap. Without thinking she threw her arms around Thunder and let him lick the tears away while she wept. Dimly she was aware of Yraen talking, and of the sounds of a bench being moved about. When at last she looked up, he was gone and the innkeep with him, but Rhodry still sat across from her, slouching onto one elbow and drinking his ale.
“My apologies,” she sniveled. “I’ve just been so frightened, wondering if he really would ever want to see me again.”
“Oh, he will. He’s a good lad, for all that he’s so young, and I think me you can trust him.” Rhodry grinned suddenly. “Well, I’d say he’s a cursed sight more trustworthy than I was at his age, but that, truly, wouldn’t be saying much. If naught else, Carra, his kin will take you in the moment you find them—ye gods, any alar would! You don’t truly realize it yet, do you? That child you’re carrying is as royal as any prince up in Dun Deverry. You’ve got the token to prove it, too. Don’t you worry, now. We’ll find him.”
“We?”
“We. You’ve just hired yourself a silver dagger to escort you to your new home—well, once we get Otho to Cengarn, but that’s on the way and all.” He looked away, and he seemed as old as the rocks in the mountains, as weary as the rivers themselves. “Whether Yraen’s daft enough to ride with me, I don’t know. For his sake, I hope he isn’t.”
“But I can’t pay you.”
“Oh, if I needed paying, Dar’s alar would see to it. Here, you still look half out of your mind with fear.”
“Well, it’s just all been so awful.” She sniffed hard, choking back tears. “Realizing I was pregnant, and then running away and wondering if maybe Dar had just up and left me behind like men do. And then I met Nedd’s grandfather, and truly, that was strange enough on its own, and then we just stumble in here like this, and here you are, telling me all these strange things, and I’ve never seen you before or anything. It’s so odd, finding someone who knows Dar, out of the blue like this, that I . . . ” She paused, blushing on the edge of calling him a liar.
“Odd, truly, but not some bizarre coincidence. It’s my Wyrd, Carra, and maybe yours, too, but no man can say what another’s Wyrd may be. Wyrd, and the dweomer that Wyrd brings with it—I can smell it all round us.”
“You look frightened, too.”
“I am. You’re carrying my death with you.”
Nedd, who’d been close to asleep, snapped up his head to stare. Carra tried to speak but could only stammer. Rhodry laughed, a long berserker’s howl, and pledged her with his tankard.
“I don’t hold it against you, mind. I’ve loved many a woman in my day, but none as much as I love my lady Death. I know what you’re going to ask, Carra—I’m drunk, sure enough, but not so drunk that I’m talking nonsense. Indulge me, my lady, since I’ve just pledged my life to you and all that, and let me talk awhile. I’ve lived a good bit longer than you might think, and every now and then I get to looking back, like old men will, and I can see now that I’ve never loved anyone as much as her. Once I thought I loved honor, but honor’s just another name for my lady Death, because sooner or later, as sure as sure, a man’s honor will lead him to her bed.” Abruptly he leaned onto the table. “Do you believe in sorcery, Carra? In the dweomer, and those who know its ways?”
“Well, sort of. I mean, I wouldn’t know, but you hear all those things—”
“Some of them are true. I know it, you see. I know it deep in my heart, and it’s a harsh and bitter knowing in its way.” He gave her a lopsided grin that made him look like a lad of twenty. “Do you think I’m mad?”
“Not truly, but a bit daft—I can’t deny that.”
“You’re a practical sort of lass, and you’ll need to be.” He finished the ale in his tankard, then refilled it from the flagon with an unsteady hand. “There’s only been one woman in my whole life that I’ve loved as much as I love the lady Death, but she loved the dweomer more than me. It’s enough to drive any man daft, that. Be that as it may, she told me a prophecy once. Run where you will, Rhodry, said she, but the dweomer will catch you in the end. Or somewhat like that. It was years ago now, and I don’t quite remember her exact words. But I do remember how I felt while she was speaking, that she was telling me the truth and naught more, and somehow I knew that when the time came and my Wyrd sprang upon me, I’d feel its claws sink deep, and I’d know that my lady Death was getting ready to accept me at last for the true lover I’ve been, all these long years. And while you were telling me your tale, I felt those claws bite. Soon I’ll lie with her at last, though it’s a cold and narrow bed we’ll share, my lady and me.”
Nedd was asleep in the straw with the dogs. In the hearth the fire was dying down, throwing a cloak of shadows over Rhodry’s face. With a wrench of will Carra got up and went to the hearth to put on more wood. She felt so cold at heart that she wanted the heat as much as the light. As the fire blazed up, she heard him moving behind her and turned just as he knelt in the straw at her feet.
“Will you take me into your service, my lady?”
“What? Of course I will. I mean, I don’t have a lot of choice, do I? Since you know Dar and all.”
