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By Root 1303 0

and Otho ate steadily and fiercely, like men who wonder if they’ll ever eat as well again, but Rhodry, hungry though he was, picked at the food and sipped the ale sparingly. He was preternaturally awake, drawn as fine and sharp as a steel wire from his hunger and the danger of the night just past, and for a little while he wanted to stay that way. He slewed round on the bench and considered the circular great hall, the entire ground floor of the gwerbret’s broch. On one side, by a back door, stood enough tables for a warband of well over a hundred men; at the hearth, near the table of honor itself, were five more for guests and servitors. On the floor lay a carpet of fresh braided rushes. The walls and the enormous hearth were made of a pale tan stone, all beautifully worked and carved. Never had Rhodry seen a room with so much fine stonework, in fact: huge panels of interlacement edged the windows and were set into the walls alternately with roundels of spirals and fantastic animals, and an entire stone dragon embraced the hearth, its head resting on its paws, planted on the floor, its winged back forming the mantel, and its long tail curling down the other side.

“Nice bit of work, that,” Otho said with his mouth full.

“The dragon? It is. Did one of your people carve it?”

“No doubt.” Otho paused for a long swallow of ale. “Think our lady’s in safe hands?”

“I do. Jill told us to bring her here, didn’t she?”

“True. Huh. I suppose she knows what she’s doing.”

“Ye gods!” Yraen looked up from his steady feeding. “You suppose she knows … the woman’s a blasted sorcerer, isn’t she? Ye gods! Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Why should it be? The question is, is she a competent sorcerer?”

“After the way she carried us across the river, I’d say she is.”

“Well, maybe. Hum, you’ve got to realize that I’ve known her ever since she was a little lass, and it’s hard to believe that sweet little child’s up and grown into a—”

“Hold your tongues, both of you!” Rhodry broke in. “Here comes his grace.”

Even though he limped badly on a twisted right leg, Gwerbret Cadmar was an imposing man, standing well over six feet tall, broad in the shoulders, broad in the hands. His slate-gray hair and mustaches bristled; his face was weather-beaten and dark; his eyes gleamed a startling blue under heavy brows. As he sat down, he looked over Rhodry and Yraen for a moment, then turned to Otho.

“Good morrow, good sir, and welcome to my humble dun. I take it that you’re passing through on the way to your homeland.”

Yraen choked on his ale and sputtered.

“I am at that, Your Grace,” Otho said. “But I’ll beg your leave to spend a while in your town. I have to send letters to my kin, because I’ve been gone for many a long year now, and I’ve got no idea if I’m welcome or not.”

“A family matter, then?”

“It was, truly, and I’d prefer not to speak of it unless your grace requires me to do so.”

“Far be it from me to pry into the affairs of another man’s clan. But by all means, good sir, make yourself welcome in my town. No doubt you’ll find an inn to suit you while you wait.”

Yraen recovered himself and stared at Otho in an angry bafflement.

“Now, silver daggers,” the gwerbret went on. “I owe you thanks for bringing the lady Carramaena safely here. No doubt the prince will reward you with something a bit more useful than mere thanks.”

“Prince?” Yraen snapped. “Your Grace, you mean he really is a prince?”

“Of course he is.” Cadmar favored him with a brief smile. “And his good favor’s important to all of us here on the border, I might add. I don’t have the land to raise horses. No one does in these wretched hills. If the Westfolk didn’t come here to trade we’d all be walking to battle soon enough.”

“One up for you, Rhodry. I’ll admit I didn’t believe you when you started talking about elven princes and suchlike.”

“Maybe it’ll teach you to listen to your betters. Your Grace, I’ve somewhat to tell you. One of the southern villages was destroyed by raiders, and we were nearly killed on the road here.”

All attention, the gwerbret leaned forward to listen