A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [117]
“That reminds, my lord. Do you know why the silver daggers never ride together as a troop, the way they did in the old days?”
“Well, one of the kings forbade them to. I suppose they were too dangerous. The kingmakers—that’s what they were called, you know. A warband that’s made a king can unmake one just as easily.” Pertyc frowned, remembering something. “Let’s see, in this book I have at home it says that after the civil wars all the free troops were banned. That’s right! I remember now. It was Maryn’s son. His councillors wanted him to ban the silver daggers, too, but he refused, because of the service they’d paid his father. But he didn’t want an independent army riding round causing trouble, either, so he ruled that they could only hire out as one man or two together.”
“Ah, I see. Well, too bad in a way. You could hire them if only they still existed, eh? But then, maybe this rebellion will stay in Aberwyn.”
Pertyc looked away so fast that Nevyn knew that he had information to the contrary.
“There are times when trouble spreads like fire in dry grass,” Nevyn said. “No one knows which way the wind will blow.”
“Just so. Well, no doubt I’m keeping you from your work. Good day.”
All summer, Glaenara had been curing cheeses in round wooden molds. When the four biggest wheels were ready, she loaded them on the mule and took them to Lord Pertyc’s dun as part of their taxes. Since it was drowsy-hot, she went barefoot, saving the leather of her one pair of shoes for the winter. Although Nalyn kept urging her to get some boots made down in the village, she preferred to scant herself rather than take what she thought of as his charity. Until Nalyn appeared, Glaenara had been the strong one in the family, keeping up her mother and sister’s spirits after her father died, working harder than most lads to scrape a subsistence living out of their farm. Just when I’m old enough to plow like a man, he comes strolling in, she thought bitterly. But there was no doubt that Mam and Lida were happier now. Perhaps that was the worst blow of all.
The gates to Dun Cannobaen stood open, and the ward was its usual slow confusion—servants strolling about their tasks, the riders sitting out in the sun dicing for coppers, Lord Pertyc himself lounging on the steps with a tankard of ale. Glaenara dropped him a curtsy, which he acknowledged by getting up. Although she considered herself a world below him, Glaenara was fond of her local lord because he was a kind man, and his unfortunate marriage had given everyone something exciting to talk about for years now. Rulers have been loved, after all, for a good deal less.
“Looks like cheese,” Pertyc said. “What kind, yellow or white?”
“Yellow, my lord. It’s awfully good.”
Pertyc set his tankard down on the ground and drew his dagger to cut himself off a slice. When he took a bite, he nodded in satisfaction.
“So it is. Goes well with ale, an important thing round here, truly.”
Pertyc cut himself another, thicker slice, retrieved his ale, and returned to his steps. Glaenara led the mule round back to the kitchen door and began unloading the cheese. She’d just swung two wheels out when Maer the silver dagger came running up and made her a low bow.
“Now here, fair maid, those look heavy. Let me carry them for you.”
“Not heavy at all. Only twenty pound each.”
Maer, however, insisted on hefting three and leaving her only one to carry into the kitchen. As he laid his wheels down on the long wooden table, it occurred to Glaenara that he was trying to be polite to her. The idea came as a surprise.
“Well, my thanks,” she said.
“Oh, I’d pay you any service gladly.”
Another surprise: he was flirting with her. Caught off guard, Glaenara turned away and began talking with the cook, an old friend of her mother’s, leaving Maer to hover helplessly in the doorway. She was hoping that he would just go away, but he waited until she and the cook were done with their chat. As she was leaving, Maer grabbed the mule’s