A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [142]
Maer was much relieved, willing to trust blindly in his lordship and the sorcerer. As they walked through the gates, they saw a fine horse, laden with beautiful red leather and silver trappings, standing outside the doors. Pertyc swore under his breath.
“Here, Maer,” he said. “Grab some of the lads. Run out and take down those targets and hide them. Hide the bows, too. I’ll pray it’s not too late to distract this bastard.”
While Pertyc ran for the hall, Maer ran for the barracks. He rounded up six men and followed his orders, stowing the targets and the bows up in the hayloft. When they returned to the great hall, Maer saw a young man kneeling by Pertyc’s chair and talking gravely with him. Maer found Glaenara over by the servants’ hearth and caught her arm.
“Who’s that, do you know?”
“One of Tieryn Yvmur’s riders. He came with a message for our lord about the royal wedding.”
Right then Maer discovered the value of having a wife in the confidence of the most knowing gossip in all Cannobaen.
“It’s ever so exciting,” Glaenara went on. “This lad who’s going to be married is the one the rebels say is the king of Eldidd. So if our lordship goes, he’s saying he’s a rebel, too, but if he doesn’t go, it’ll be an insult. If he goes to the wedding but won’t declare for the king, they’ll kill him right then and there. Maudda says she’s ever so worried. After all, our lord was like a son to her.”
“What’s our Badger going to do?”
“Stay home. He told her that he’s already insulted everyone once, so why not twice?” Glaenara sighed, troubled herself. “I wish they’d just be content with the king we’ve got. He doesn’t even come to Eldidd and bother the pack of them.”
“True-spoken. Pity they don’t see it your way.”
On the morrow, the messenger rode out again, and archery practice resumed. But from then on, they practiced far away from the dun in the woods, where no casual visitor would see the telltale row of targets.
Since Cawaryn’s father was dead, the marriage took place in the gwerbret’s palace in Abernaudd. A gray-haired, blustery sort of fellow, Gwerbret Mainoic was related to Cawaryn by blood several times over and devoted to his cause. As a particular mark of favor, Danry and his family were invited to shelter in the main broch of the many-towered dun itself for the long round of entertainments—hunting in Mainoic’s park, bardic performances in the great hall, displays by the war galleys down in the harbor. Late one afternoon, Yvmur suggested that they go for a stroll out in the gardens behind the broch complex. It was a drizzly sort of day, with the flower beds turned under for the winter and the trees dripping gray drops from bare branches. Out in the middle of the browning lawn stood a small fountain, where the dragon of Aberwyn and the hippogriff of Abernaudd disported themselves under a spray of clear water. Yvmur studied the statues for a moment.
“You’ll notice how they’ve made the dragon a bit smaller than the hippogriff. There’s a fountain in Aberwyn to match this. Ever seen it?”
“I have. Odd: there the dragon is a noticeable bit larger.”
“Just so. By the by, Leomyr’s arrived. He came by way of Aberwyn.”
They let their eyes meet for a moment.
“Chilly out here,” Danry said. “Shall we go in? I truly should pay my respects to Leomyr.”
Leomyr, Tieryn Dun Gwerbyn, had been given a pair of splendid chambers up on the top floor of the main tower. When Danry found him, he was eating an apple, holding it in his hand like a peasant and taking neat bites with his prominent front teeth.
“I was going to seek you out.” Leomyr paused to toss the core into the fire blazing in the hearth. “It gladdens my heart to see you, my friend.”
“My thanks, and the same to you. A tardy arrival’s better than none at all.”
Leomyr took another apple, then offered the silver bowl to Danry.
“None for me, my thanks. I’ve just eaten. The gwerbret sets a good