A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [130]
“It was all my fault!” Cadmyn squeaked. “Crindd hit the wrong man!”
“He would,” Garoic said.
“What is all this?” Pertyc snapped.
“Frogs, my lord! They put frogs in my boots. This very morning.” Crindd reached inside his shirt and hauled out the terrified creatures. “Here’s the evidence. And they put dried peas under my sheet and doused me with rotten water and …”
“Enough!” Pertyc took the frogs, contemplated them briefly, then handed them to a grinning Adraegyn. “Go put these back in the pond, will you? Right now, please. Now. Maer, Cadmyn. Why did you two commit this list of heinous crimes?”
Cadmyn groped for words and gave it up as a bad job.
“Well, my lord,” Maer said. “Just for the jest of the thing. You see, Crindd makes a splendid victim.”
Crindd squealed in outrage, but his lordship laughed.
“1 do see, indeed. Crindd, it looks to me like you’ve already gotten your revenge on Maer’s right eye. Let this be a lesson to you: never be a splendid victim again. It gives people ideas.”
“But, my lord—”
“Just think about it, will you?” Pertyc turned to the two malefactors. “Maer, you’d better go down to the village and have the herbman look at that eye. I don’t like the way it’s swelling.”
When Maer rode up to the herbman’s cottage, he received a surprise bigger than the one the frogs had given Crindd. Out in the front garden Glaenara was spreading laundry to dry. Pretty in a new dress of woad-blue wool, she was singing to herself, her raven-dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. The sight of her made him feel warm all over.
“And what are you doing here?” he called out as he dismounted.
“Keeping up Nevyn’s house for him.” She strolled over to open the gate. “Oh, Maer! Your eye!”
“I just got into a little scrap with one of the lads.”
He found Nevyn sitting at a table inside and sorting out various herbs and dried barks. The old man got up and caught Maer by the chin, tipping his head back for a look as if the silver dagger were a child, and his fingers were surprisingly strong.
“Well, that’s a nasty mess, isn’t it? I’ll make you up a poultice. Sit down, Maer.”
When Maer sat, a pair of big-bellied gnomes appeared on the table and considered him. He scowled right back. Nevyn went to the hearth, where an iron pot hung from a tripod over a small arrangement of logs. When the old man waved his hand at the wood, it burst into flame. Maer felt so sick that he slumped against the table behind him like a lady feeling a faint coming on. Nevyn picked up a handful of herbs from the table and stirred them into the water simmering in the pot.
“I’m assuming someone’s fist gave you that black eye.”
“It was, sir. Not long ago.”
“Ah.” Nevyn turned from his stirring and fixed Maer with one of his needle-sharp stares. “Glaenara’s a nice, decent lass, Maer. I would absolutely hate to see her dishonored and deserted.”
“Would you, sir?” Maer paused to lick dry lips with a nervous tongue. “Er, ah, well, I imagine you’re not a pleasant man to face when you’re angry about somewhat.”
“Not in the least, Maer lad, not in the least.”
When he waved his hand again, the fire went out cold. So Lord Pertyc was right about the old man, Maer thought. I wonder if sorcerers can really turn men into frogs? I’ve no desire to find out the hard way, that’s certain.
Yet, as he was leaving, so was Glae, and he decided that it would be dishonorable to let her walk when he was riding her way. He lifted her to his saddle, then mounted behind, slipping his arms around her waist and taking the reins.
“What were you fighting over?” Glaenara said. “Some lass, I’ll bet.”
“Naught of the sort! It’s a long story.”
During the ride home, he told her about his persecution of Crindd, and she laughed as much as the lads in the warband. He decided that one of the things he liked