A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [118]
Lord Erddyr spent the afternoon sending messages to all and sundry, and toward sunset Lord Oldadd and his war-band of forty escorted their prize into the lord’s dun. Since the nights were warming up, the horses were turned out of their stables, which became a temporary prison for the hostages, except of course for the son himself, Lord Dwyn, who upon an honor pledge became Erddyr’s guest more than his prisoner. During the dinner that evening, Yraen watched the noble-born at their table across the great hail. Erddyr and Oldadd laughed and joked; Dwyn stared at his plate and shoveled food.
“He might as well eat all he can stuff in,” Renydd said with a grin. “His father sets a poor enough table.”
When the warband roared with laughter, Dwyn looked up and glared their way. Although he was too far away to have overheard Renydd’s remark, he could no doubt guess that he was being mocked. Yraen started to join the general good time, then noticed Rhodry, sitting in the straw by the door and staring at nothing again. His eyes moved as if he watched some creature about the size of a cat; every now and then his mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. Yraen got up and walked over, half thinking of telling him to stop. He was both embarrassed for the man he’d come to consider a friend and afraid that this daft behavior would get them both thrown out of the warband before the war even started. Eventually, whatever Rhodry thought he was watching seemed to take itself off, and the silver dagger turned his attention back to the men around him. When he caught Yraen standing nearby and staring at him, he grinned.
“Beyond this world lies another world, invisible to the eyes of men but not of elves,” Rhodry said. “That’s a quote from a book, by the way.”
“Of course it is: Mael the Seer. His Ethics, isn’t it?”
“Just that. You’ve read it?”
“I have. Oh. Curse it!”
“What’s so wrong?”
“I just remembered a thing that Lord Erddyr said to me this morning. He asked me if I—we, I mean, you and I—asked me if we were noble-born, and I wondered how he knew, but I suppose I’ve been acting like a courtly man. I shouldn’t even admit I can read, should I?”
“Depends. Out here very few noble-born men can read, so I suppose it’d mark you as son of a scribe or suchlike.”
“And what about you? You can quote from the Seer’s books, but I can’t believe that you were raised in a scriptorium.”
“I wasn’t, at that.” Rhodry flashed him a grin. “But as to where I spent my tender years, I … oh, by the gods!”
All at once he sprang to his feet and spun round, peering out the door, and his hand drifted of its own accord to his sword hilt. Yraen glanced back to find that, much to his relief, no one else had noticed. When Rhodry slipped outside, he followed, wondering if he was going daft himself for suddenly and somehow believing that Rhodry was in danger.
Outside, the ward was dark, silent except for the noise spilling through the windows of the dun. Once Yraen’s eyes adjusted to the dim light from a starry sky and a sliver of moon, he saw Rhodry standing some five feet away. Otherwise nothing or no one moved, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.
“Rhodry?” Yraen whispered it, even as he wondered why he was keeping his voice down. “What’s so wrong?”
“Shush! Come here.”
As quietly as he could Yraen stepped up beside him.
“There,” Rhodry hissed. “By the cart. Can you see him?”
Yraen obligingly looked. Some ten feet ahead of them stood a slab-sided wooden cart, tipped forward with the wagon tree resting on the cobbles. Its whitewashed side caught