The Tower of Ravens (22 page)

Rhiannon looked back over her shoulder at Lewen. “Ye want race?”

“No flying allowed,” Lewen warned.

“What ye bet?”

His dark brown eyes sparkled. “Ye’re confident!”

“Me am.”

“Ye think your dainty wee mare can outrun Argent?” he scoffed.

“Try us.”

“All right then.”

“So what will ye give me when me win?”

“I’ll clean your tack for ye tonight,” he offered.

“Me clean own tack.”

“What then?”

“Me want money.”

Lewen raised his eyebrow. “A gambling lass? What if ye lose? Ye havena any money to give me.”

“Me no lose.”

“Oh-ho, we are confident. All right, ye can owe me.”

“Me no need to.”

“Deal or no deal?”

“What ye mean?”

“That’s what ye say when ye make a bet. Ye should say ‘deal’, and then we each spit on our hands and shake on it.”

“Shake on it?” Rhiannon frowned in puzzlement. “Shake? Like this?” And she began to shake all over, as if she was quivering with cold. Blackthorn put her ears back and sidestepped.

Lewen could not help himself. He burst out laughing. After a moment Rhiannon laughed too.

“Nay! No‘ like that! We shake hands. Like this,” He drew Argent close by Blackthorn’s side and put out his hand to Rhiannon. After a moment’s hesitation Rhiannon put her hand in his, and he pumped it up and down vigorously. “That’s shaking on it.”

“Me shake on it,” she said, and pretended to shake all over again.

He laughed out loud.

“All right, first to the big oak down there…” His voice died away as Blackthorn broke into a gallop. Startled, Lewen laughed and swore, and leant forward, slapping Argent’s neck with his reins. The big stallion surged forward.

Shoulder to shoulder, the two horses galloped down the road, sending pebbles flying.

“Ye cheated!” Lewen panted. “Ye’re meant to start together.”

“Ye just slow,” Rhiannon teased. She crouched lower on Blackthorn’s neck and the winged horse leapt forward, passing the big bare oak scant seconds before Argent.

“Me win, me win!” Rhiannon chanted.

“All right, all right,” he said, fumbling in his pocket for a coin, which he flipped to her. “Though next time I’ll make ye call the start.”

“Me still win,” Rhiannon crowed, cheeks pink, eyes bright with excitement. She rubbed the coin with her thumb, and then very carefully stowed it away inside her coat.

“No‘ a chance,” Lewen said. “Ye only won because I’m too much o’ a gentleman to call ye a cheat.”

“Och, sure,” she mocked.

They dismounted and rested in the shade, letting the horses graze at will, for neither wore a bit. In a few minutes, the big grey carthorse came shambling along, pulling the blue caravan. Iven lounged on the driving seat, his feet up, the reins looped and knotted over the rail. He was playing cards with Roden and Lulu. The arak was jumping up and down, gibbering with distress at her poor hand of cards, while Roden was looking rather smug, a heap of pebbles before him.

“I wouldna race too much if I were ye,” Iven said to Lewen and Rhiannon with a smile. “We have a long way to ride and ye do no‘ want to be tiring out your horses.”

“Ye just jealous,” Rhiannon said. “Ye wish ye racing too. That horse very slow.” She gestured towards the enormous carthorse with his patient dark eyes and shaggy hooves the size of dinner plates.

“Happen that’s true,” Iven said with a sigh. “Still, dinna ye look down upon auld Steady here. He may be slow, but he gets there. Anyway, no more racing, bairns. We really do have a long way to go today. Nina is keen to leave the Broken Ring o‘ Dubhslain behind us.”

“All right, Iven,” Lewen said readily. “For today anyway. I have to have a chance to win back my honour tomorrow. We have a bet riding on it.”

“Och, well, in that case!” Iven laughed. “I tell ye what, I’ll make ye a bet o‘ my own. One week on the road and I bet neither o’ ye will have the heart for racing!”

“What ye bet me?” Rhiannon said at once.

“A gambler in our midst. Well, Roden and I bet for pebbles, but that’s only because I couldna afford to play with him otherwise, he’s just too good.”

Roden grinned.

“Me no play for pebbles,” Rhiannon said.

“Ye are a gambling girl! All right then. If I win, ye have to cook dinner every night for a week. If I lose, I’ll… hmmm… I’ll…”

“Me want money,” Rhiannon said.

“Ye want hard coin? But I’m naught but a poor jongleur! All right then. A half-crown, if ye and Lewen are still racing every day after seven days on the road.”

