Authors: Katharine Kerr
“The common room’s full,” he announced. “Ain’t got no private chambers.”
“Can we sleep in your stables?” Carra gave up her dream of a hot bath. “Up in the hayloft, say?”
“Long as you don’t go bringing no lantern up there. Don’t want no fire.”
The hayloft turned out to be long and airy and well supplied with loose hay, a better night’s lodging, she suspected, than the inn itself. After the horses were taken care of, Carra and Nedd, with the dogs trotting busily behind, headed for the tavern. In the half round of the common room, set off from the innkeep’s quarters by a wickerwork partition, were a couple of wobbly tables. At one sat a gaggle of farmers, gossiping over their ale; at the other, two men, both road-stained, both armed. Carra stopped in the shadowy curve of the wall by the door; when she
snapped her fingers and pointed down, the dogs sat and Nedd fell back a step or two. In the smoky light of a smoldering fire she could see the pair fairly clearly: warriors, by the easy arrogant way they sat, but their stained linen shirts bore no blazons at the yokes or shoulder. One, blond and burly with a heavy blond mustache, looked young; the other, sitting with his back to her, was more slender, with wavy raven-dark hair. When the passing innkeep threw a couple of handfuls of small sticks onto the fire, it blazed with a flare of light, glinting on the pommel of the knives that the men wore at their belt. Three distinctive little knobs. Silver daggers, little better than criminals if indeed they were better at all, or so she’d always been told. Behind her Nedd growled like one of the dogs.
“True enough,” she whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”
But as she stepped back the burly blond saw her and raised a dented tankard her way with a grin.
“Here, lad, come on in and join us. Plenty of room at the table.” His voice sounded oddly decent for a man of his sort.
She was about to make a polite refusal when the dark-haired fellow slewed round on the bench to look her over with enormous cornflower-blue eyes. He was clean-shaven and almost girlishly handsome; in fact, she’d never seen such a good-looking man among her own people. As she thought about it, his chiseled features reminded her of the Westfolk and even, because of his coloring, of her Dar. He rose, swinging clear of the bench with some of Nedd’s catlike ease, making her a graceful bow, and the warmth of his smile made her blush.
“Lad, indeed!” His voice was a soft tenor, marked by a lilting accent that reminded her of the Westfolk as well. “Yraen, you’re growing old and blind! My lady, if you’d care to join us, I swear on what honor I have left that you’re perfectly safe.”
The dogs were thumping their tails in greeting. When she glanced at Nedd, she found him staring at the raven-haired stranger.
“He looks decent enough to me,” she whispered.
Nedd nodded with one of his eloquent shrugs, registering surprise, perhaps, to find a man like this on the edge of nowhere. Carra gestured the dogs up, and they all went
over, but Nedd insisted on sitting on the floor with Thunder and Lightning. She settled herself in solitary comfort on one bench while the raven-haired fellow went round to join his friend on the other.
“My name’s Rhodry,” he said as he sat down. “And this is Yraen, for all that he’s got a nickname for a name.”
Yraen smiled in a rusty way.
“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 believedhim.
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 Penyn.”
“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 silver 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 than 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?”