“Don’t you yell at me, you misbegotten silver dagger,” Otho said, but levelly enough. “The day I take orders from a cursed elf is the day I curl my toes to heaven and gasp my last. I . . . ”
He saw Carra and stopped, his mouth slacking, his eyes misting with tears.
“My lady,” he whispered “Oh! My lady.”
He knelt before her and grabbed her hand to kiss it like a courtier. Carra sat stunned while Rhodry and Yraen goggled. All at once Otho blushed scarlet, jumped to his feet, and made a noisy show of blowing his nose on a bit of old rag.
“Uh, well now,” Otho snapped. “Don’t know what came over me, like, lass. My apologies. Thought you were someone else, just for a minute there. Humph. Well. Forgive me, will you? Just going outside.”
He rushed out before anyone could say a word, leaving all of them stunned and silent for a good couple of minutes. Finally Yraen sighed with an explosive puff of breath.
“All right, Rhodry lad. Dweomer it is, and Wyrd, too, for all I know about it. I’m not arguing with you anymore.”
After Rhodry settled up with the innkeep, they rode out, heading straight north on the hard-packed dirt road that would, or so the villagers promised, eventually lead them to Cengarn and Gwerbret Cadmar. The road here ran through farms, stretching pale gold with the ripening crop of winter wheat, but to the north, like a smudge of storm clouds, hung a dark line of hills and forests. All morning the line swelled, and the land rose steadily toward it, till by the time they stopped to rest the horses and eat their midday meal, they could see waves and billows of land and trees at the horizon.
“How are you faring, lass?” Otho asked as he helped her dismount. “Our Rhodry tells me you’re with child.”
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine. You don’t need to hover over me, you know. I’m not very far along at all.”
“If you say so. I just wish we had a woman of the People with us someone who knew about these female matters.”
“I’m doing splendidly.”
Yet, when Carra sat down in a soft patch of grass, she was surprised at how good it felt to be out of the saddle and still. She’d learned to ride at three, clinging to her brother’s pony, spent half her life riding, but now she found herself tired after a morning in the saddle. She decided that she hated being pregnant, married or not. Thunder and Lightning lopped down on either side of her with vast canine sighs. When Nedd hurried, off to fetch her water and food, Otho sat down as if on. guard.
“If I’m truly a queen now,” she said, “the dogs must be my men at arms, and Nedd my equerry. Do you want to be my high councillor, Otho? I wonder if I’ll get any serving women; maybe we should have taken some of his holiness’s cats along for that.”
Otho frowned in drought, pretending to take the game seriously.
“Well, Your Grace,” he said at last. “I’d rather be your chief craftsman, in charge of building your great hall, like.”
“Truly, the one we’ve got now is rather drafty.” She waved one arm, round at the scenery. “Let me see, who’ll be councillor. Well, it can’t be Rhodry, because he’s daft. I know—I need a sorcerer! An aged sorcerer like in the tales. Aren’t there tales like that? About marvelous dweomermasters who turn up just when you need them?”
Otho turned a little pale, She could have sworn that he was terrified, but she couldn’t imagine why. Suddenly troubled herself, she looked up at the sky.
“Do you see that bird circling up there?” She pointed to a distant black shape. “Is it a raven?”
“Looks like it. Why?”
“I’ve been seeing it all morning, that’s all. Oh, I’m just being silly. Of course there’s lots of ravens . . . ” She let her voice trail away, because Otho was staring up, shading his deep-pouched eyes with one hand, and within the welter of dirty beard his mouth was set and grim.
“What’s so wrong?” Rhodry strolled over, a chunk of cheese in his hand.
“Maybe naught,” Otho said. “But that’s one blasted big raven, isn’t it?”
Just as he spoke, the bird broke and flew, flapping with a harsh cry off to the west, just as if it knew it had been spotted. Otho tossed his head to shake the sun from his eyes.
“You a good hand with a hunting bow, silver dagger? You’re the one who used to ride with the Westfolk.”
“True spoken, and my heart yearns for a longbow now.”
Suddenly cold, Carra stood up just as Nedd and Yraen hurried over. “Was there somewhat strange about that raven?” she said.
