A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [49]
“What do you wager those cursed merchants are behind this? Piss-poor coin polishers!”
“Now here, lad,” Melaudd said, and sharply. “Trade’s important to Aberwyn. I’m as angry as you are, but you have to understand his highness’s position. Watch your tongue while we’re here.”
“How can you insult our prince, Father? Do you really think he values coin more than honor?”
“I said, hold your tongue! You’re a young cub yet and not quite licked into shape, so you leave all the talking to me.”
When the Bear’s warband came into the hall for dinner, they found their rivals there ahead of them, seated as far across the riders’ side of the hall as possible and surrounded by Aberwyn’s men. Another portion of Addryc’s warband surrounded the Bears—in the friendliest possible way, of course—and sat them down. Cinvan accepted a tankard of ale from a servant girl and peered across the vast smoky hall to the honor hearth, where the noble-born and their guests were drinking mead. Prince Addryc was seated at the head of the table with Melaudd and Dovyn to his left and the elven leader at his right. The fellow was tall, even for one of the Westfolk, and he certainly looked like a prince; it wasn’t just his finery, Cinvan decided, it was the way he moved and talked with the ease of someone who’s used to being obeyed. Next to him sat a slender young man, quite human-looking, with untidy brown hair and dark eyes, who seemed to be included in whatever important conversation was going on. Cinvan tapped one of the Aberwyn men on the shoulder.
“Who’s that next to that Halaberiel fellow?” Cinvan said. “The skinny fellow swimming in his fancy shirt.”
“The prince’s councillor, Aderyn. Everyone says he’s got dweomer.”
“Ah, horseshit. Old wives’ tale.”
“Oh, is it now? I wouldn’t be so sure, lad.”
Cinvan turned to Garedd, who merely shrugged in suspended judgment. Cinvan felt a small cold fear at the very possibility of dweomer. It was as if he should remember something, or know something, or take some warning—he simply couldn’t understand his own thoughts. Fortunately the servants came to the table with roast beef and bread to distract him from the unfamiliar and painful process of introspection.
Later that night, though, Cinvan came face to face with this mysterious young councillor. He went out to the ward to relieve himself of some of the prince’s ale, and as he was coming back in, he met Aderyn going out, doubtless for the same reason. Just in case this unprepossessing lad did have some kind of magic, Cinvan made him a civil bow and stepped aside. Aderyn nodded pleasantly, then stopped to look him full in the face. As he stared into those owl-dark eyes, Cinvan turned cold. He felt pierced and pinned to the wall behind him like a rabbit skin stretched out to dry. At last Aderyn smiled and released him.
“Here, good sir,” Cinvan stammered, “do I know you from somewhere?”
“Oh, you do indeed, but you won’t remember.”
Aderyn walked on, leaving Cinvan shaking behind him. Cinvan hurried back to the table and the comfort of Garedd’s company. He picked up his tankard and drank a good bit of it straight off.
“What did the councillor say to you?” Garedd said. “There at the door, I mean.”
“Oh, naught that counted for much, but he’s got dweomer, sure enough.”
Dinner that night at the prince’s table was a tense affair, with conversation not likely to help one’s digestion. With the roast pork Addryc demanded and got statements from both claimants, then let them glare at each other while he considered the matter. With the baked apples he remarked that he was sure that some treaty or another could be worked out, once he’d consulted the priests on the laws.
“A treaty, Your Highness?” Halaberiel remarked. “We’ve had experience of your treaties before, I’m