A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [29]
Branoic grabbed him by the shoulder, hauled him round, and punched him under the chin as hard as he could, all in one smooth motion. Owaen quite literally left his feet and flipped back to fall like a half-empty sack of grain into the grass. Swearing under his breath Maddyn ran over and knelt down beside him just as the captain came rushing up and half a dozen silver daggers crowded round to see the show. Branoic stood there rubbing his smarting knuckles and wanting to die or perhaps turn to air and drift away. He was sure that he was going to be flogged at best and turned out of the troop to starve at worst. When he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder he spun round to find Nevyn, and much to his utter surprise, the old man was smiling—just a little, and in a wry sort of way, but smiling nonetheless.
“Arrogant little bastard, isn’t he?” Nevyn remarked. “But you need to learn to control that temper, lad.”
“Usually I can. There’s just somewhat about Owaen …” “I know. Oh, believe me, I know. Ah, here comes the captain. Let’s see what he has to say about this.”
Caradoc wasn’t smiling in the least.
“Curse you, Bran! Haven’t you got a lick of sense inside that ox’s skull of yours? You could have killed him, slugging him like that! Broken his blasted neck! You had every right to challenge him, or come to me or suchlike, but to just—”
“Captain.” Nevyn held a hand up flat for silence and arranged a portentous expression on his face. “Please, hold a moment! There are peculiar forces playing upon us, dark things beyond your understanding. I strongly suspect that our enemies have been trying to undermine us with strange magicks. Branoic is more susceptible to such evils than most men.”
“By the Lord of Hell’s crusted balls!” Caradoc went a little pale. “Can you do somewhat about that?”
“I can, if you’ll turn the lad over to me.”
“Of course. And I’ll talk to Owaen—don’t trouble your heart about that.”
Nevyn tightened his grip on Branoic’s shoulder and hurried him off before anyone could say a word more.
“My thanks, Nevyn, for getting me out of that. You know, I’ve felt so odd and grim lately that I could almost believe I was ensorcelled, at that.”
“You’d best believe it, because it’s probably true.”
Branoic swore, a brief bark of a vile oath.
“I’ll admit that I was fancying things up a bit, like, for the captain’s benefit,” Nevyn went on. “But it’s more than likely that our enemies are working on us with every foul sorcery at their command. If we start fighting among ourselves, their job will be much, much easier. Watch yourself very carefully, lad, from now on. If you find yourself getting into another black mood, come and tell me immediately.”
“I will, sir. I promise with all my heart.”
Yet, as he walked back to camp Branoic found that his spirits had lifted, just as if their enemies had stopped attacking now that their scheme had been discovered.
Since Caradoc was taking Owaen in hand, it fell to Maddyn to ride herd on Branoic, not that he minded the job, especially since the lad seemed to have put his sulk behind him. On the morrow morning Maddyn picked him, along with Aethan and six other men, to ride in his point squad. The country here was mostly flat, and some of the richest earth in all Deverry, thick black loam, well watered by the network of streams and small rivers that was currently carrying the royal iron down to Cerrmor. Before the civil wars, this area, the Yvro basin, as it’s called now, had been covered with small freeholds, all marked out with hedges for want of stone to build fences; now they rode a long time between living farmsteads, and here and there they saw the black skeleton of a burnt-out house standing lonely on the horizon. Once the squad left the main body of the troop and Owaen with it, Branoic became his usual cheerful self, whistling and chattering as they rode along a shade-dappled lane.
“I hope the prince will be all right without us there, Maddo.”
“Well, there