“Maybe. You’ve got sharp eyes, lass, and I think me you’re going to need them.”
“Wow, wait.” Yraen sounded exasperated. “A bird’s a bird, big or not.”
“Unless it’s a sorcerer.” Rhodry grinned at him. “What would you say if I told you that some dweomermen can turn themselves into birds and fly?”
“I’d say that you were even dafter than I thought.”
“Then I won’t tell you. It’s still not too late for you to go back.”
“Will you hold your tongue about that?”
“Well and good, then, because you’ve been warned three times now, and that’s all that the laws and the gods can ask of me.”
That afternoon, when they rode on north, Carra kept a nervous watch for the raven, but she saw only normal birds of several kinds, flying about on some avian business. Every time she saw a raven or a crow, she would tell herself that Rhodry’s talk of shape-changers was his madness speaking at worst or some daft jest at best.
The land kept rising, and the road turned snaky, winding through the low places and crossing a couple of small streams. Just at sunset they topped a low rise and saw, some two or three miles ahead, a wild forest spreading out across hill and valley. Between them and the verge, as dark as shadows, stood a village huddling behind a staked palisade. Yraen muttered something foul under his breath.
“Don’t like the looks of that, Rhodry. That wall’s new built.”
“So it is. We’d best hurry before they shut us out for the night.”
In spite of the fortifications, the village was hospitable enough. Although Carra was expecting the farmers to stare at Otho or at least comment on his small stature, they acted as if he were nothing out of the ordinary at all. The blacksmith let them stable their horses in his shed, and a farm wife was glad to feed them for a few coppers and let them sleep in her hayloft for a couple more. Half the village crowded into her house to talk to the strangers, too, and warn them.
“Bandits on the roads,” said the blacksmith. “Never had bandits round here before. We sent a lad off to Gwerbret Cadmar to beg for help, and his grace sent word back that he was trying his best to wipe the scum out. Told us we’d better put up some kind of wall until he did.”
“Sounds like we might find a hire in Cengarn,” Rhodry said. “He might need extra men.”
“Most like.” The blacksmith paused, looking Carra over. “What are you doing on the roads, lass?”
Carra opened her mouth to blurt the truth, but Rhodry got in first.
“She rides with me,” he snarled, and quite believably. “Anything wrong with that?”
“Since I’m not her father, I don’t have a word to say about it, lad. Now let’s not have any trouble, like.”
“Save it for the bandits, Rhodry,” Yraen put in with a sigh. “How wide is the forest, anyway? Traveling from south to north, I mean.”
“Oh, let’s see.” The blacksmith rubbed his chin. “I’ve never been north, myself. But it stretches a fair ways. Then you come to some more farming country, and then forest again. Cengarn’s right up in the hills. Lot of trade comes through Cengarn.”
“Trade?” Carra said, startled. “With the Westfolk?”
“Them, too, lass.” The blacksmith gave Otho a conspiratorial wink. “I take it she’s never ridden our way before. I think the lass is in for a surprise or two.”
The hayloft turned out to be quite big enough for all of t
hem, though Nedd insisted on piling up a barrier of hay to give Carra a bit of privacy in one curve of the wall. Before she went to this improvised bower, she asked Rhodry outright why he’d lied to the blacksmith.
“Because the truth could be dangerous, that’s why. Bandits have been known to hold important people for ransom.”
“Important . . . ”
“Carra, believe me. The Westfolk would hand over every fine horse they own to ransom Dar’s wife and heir, to say naught of that bit of jewelry you’re carrying. From now on, just pretend you ran off with me. It’s perfectly believable.”
“The vanity of the man!” Otho said. “But women do stupid things sometimes, sure enough.”
“And men are the soul of tact?” Carra snapped.
“It’s not like you really did run off with Rhodry. This man of yours couldn’t be any worse, even if he is an elf.”
Lightning picked up her mood and growled. At the sound Thunder swung his head around and bared teeth.
“My apologies,” Otho said, and quickly. “No offense meant.”
Carra decided that as men at arms went, the dogs had much to recommend them.