“Deal,” Rhiannon said. She spat on her hand and held it out. Solemnly Iven spat on his hand and then shook hers. The caravans trundled on, and they mounted their horses again and fell into place behind the others. Lewen raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.

“Me need money,” Rhiannon explained. “Me have none.”

Lewen smiled and shrugged. “I guess ye could do with some money. We are going to Lucescere, the most expensive city in the world, after all.”

Rhiannon nodded. “So me told.”

Lewen hesitated. “Ye need no‘ worry about money,” he said. “Isabeau, the Keybearer, will make sure ye have everything ye need. My mother has written to her, as ye ken. As a scholarship student, the Coven pays for all your day-to-day needs, your robes and books and food and lodging.”

“That girl say me need money. For balls… What ball?”

“A ball is a place where people go to dance and talk. It’s also a round leather toy that bairns kick around. Lady Edithe would’ve meant the first, though.”

Rhiannon screwed up her face. “Too many words. How ye ken them all?”

“I’ve had plenty o‘ time to learn,” Lewen answered. “Do no’ worry, ye’ll pick them up soon enough.”

“Pick words up?” Rhiannon was more puzzled than ever.

Lewen sighed. “Learn them, I mean.”

“So why me need money for balls?”

“Everyone gets dressed up in fancy clothes and jewels which cost a lot to buy.”

“Why?”

“I’ve often wondered. I wouldna worry too much, Rhiannon. I doubt whether ye’ll go to many. Most students do no‘ have much to do with the court.”

Rhiannon frowned. “Happen so,” she said. “Still, if those cursehags are no‘ to laugh at me, me need money.”

“The Coven doesna like its students gambling,” Lewen warned.

“How will they ken?” Rhiannon lifted one expressive eyebrow. “Unless ye mean to tell them?”

“I willna tell,” Lewen said uncomfortably. “No-one likes a tittle-tattle.”

“Well then.” She flashed a smile at him.

“Witches are hard to trick,” Lewen warned. “I’d be careful.”

“How else me get money?” Rhiannon asked. “How ye get?”

“We royal squires are paid handsomely,” Lewen said, with a mock attempt to emulate Edithe’s high-bred tone.

“Then me be squire too.”

Lewen shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Lassies canna be squires.”

“Why no‘?”

“They just canna.”

Rhiannon scowled.

“I make things too,” Lewen said hurriedly, eager to change the subject. “We spend an awful lot o‘ time sitting around and waiting for His Highness. I hate to sit idle, so I got in the habit o’ whittling to help pass the time. I’ve always liked to make my own arrows, they seem to fly more true than those made for me by others. The other squires used to want to buy them from me, and then the palace guards did too, and now I can sell as many as I make. Even the Rìgh likes my arrows best.” He spoke with quiet pride.

Rhiannon eyed the quiver bristling with arrows that hung from Argent’s saddle. They did indeed seem beautifully made, being unusually long and formed from some white wood, fletched with green. They made hers seem clumsy and badly made.

“I make other things too. Chess sets, sometimes, or toys for the palace bairns. Boxes, or little figurines o‘ animals. I like making those.”

“Ye made the boxes back there? The tricky one?”

Lewen grinned. “Aye, I made those. They were fun.”

“Very tricky.”

“There are lots o‘ things students can do to help support themselves while at the Theurgia. If ye show a Skill at something, like growing things or animals, ye can get a job working in the garden or in the stables or kennels. Ye’re good with horses. When we get to Lucescere, I’ll introduce ye to the stable-master. I’m sure he’d be happy to give ye some work. Horse-whisperers are always welcome there.”

Rhiannon smiled. “Me like horses, me like that.”

“Ye should no‘ say ’me like‘, ye should say T. T would like that’ is the proper way to say it.”

“I would like that,” she repeated after a moment, even though it was clear she did not like being corrected.

He smiled at her. “Very good. Ye learn fast.”

She nodded. “Me try.”

“Ye mean, I try,” Lewen corrected her again.

She compressed her lips together, then said obediently, “I mean, I try.”

Until now, the road had just been wide enough for two horses to ride comfortably side by side, but as they came down out of the forest the road widened and an eager Rafferty was able to ride up beside them and engage them in conversation. Lewen quite liked the young apprentice-witch but nonetheless he had to suppress a flash of irritation when he saw the glow of admiration in the boy’s eyes when he gazed at Rhiannon.

“I say, ye can ride!” Rafferty cried. “And that mare o‘ yours can really go! Will ye race with me?”

“What ye bet?” Rhiannon said at once.

Rafferty’s eyes sparkled. “Half a copper?”

