A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [41]
“There have indeed, good sir. Let’s see, Elyc talks about them all the time, so I should be able to remember them. First of all, he’s supposed to come before the last full moon before Beltane, which means he’d better get here soon, because that’s tomorrow night. And then he’s supposed to be from the west, but not from Eldidd. And then there’s lots of stuff about stallions running before him or bearing him, which I think is truly odd, because no one rides a stallion as a battle horse. He’s supposed to come in an army that’s not an army, be a man but not a man—”
“Uh, excuse me?”
“Odd, isn’t it? I mean, either you’re a man or you’re a woman, and there’s not a lot in between, is there? But omens are that way sometimes. Let’s see, what else? Some say he’ll come as practically a beggar to his own gates, which I guess means Dun Cerrmor….” She paused, struck all at once by a number of odd things. “Here! They say no one will be his herald.”
“Do they indeed?”
“They do, at that. And a mercenary troop is an army that isn’t an army, and that full moon is tomorrow night, isn’t it?” She looked out over the hall, found herself staring at each mercenary in turn as her heart started to pound. She knew that Nevyn was smiling, but she was afraid to look at the old man for fear he’d break her hopes again. “A man that isn’t a man? What about someone who’s still a lad but who rides with the men and fights like one. He doesn’t even have a beard yet, does he?”
“Who, Your Highness?”
“That blond lad over there at the last table, the one who’s sitting next to that great big tall fellow with the scar on his face and not talking to anyone. Do you know his name?”
“The tall fellow’s?”
“I don’t mean him. Don’t tease, Nevyn. Who’s that lad?”
“His name is Maryn. It’s a common name in Pyrdon, where he’s from.”
“The Pyrdon blazon’s a stallion.”
“It is, truly.”
Her heart was pounding so badly that she felt it might thud into her mouth and keep her from speaking.
“What made you pick out that lad?” the old man said, and his voice had dropped to a whisper.
“I don’t know. Or, you know, I think he’s been looking at me.”
“He has, truly. Her highness is a very beautiful lass.”
“Oh, don’t flatter! I know I’m plain.”
“You’re not plain in the least. I can see that until perhaps a year ago you were all long legs and stumbles, and your face must have been too thin and pinched—but that, Your Highness, was a year ago. We shall have to get you a proper mirror.”
“I can’t have one, but I’ll make a wish that you’re telling me the truth.”
“Well, you know, there are times when wishes are granted.” He paused impressively. “And times when they’re not.”
“Oh, you’re only teasing me and naught more!”
“Wait, child. Wait and be patient for just a little while longer. I can’t promise you that everything will be well and wonderful for ever and ever, but things are going to take a turn for the better and soon.”
She hesitated, wondering why she trusted him so instinctively, but in truth, she’d simply never met anyone before who’d been kind to her.
“Well and good, then, Nevyn. And frankly, it’d be enough to know that things aren’t going to get worse.”
At a little cough at her shoulder she turned to find young Emryc, just twelve that summer and the head page. A copper-headed lad with squinty green eyes, he always looked down his nose at her as if he pitied her, and there were times when she daydreamed about having him beaten.
“Cook wants to know if we should start laying on the meal.”
“Listen, lad.” Nevyn leaned forward to intervene. “You should always add an honorific the first time you address royalty, and you should do it regularly after that, too.”
“And just who are you, old man?”
Nevyn caught his glance and held it, stared at him and stared him down with his ice-blue eyes.
“My apologies, good sir,” Emryc stammered. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“You’re forgiven—well, for this time, anyway,” Bellyra said. “And by all means, we’ve got a hall full of men so we’d best feed them. Oh, and tell Lord Tammael it’s time to light the