Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [107]
“Are the men talking of dweomer among themselves?”
“They are, my lord. I do my best to stop it.”
“I knew I could count on you for that. How do you feel about these rumors yourself?”
“Pile of horseshit, my lord.”
“Good. I couldn’t agree more.”
At noon they stopped to rest in a meadow about a half a mile inland, where a river wound down from the north. Just like one of his men, Rhodry unsaddled his own horse and let it roll, then tethered it out. He sat on the grass with his men, too. He knew that they saw him as an interloper, and he was determined to show them that the sudden elevation of his prospects in life hadn’t swelled his head. They were all trading friendly jests over their bread and smoked meat when Rhodry felt as much as heard hoofbeats coming their way. He scrambled up and looked off to the north. Trotting fast beside the river came a rider leading a spare horse.
“Who by the gods would be out here?”
Caenrydd joined him and shaded his eyes to stare at the tiny figures.
“Old Nevyn the herbman, maybe?” Caenrydd said.
“It’s not, because those are two western hunters, not a palfrey and a mule.”
“By the hells! His lordship has cursed good eyes.”
“So I do.” Rhodry saw a wink of silver at the rider’s belt. “A silver dagger with two western hunters. What do we have here, a horsethief?”
No horsethief, however, would have broken into a gallop and ridden straight for them as the silver dagger did. He was a young lad, blond and road filthy, and riding without a shield though he had a sword as his side. He swung himself down from his horse and ran to kneel at Rhodry’s feet. Down one side of his face was a livid purple bruise.
“My lord.” His soft, unchanged voice made it likely he was about fourteen. “Do you serve the tieryn in Cannobaen?”
“I do, and I’m her son to boot. Lord Rhodry Maelwaedd.”
“A Maelwaedd? Thanks be to every god! Then I know I can trust your honor, my lord. I’ve just come from a merchant caravan to beg for help. It’s bandits, my lord, at least thirty of them, and they’ve got us penned up in a ruined dun to the north.”
“Bandits? In my demesne? I’ll have their heads on pikes.” Rhodry spun around to yell orders. “Saddle up and get ready to ride! Amyr, ride back to the dun and give Her Grace the news. Tell her to send a cart with supplies and the chirurgeon after us.”
Everyone ran to do his bidding.
“Get up, silver dagger,” Rhodry went on. “What were you, a hired guard?”
“Well, my father is, to tell you the truth. I just travel with him.”
“Well, mount up and get ready to lead us back. What a splendid bit of luck this is, me having the warband out here. You’d think it was dweomer or suchlike.”
The lad giggled in an outburst of hysteria, then ran back to his horse.
As the hot afternoon dragged on, there was no sign of Aderyn. While the others rested inside the broch, Cullyn and Jennantar kept an uneasy watch, Cullyn at the gates, Jennantar pacing back and forth along the top of the wall. Cullyn began to wonder if they’d ever see the old man again, or if he’d been captured by the enemy. Finally, when the sun lay low in the sky, Jennantar called out in triumph.
“Here he comes!”
Although Cullyn strained his eyes, it was several minutes more before he saw the flapping speck in the sky that meant the owl. All over again, Cullyn felt sick at the unnatural size of the thing as the bird swept down and disappeared into an upper window of the broch. It was some minutes before Aderyn ran out, pulling his tunic over his head.
“They’re on their way, but so is help. Lord Rhodry and his warband are heading up from the south.”
“What did Jill do?” Cullyn said. “Founder both those horses?”
“She didn’t. She met Rhodry on the road.” Aderyn looked briefly troubled. “Something stranger than strange is afoot here. Jennantar! Did you see any hawks flying overhead?”
“One or two,” Jennantar called down. “Oh, ye gods! You don’t think—”
“I do. Loddlaen has to be behind