A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [125]
“You foul little cub!” Wersyn howled. “How could you? Ye gods, I’ll kill you for this!”
“Go ahead. I won’t be the last man to die in the war.”
Cursing a steady stream, Wersyn grabbed his arm and dragged him across the hall. Ganedd followed meekly, laughing under his breath. He’d never had such a splendid time in his life. But his pleasure ended once they were back in their inn chambers. Shaking in fury, Wersyn shoved Ganedd into a chair and began pacing around, his hands clenched, his eyes snapping.
“You rotten little bastard! This tears it once and for all! I’m sending you straight back home. I can’t hold my head up if I’ve got a son like this at my side. How could you? Why? Ganno, for the love of every god—why?”
“Just to see what would happen, mostly. You all looked so wretchedly pleased with yourselves.”
Wersyn strode over and slapped him again.
“You’re taking Maer and getting out of here today. Get your things and go! I want you out of my sight.”
All the time Ganedd packed, all the time he was saddling his horse, Wersyn went on yelling at him, calling him a fool and a demon-spawned ungrateful whelp, a worthless dolt and a turd dropped by a spavined mare. The entire innyard and Maer as well listened to this lecture with visible curiosity. Once Wersyn had stormed inside, and they were leading their horses out into the town, the silver dagger could stand it no longer.
“Ye gods, is he that blasted furious over one whore?”
“Last night’s got naught to do with it. Remember the gwerbret’s loan? It came to a vote today, and I was the only man who voted against it.”
Maer stared at him with a sudden flattering respect.
“Here, that took guts.”
“Did it? Maybe so.”
At the west-running road the city gates were standing open. Just outside they found another merchant, an old family friend named Gurcyn, standing by his horse and yelling orders as his muleteers organized his caravan. Ganedd threw his reins to Maer and strode over to speak with him, just as a last defiance.
“Good morrow,” Ganedd said. “Leaving so soon?”
Gurcyn looked him over, not anywhere as coldly as Ganedd was expecting, but he said nothing.
“Go on,” Ganedd went on. “Tell me what you think of me. I’m giving you the chance, rebel.”
“All I think is that you’re a bit lacking in wits, though long on nerve. This thing’s going to be remembered. Here, did your father send you home in disgrace?”
“Just that. And what about you? I’m surprised you’re not staying to celebrate your treason with the rest of them.”
“Oh, hold your tongue! Roosters who strut too much end up in the soup kettle. As for me, my wife’s been ill, and I’ve got to get home straightaway. Good morrow, lad, and by the gods of our people, watch what you say, will you?”
As Gurcyn walked away, shouting to his men, Maer led their horses over.
“Who was that? One of the guild?”
“Just so. Why?”
“I’ve seen him before.” Maer’s eyes narrowed in hard thought. “Probably in some tavern, but you know, I think it was up in Dun Deverry, right after my lord kicked me out of Blaeddbyr, like, and I was riding west.”
“Maybe it was. A good guildsman rides wherever the coin calls, and Dun Deverry calls in a lot of coin. Come on, let’s get on the cursed road.”
Although Ganedd was usually good company, on the ride back home he fell into long cold silences and refused to be drawn out, not even by jests, thus leaving Maer with a lot of time to think—an unfamiliar activity and one that he preferred to avoid whenever possible. Now, however, he had a number of strange things to think about, starting with old Nevyn the herbman. When they’d first met back in Aberwyn, Maer had barely noticed him, but as they’d ridden west together, Maer had found himself oppressed by