“Ye promised Iven ye would no‘ race again today,” Lewen reminded Rhiannon, feeling like a stern big brother.

She hunched a shoulder at him and said to Rafferty, “Me race… I race ye tomorrow then.”

“Grand,” he said. “Ye ken, none o‘ the lasses I ken would ever ride like that. They’d be too afraid o’ falling off.”

“I no‘ afraid o’ aught,” Rhiannon boasted.

“More fool ye,” Lewen said, and leant forward a little in his saddle so Argent’s stride lengthened, bringing him up beside Iven’s caravan. He felt he had had enough of Rafferty’s company.

The road wound down into softly rolling hills and pastures. Men and women were working together in every field, ploughing the rich dark earth, sowing seeds, cutting back the hedgerows and tending herds of goats and pigs. In nearly every dell was a small croft with its orchard just beginning to bud with spring flowers, and smoke wisping up from its chimney. The crofters waved at the caravans as they passed by, and the apprentices waved back, enjoying the fresh spring weather.

They reached the little village of Barbreck-by-the-Bridge late that afternoon. It was no more than a single street with an inn at one end and a mill with a water-wheel at the other, and two rows of small, grey houses with high-pitched roofs along either side, facing onto a village green where chickens wandered and children played. The Findhorn River came foaming down the hill to boil about the stone ramparts of a great bridge composed of six arches, with crenellated gatehouses at either end.

A crowd of grim-faced people milled about at one end of the bridge, all looking down at something that lay on the ground in their midst. A man wearing an enormous sword strapped to his back was ordering them about, his black eyebrows drawn close over his eagle nose.

“That’s the reeve,” Lewen said in alarm. “I wonder what the matter is?”

“Barbreck-by-the-Bridge has a reeve?” Iven asked in surprise.

“Och, nay, it’s far too wee. Odran the reeve will have come over from Cullen, the town on the far side o‘ the bridge. I wonder what can have happened?”

“I guess we’ll soon find out,” Iven answered, slapping the reins on Steady’s back. The carthorse quickened his pace.

It was only a day since the caravans had driven through Barbreck-by-the-Bridge to Kingarth, but still the sight of the gaudily painted vans was enough to draw the eye of everyone in the village. As they turned to stare, Rhiannon was able to see the naked body of a man lying on the ground, water spreading a dark stain across the pavement. Her heart jerked. She averted her eyes, trying to control the sudden rapid beating of her pulse, her ragged breathing. Around her were cries of alarm and horror.

Nina drew Roden against her, hiding his face in her skirt, though the little boy strained away, saying, “But Mam, I wanna see! What happened to him? Is he dead?”

“Aye, honey,” she answered. “Do no‘ look!”

Iven jumped down from the drivers’ seat and went to greet the reeve.

“Trouble?” he asked. “What’s the problem?”

“Murder,” the reeve said tersely. “Man shot in the back, and thrown in the river. We havena had a murder in these parts for nigh on ten years, and this one looks a right nasty one.”

“I am Iven Yellowbeard, a courier in the Rìgh’s service and a former Blue Guard,” Iven said. “Can I be o‘ any assistance?”

The reeve cast a suspicious eye at the jongleur, noting his frivolous beard and brightly coloured clothes. Iven bowed ironically. “No‘ all Blue Guards become farmers when they retire,” he said. “I was born a jongleur and a jongleur I shall die, and all the life betwixt spent in service to Lachlan the Winged.”

Still the reeve looked unconvinced.

Lewen dismounted and went to join Iven, leaving Argent untethered. “How are ye yourself, Odran?”

The reeve straightened his back, saluting smartly. “Sore troubled, sir, and ye?”

“Well enough, until I saw what ye have here. May we take a look? Iven was once a Blue Guard, and he kens more than any man should ken about violent death. Also, I fear… I suspect Iven may ken who it is. For we’ve had intimations o‘ a Blue Guard gone missing, shot through the back, we suspect. We would like to ken if this is he.”

“Indeed?” Odran raised one thick, black eyebrow. “In that case, please, be my guest.”

Iven went down on one knee beside the naked corpse, and examined him carefully. There was evidently a strong stench for his nose wrinkled involuntarily, and he tried not to lean too close. “Arrow wound here through the back,” he said in a voice stiff with distaste. “And look, chafing here at wrists and ankles. He was bound up tightly. He’s been badly beaten too. Looks like he may have a broken rib or two. I’d say the injuries occurred afore death. It’s hard to tell, though, for he’s been in the water a while. By the degree o‘ putrefaction, I’d say it’s been a few weeks, happen even a month.”