Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [138]
Rather than let Cullyn lie outside with the rest of the wounded, Rhodry had turned his tent over to the man who had saved his life. When Jill came in, Cullyn was asleep in Rhodry’s blankets with his bound and splinted left arm out of the covers. His hair was streaked with dried blood. As she knelt down beside him, Jill wept in a scatter of tears. When she ran her hand through his hair, he sighed in his sleep and turned his head toward her.
“Jill?” It was Nevyn, ducking under the tent flap. “I heard you were here.”
“Of course I am. Did you think I wouldn’t know when Da was hurt?”
Nevyn smiled briefly and knelt beside her.
“Answer me truly,” Jill said. “Is he going to die?”
Nevyn considered for so long that her heart pounded.
“I doubt it,” the herbman said at last. “That’s as honest as I can be. He nearly did die under my hands, but that was the shock, and it’s passed off now. Your Da’s a very, very strong man, but there’s a deep cut on his side. If it goes septic—”
He let the words hang there. Jill sat back on her heels and wondered why she felt so numb, as if she had no body at all.
“He won’t wake for some time now,” Nevyn went on. “Rhodry wants to speak with you. I—well, I’d best let you hear it from him. I’ll stay with Cullyn until you return.”
Jill ducked out of the tent into a crowd. In quiet ranks the entire army stood round the tent. Every man looked at her in the same peculiar way—worshipful, really, as if she were the goddess Epona come to visit them as in the old tales—yet not one said a word to her. When Amyr escorted her to Rhodry, the men followed, as silently as a legion of the dead. Out in front of Sligyn’s tent stood the noble-born, staring at her so intently that Jill wished she could just run away. Rhodry made her a bow.
“I’ve no doubt you can swing that sword you wear. Have you ever thought of swinging it in battle?”
“Many a time, my lord, but Da’s always said me nay.”
“He’s not going to get a chance this time,” Edar muttered.
“Oh, here, my lords,” Jill said. “Are you as badly outnumbered as all that?”
“Not in the least.” Rhodry paused, chewing on his lower lip. “I’ve got a cursed strange thing to tell you.”
“Now, here!” Sligyn stepped forward. “How well does the lass know how to fight? I won’t have a helpless woman slaughtered. Don’t care how desperate we are. Honor of the thing, eh?”
Jill glanced around and saw the servants off to one side, standing ready with dinner for the noble-born.
“My lord Sligyn is the very soul of honor,” she said. “But if he’d be so kind as to fetch me one of those apples?”
With a puzzled shrug, Sligyn did as she asked.
“If you’ll stand behind me, my lord,” Jill went on, “and throw that apple up into the air on the count of three?”
Jill drew her sword and held it point down while she waited for the count. On “three” she spun around, the sword flashing up as the sight of the falling apple filled her vision. Without any conscious aim she hit it perfectly. Two nearly equal halves of the apple fell at Sligyn’s feet. The warbands surged forward, cheering, yelling out her name until Rhodry screamed them into silence.
“By the hells!” Sligyn sputtered. “Couldn’t do that myself, eh? Well!”
“My thanks, my lord,” Jill said. “But don’t let me give myself airs. My father can cut one into quarters like that.”
Rhodry laughed, but it was a mad sort of delight brimming in his eyes.
“And why do you want me to ride with you?” Jill said.
“Because of dweomer, silver dagger. Loddlaen’s made a prophecy about Corbyn, and Aderyn’s had to admit that it’s true. It runs this wise: Corbyn will never die in battle but by a sword, and yet he’ll never die by any man’s hand.”
“Oho! They always say that every dweomer prophecy’s like a sword blade.” Jill held hers up flat in illustration. “It’s sharp on both sides.”
The cheers of the army went to Jill’s head like mead. When Sligyn yelled at them, the men dispersed, laughing and jesting as they headed back to their campfires. Jill sheathed her sword, then turned to Rhodry, who was holding a silver piece to pledge her