A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [166]
“What’s so wrong?” Rhodry strolled over, a chunk of cheese in his hand.
“Maybe naught,” Otho said. “But that’s one blasted big raven, isn’t it?”
Just as he spoke, the bird broke and flew, flapping with a harsh cry off to the west, just as if it knew it had been spotted. Otho tossed his head to shake the sun from his eyes.
“You a good hand with a hunting bow, silver dagger? You’re the one who used to ride with the Westfolk.”
“True spoken, and my heart yearns for a longbow now.”
Suddenly cold, Carra stood up just as Nedd and Yraen hurried over.
“Was there somewhat strange about that raven?” she said.
“Maybe. You’ve got sharp eyes, lass, and I think me you’re going to need them.”
“Now, wait.” Yraen sounded exasperated. “A bird’s a bird, big or not.”
“Unless it’s a sorcerer.” Rhodry grinned at him. “What would you say if I told you that some dweomermen can turn themselves into birds and fly?”
“I’d say that you were even dafter than I thought.”
“Then I won’t tell you. It’s still not too late for you to go back.”
“Will you hold your tongue about that?”
“Well and good, then, because you’ve been warned three times now, and that’s all that the laws and the gods can ask of me.”
That afternoon, when they rode on north, Carra kept a nervous watch for the raven, but she saw only normal birds of several kinds, flying about on some avian business. Every time she saw a raven or a crow, she would tell herself that Rhodry’s talk of shape-changers was his madness speaking at worst or some daft jest at best.
The land kept rising, and the road turned snaky, winding through the low places and crossing a couple of small streams. Just at sunset they topped a low rise and saw, some two or three miles ahead, a wild forest spreading out across hill and valley. Between them and the verge, as dark as shadows, stood a village huddling behind a staked palisade. Yraen muttered something foul under his breath.
“Don’t like the looks of that, Rhodry. That wall’s new built.”
“So it is. We’d best hurry before they shut us out for the night.”
In spite of the fortifications, the village was hospitable enough. Although Carra was expecting the farmers to stare at Otho or at least comment on his small stature, they acted as if he were nothing out of the ordinary at all. The blacksmith let them stable their horses in his shed, and a farm wife was glad to feed them for a few coppers and let them sleep in her hayloft for a couple more. Half the village crowded into her house to talk to the strangers, too, and warn them.
“Bandits on the roads,” said the blacksmith. “Never had bandits round here before. We sent a lad off to Gwerbret Cadmar to beg for help, and his grace sent word back that he was trying his best to wipe the scum out. Told us we’d better put up some kind of wall until he did.”
“Sounds like we might find a hire in Cengarn,” Rhodry said. “He might need extra men.”
“Most like.” The blacksmith paused, looking Carra over. “What are you doing on the roads, lass?”
Carra opened her mouth to blurt the truth, but Rhodry got in first.
“She rides with me,” he snarled, and quite believably. “Anything wrong with that?”
“Since I’m not her father, I don’t have a word to say about it, lad. Now let’s not have any trouble, like.”
“Save it for the bandits, Rhodry,” Yraen put in with a sigh. “How wide is the forest, anyway? Traveling from south to north, I mean.”
“Oh, let’s see.” The blacksmith rubbed his chin. “I’ve never been north, myself. But it stretches a fair ways. Then you come to some more farming country, and then forest again. Cengarn’s right up in the hills. Lot of trade comes through Cengarn.”
“Trade?” Carra said, startled. “With the Westfolk?”
“Them, too, lass.” The blacksmith gave Otho a conspiratorial wink. “I take it she’s never ridden our way before. I think the