In the morning, when they rode out, Rhodry and Yraen held a last conference with the blacksmith, then decided to wear the mail shirts they’d been carrying in their saddlebags. Much to Carra’s surprise, Otho produced one as well. As they followed the road into the forest, Nedd put the dogs on alert with a few hand signals; their noses would provide the best warning they could have against possible ambushes. Although she tried to keep her courage up, a few hours of this dangerous riding brought Carra an acute case of nerves. Every flicker of movement in the underbrush, every ripple of wind in the trees, every distant crack of a twig or hammer of a woodpecker, made her flinch.
Rhodry and Yraen rode in silence, as alert as the dogs. When they finally came clear of the forest, just after noon, she offered up a prayer of thanks to the Goddess. Yet, paradoxically enough, it was out in the open farmlands that the reality of their danger struck her like a blow across the face. Thanks to heavy cutting by the locals, the trees ended in a welter of stumps just at the edge of a broad valley. As they jogged their horses out into the open air, the dogs growled and threw up their heads to sniff the sudden gust of burning that greeted them. When Carra looked up, she could see a lazy drift of smoke, yellowing the sky. Circling up high flew the raven. Yraen swore—he’d seen it, too. Rhodry, oddly enough, started singing, just a few lines of some looping melody in the language of the Westfolk.
“Would that I had my good yew bow to speed an arrow to your lying heart,” he translated. “So your blood could water the tree of my revenge—but that bit isn’t really to the point, being as that cursed bird hasn’t done anything to us yet. I suspect it of having plans. What do you think, Otho?”
“I think we should turn back, that’s what.”
The raven headed off west and disappeared into the bright sun beyond the smoke.
“Normally I’d agree, but there’s a farmstead burning over there.” Rhodry rose in his stirrups and squinted across the valley. “Somebody might be still alive.”
But the gods weren’t so kind as that. At a fast jog they cut across the fields, the dogs racing to keep up, and reached the farmstead to find the fire burning itself out in a smolder of smoking thatch and glowing embers. Just at the road lay the corpse of a woman, her head half cut from her shoulders, in a blackening pool of blood. She lay on her back, her arms thrown akimbo, her stomach swollen with a late pregnancy.
“Get back!” Rhodry turned in his saddle and yelled at Carra. “Get back with the dogs!”
She wheeled her horse around, but it was too late. Mixed with the smoke hung a sweet scent, much too much like burnt meat. She pulled Gwerlas up after a few lengths, dismounted as fast as she could, and vomited into the long grass. Sick, cold, and shaking, she wiped her mouth on a pull of grass and got up, staggering back to her horse, just as the two dogs reached her. Whining, they crowded close. She let her hands rest on their necks while she stared at the sky and resolutely tried to put the sight of the murdered woman out of her mind. It was impossible.
“There, there, lass.” It was Otho, and his voice was full of soft concern. “You’ll come right in a moment.”
When she tried to answer the words stuck like lumps of vomit in her throat. Finally she decided that she’d have to face what needed facing and turned to look at the distant village. She could just see Rhodry and Yraen circling round the burning, with Nedd close behind them. She realized suddenly that if there were trapped survivors, the dogs would find them. She snapped her fingers and pointed.
“Nedd. Go to Nedd.”
They bounded off.
“Oh, well,” Carra went on. “It’s still better than marrying Lord Scraev. I’ll tell you about him sometime, Otho. You’ll laugh and laugh.”
Her voice sounded so weak and shaky to her own ears that she nearly wept. Otho laid a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder. “Tears help, lass.”
“I can’t weep. I’m a queen now. Sort of, anyway. The queens in all the old tales face this sort of thing with proud sneers or maybe a supernatural calm. Like what’s-her-name, King Maryn’s wife, when her enemies were accusing her of adultery and stuff.”
Otho’s face turned pale and oddly blank.
“Haven’t you heard that old story? Bellyra, that was it, and she stared them ail down till her witness could get there and keep them from killing her.”
“Many a time and from many a bard.”
“You know, he was a smith like you, wasn’t he? I think that’s the way the tale ran. He was her jeweler or suchlike.” Carra forced a smile. “And she wasn’t killed, and so I’ll just take that as a good omen.”
