A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [22]
Shrieking and screaming, the woman writhed around and got free just as the next partition over went down from the impact, and knocked the one beyond it, too, into the one beyond—and so on all along the round room. Stammering out a stream of apologies of some sort—he never could remember exactly what he said—Branoic rolled over and staggered to his feet just as the fellow jumped up, pulling up his brigga and struggling to belt them, a big burly man and too furious to swear. The blazons on his shirt showed him to be a member of the Black Sword troop.
“Who are you—a cursed silver dagger! I’ll have your ugly head for this, you young cub!”
“I didn’t mean—my apologies—” Branoic was gulping for air out of shame, not fear.
Although the fellow started to draw his sword, his brigga slid down to his knees and forced a brief moment of peace as he swore and fumbled round for his belt Just to be on the safe side, Branoic reached for his own hilt and was rewarded with another bellow of rage. The lass started screaming just as Aethan came plowing into what was left of the doorway.
“Put that sword away, Branoic you asshole, and come with me!”
The fellow was so stunned that he merely stood there, hiking his brigga, as Aethan shoved Branoic bodily ahead of him, down the collapsed corridor. Judging by the shrieking and writhing under the pile of broken wickerwork the brothel had indeed been busy that night. They shoved their way out the doorway and clattered down the stairs fast to the stableyard, where a curious crowd was beginning to form.
“I was just going downstairs again with the red-haired slut when I saw your stupid ugly mug poking up over the wall.” Aethan’s voice was so choked that Branoic thought him still furious until all at once the older man broke out into a howl of laughter. “Oh, ye gods, the look on everyone’s face! Wait till we tell Maddo about this!”
“Ah shit! Do we have to?”
“I do,” Aethan gasped out. “Don’t know about you. I—oh, ye gods! Where’s Maryn?”
In a wave of ice-cold shame Branoic spun around and headed, all unthinking, back toward the stairway with Aethan right behind. By then, though, men and women both were rushing down, clutching pieces of clothing or struggling to get clothing on, cursing and snarling and swearing they’d find the Tout of a silver dagger who was responsible and slice his heart out. Aethan grabbed Branoic by the arm and pulled him back into a patch of shadow.
“Go get the horses and take them round to the street,” he hissed. “I’ll find the lad and try to warn the rest of our men, too.”
Keeping to the dark places Branoic scuttled to the stable and found their three mounts. His heart was pounding in terror—what if something had happened to the one true king of all Deverry and it was all his fault? All at once he realized that their little prank was a dangerous one all round, taking Maryn into the heart of a strange town with only a couple of guards—who had then let him go off with a whore on his own. What if the lass had been in someone’s pay? He gathered the horses’ reins in one hand, threw open the stable door with the other, and started out only to run straight into Maddyn and Nevyn.
“Where’s the prince?” Maddyn snarled.
“I don’t know. Aethan’s looking for him.”
With a foul oath Maddyn slugged him backhanded across the face.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you’d do such a stupid thing, but I expected better from Aethan. And why by the name of every god is this wretched crowd milling round out here?”
Branoic tried to speak, but his voice clogged and tears filled his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to choke them back. Nevyn grabbed his arm and shook it.
“Think, lad! Save the cursed shame for later.”
“I—I—I …”
The horses began to stamp and toss their heads. By then Branoic’s hands were so sweaty that he could barely hang on to the reins.
“Nevyn!” The whisper came from directly above them. “Is th-th-that you?”
“It is!” The old man sounded as if he’d weep, too, but from relief. “Maryn, where are you?”
“In the hayloft. We o-c-came up here to be private,