A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [19]
“Coming down for dinner, my lord?” Branoic said.
“I don’t think so, truly. I’ve already told the serving wench to bring me up a tankard of dark and some cold meat. These old bones are tired, lads.”
They were indeed tired enough to make him take a nap for a couple of hours after the girl had brought his scant supper. Since Nevyn usually only slept about four hours a night, he was quite surprised when he woke to a dark room and a charcoal fire that was burning itself out in the brazier. He added more sticks, blew on them like an ordinary man, then wiped his hands on his brigga and sat down to think.
More than ever he wished he could simply scry through the fire and talk with the other dweomermasters who were part of this scheme. He badly wanted to know whether the situation in Cerrmor had changed since his last talk with the priests of Bel there, and he would have liked some opinions on the character of this Tieryn Elyc, too. There remained as well the problem of their enemies, who might well have seen through their ruse.
“Nevyn?” It was Maddyn, hesitating in the doorway. “Have you seen Maryn?”
“Not since you two brought up my things.” Nevyn leapt to his feet like a bounding hare. “Have you?”
“I haven’t. I’ve looked all over this cursed inn, even out in the privies.”
Swearing under his breath Nevyn followed the bard down to the tavern room, where a handful of silver daggers were drinking and dicing in the uncertain lantern light. From the way they fell silent and froze at the sight of their lieutenant, Nevyn felt trouble brewing. Maddyn apparently agreed.
“I want answers!” he snarled. “Where’s Maryn?”
The men looked back and forth between one another for a good minute before a slender lad named Albyn finally spoke, and he stared fixedly at the far wall rather than at Maddyn.
“Out and about with a couple of the lads.”
“That’s not good enough. Out where and with whom?”
“Er, well, Branoic and Aethan, so he’s in good hands.”
“Where are they?”
“Ah, well, we were all talking, like, during the evening meal, and it turned out the lad had never”—he glanced Nevyn’s way with a nervous tic of the cheek—“never been with a lass, like. So we were all thinking what a pity that was, and…”
“By every god in the sky!” Maddyn’s voice was a growl. “Are you saying those two piss-poor excuses for dolts took Maryn to a brothel?”
“Just that. Er, it was just a prank, Maddo.”
“You lackwit dog! Which brothel?”
“How would we know, Maddo? None of us have ever been in Dun Trebyc before. They went out to ask around, like.”
When Maddyn’s cheeks flushed a dangerous shade of purple, Albyn shrank back, half ducking a blow that never came. With a deep exhalation of breath, Maddyn got himself under control.
“We’re all going to go out and ask around. All right, you six—hunt up the other lads and go out in squads, four men to a squad, say, and scour this wretched town down. Find him. Do you hear me? Find him fast.”
As the men scrambled up and hurried off to follow orders, Nevyn barely saw them leave. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, partly from rage, but mostly fear. Maryn was off in one of the most lawless towns in the kingdom, and he didn’t dare use a trace of dweomer to find him.
“We’d best go look ourselves,” Maddyn said.
“Just so. And when I get my hands on Aethan and young Branno…”
“Whatever it is you’re going to do, I’ll hold them down so you can do it.”
Since Dun Trebyc was the kind of town it was, finding a brothel turned out to be easy enough. Down near the river the two silver daggers with their prince in tow came across the Tupping Ram, a surprisingly big two-story roundhouse with its own stableyard out in back and a palisade made of split logs all round. Over the gate, right next to the painted wooden sign, hung a well-worn broom smelling of sour ale.
“I’ll wager they sell more than beer, judging from the look of that sign,” Branoic said with