“Now listen, lass, things look dark. I won’t lie to you. But for all that I love to slang him, Rhodry ap Devaberiel’s the best swordsman in this kingdom and points beyond as well, and young Yraen’s his match. We’ll get you through to Cengarn.”
“Shouldn’t we turn back?”
“Well, the raiders left plenty of tracks. Didn’t seem to see any reason why they should cover them, like, the arrogant bastards. I’d say they’re heading south right now. No use in riding after them, is there?”
“Oh, Goddess, I wish Dar were here! I . . . hold a bit. Did you say that Rhodry’s father is one of the Westfolk? I mean, with that name—”
“He couldn’t be anything but an elf, truly. That’s what I said, all right, but I’m not saying another word about it. Rhodry’s affair, not mine.”
In a few minutes the other men, came back, Rhodry and Yraen grim, shaking their heads, Nedd dead-pale and sweating, the dogs slinking, all limp tails and ears., When they reached the body of the dead woman, Rhodry sent the others on ahead, then knelt down beside it. Carra turned her back on him and took a deep gulp of air.
“Are there more people dead?” she said, to Yraen.
“There are. Not one thing we can do for the poor bastards. Three dead men, one lad of maybe fifteen. That woman we saw first. And the child she was carrying, of course.”
“That’s all? I mean, a farm this big—usually there’s a couple of families. working it.”
“I know.” Yraen, muttered something foul under his breath before he went on. “I wonder if these bandits maybe took the other women and the children with them.”
“We’re not close enough to the coast for that.” Rhodry joined them. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What?” Carra broke in. “What are you talking about?”
“Slaves for the Bardek trade. But the bandits would have to get them all the way down to the sea, avoiding the Westfolk and Deverry men alike on the way. Can’t see them bothering.”
“Well.” Yraen rubbed the side of his face with a gauntleted hand. “They might have wanted the women for—”
“Hold your tongue!” Rhodry hit him on the shoulder. “Look what I found in the dead woman’s fingers. Sh
e must have grabbed her attacker or suchlike.”
He held out a tuft of straw-colored hair, each coarse strand about a foot long.
“Looks like horse hair to me,” Yraen said.
Nedd sniffed it, then shook his head in a vigorous no.
“There weren’t any hoofprints anywhere near her, but there were boot prints, so I think I’ll side with Nedd.” Rhodry rubbed the strands between thumb and forefinger. “The fellow might have packed his hair with lime, like the High King does—the old Dawntime way, I mean. It makes your hair turn to straw like this.”
“Oh, and I suppose you’ve been close enough to the king to tell,” Yraen muttered.
Rhodry flashed a brief grin, shot through with weariness.
“Let’s get out of here.” Nedd spoke so rarely that all of them jumped and swirled round to face him. Although he was still pale, his mouth was set in a tight line, and his eyes burned with an expression that Carra could only call fierce. “Tell the gwerbret. We’ve got to.”
“So we should.” Rhodry glanced at Otho. “Looks like they headed south, anyway.”
“So I told our lady. Can’t turn back.”
“I’m on for the ride.” Carra thought of ancient queens and forced her voice steady. “I say we get to the gwerbret as fast as ever we can.”
“Done, then.” Rhodry looked up with a toss of his head. “Nedd, can you and Carra each carry one of the dogs? You can sung them over the front of your saddles, if they’ll allow it.”
Nedd nodded his head to indicate that they would.
“Good. We want to make speed.”
That night when they camped, Rhodry and Yraen set a guard with the dogs to help them. It became their pattern: rise early, tend the horses, then ride hard all day, making a late camp and a guarded one, especially once they reached the second stretch of forest, where no one slept much. The dogs were especially nervous, whining and growling, turning their heads this way and that as they rode, When they were allowed down they would trot round and round the horses and look up, every now and then, to growl or bark at the sky. Carra wondered if the raven were following them, somewhere above the sheltering trees. As they traveled steadily north, the land kept rising, and it turned rocky, too, with huge boulders pushing their way through the earth and stunting the black and twisted pines. The muddy track they were following wound and switched back and. forth through the jagged hills until Carra wondered if they’d ever reach Cengarn.
Deverry #06 - The Westlands 02 - A Time of Omens Page 38