“A very practical lass.” He grinned at her and rose, dusting off the knees of his filthy brigga as if it would make a difference. “Good. Nedd! Wake up! Escort your lady to her elegant chambers, will you? And make sure you stand a good guard tonight, because I feel trouble riding for all of us with an army at its back.”
Drunk as he was, he made her a graceful bow, then wove his way out of the tavern room. Nedd got up, signaling to the dogs to join him.
“What do you think of that silver dagger, Nedd? Do you like him?”
Nedd nodded his head yes.
“Even though he’s half-mad?”
Nedd pursed his lips and thought. Finally he shrugged the question away and went to open the door for her with a clumsy imitation of Rhodry’s bow. As she followed him out to the stables, Carra was both thinking that she’d never wanted to be a queen and wishing that she felt more like one.
Early on the morrow Yraen woke them by the simple expedient of standing under the hayloft and yelling. As they all walked back to the tavern for breakfast, he announced that he was riding north with them.
“Against my better judgment, I might add. First we take on this cursed little silversmith, and now our Rhodry starts babbling about Wyrd and dweomer and prophecies and the gods only know what else! He’s mad, if you ask me, as daft as a bard, and he drinks harder than any man I’ve ever seen, and that’s a fair bit, if you take my meaning, not that he shows his drink the way an ordinary man would, but anyway, I know blasted well I should be riding back east and finding some other hire, but when he gets to talking—” He shook his head like a baffled bear. “So I’m coming along, for all that he warned me I’ll probably die if I do. I must be as daft as he is.”
In the morning light Carra had the chance for a good look at him. He was a handsome man, Yraen, at least in the abstract, with regular features and a mane of thick golden hair to match his mustaches, but his ice-blue eyes were as cold and hard as the iron of the joke that stood him for a name. The dogs and Nedd watched him with a cold suspicion of their own.
“Have you known Rhodry long?” Carra said.
“We’ve ridden together this four years now.”
“You know, neither of you seem like the sort of men who usually turn into silver daggers.”
“I suppose you mean that well.” Yraen was scowling, but in an oddly abstract way. “Look, my lady, no offense and all that, but asking a silver dagger questions isn’t such a pleasant thing—for both sides, if you take my meaning.”
Since she did, Carra held her tongue against a rising tide of curiosity. Inside the tavern room Rhodry was sitting cross-legged on the floor under a window, shaving with a long steel razor and a bit of mirror propped against the wall.
“Be done straightaway,” Rhodry said. “Yraen, get the lady some bread and milk, will you? The innkeep’s drunk in his kitchen again, and she’s got to keep up her strength and all that.”
With a growl like a dog, however, Nedd insisted on being the one to wait upon his lady.
“I’ve been thinking,” Yraen said abruptly. “If the point of this daft adventure is finding our lady her man, why don’t we just ride straight west?”
“You’re forgetting Otho.”
“True enough, and that’s my point. I want to forget Otho. Can’t we give him his coin back?”
“We still couldn’t just ride west. The grasslands are huge, and there aren’t any roads, and we could wander out there for months till we starved to death.” Still a bit damp, Rhodry joined them at table just as Nedd and the bleary innkeep appeared with bread and bacon. “Cadmar of Cengarn buys horses from the Westfolk, and so we’re bound to find some of the People there—well, they’ll show up sooner or later, anyway. And then we can pass the message along, that Dar’s wife is waiting for him under the gwerbret’s protection.”
“Sounds too easy. You’re hiding somewhat, Rhodry.”
“I’m not. I’ve got no idea, none at all, of what might happen.”
“Then what’s all this babbling about Wyrd and dweomer?”
Rhodry shrugged, tearing bread with his long and graceful fingers.
“If I knew more, I’d tell you more.” He looked up with a sunny and inappropriate grin hovering round his mouth. “But that’s why I warned you earlier. Leave Otho if you want—leave us all. Ride east, and don’t give me or mine another thought.”
Yraen merely snarled and speared a chunk of bacon with an expensive-looking table dagger. At that point Carra heard someone swearing and cursing at the innkeep. The dogs laid back long ears and swung their heads toward the sound as the voice rose into a veritable litany of oaths, a bard’s memory chain of venom, a lexicon of filth. Rhodry jumped up and yelled.
“Hold your tongue! There’s a lady present.”
Snorting inarticulately under his breath a man came stumping into the room. He was only about five feet tall, but built as thickly and strongly as a miniature blacksmith, though his walk was stiff and slow. Since his hair and long beard were snow-white, it might have been mere age that was stiffening him, but from Rhodry’s talk of the night before Carra suspected that his heavy leather jerkin hid sewn jewels. He was also wearing a short sword at one hip and a long knife at the other.
Deverry #06 - The Westlands 02 - A Time of Omens Page 37
