Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [144]
Then, as he reached the camp, he saw her sitting with Jennantar and Calonderiel. If she would turn instinctively for comfort to a pair of elves, he had no reason to despair. Half laughing at himself, he went to look for Aderyn.
Determined to put her talk with Nevyn out of her mind, Jill watched as Jennantar and Calonderiel played a complicated game, something like dice. The pieces were tiny wooden pyramids, painted a different color on each side, which they shook by the handful, then strewed out in a rough line. The order in which the colors appeared and how many there were of each determined who won the round. Finally Jennantar swept them up into a leather pouch.
“We’re being awfully rude to Jill.”
“Hah!” Calonderiel said. “You’re losing and you know it, but truly, Jill, it’s good to have a word with you. How’s your father this morn?”
“As well as he can be. Nevyn says he’s doing better than he’d expected.”
“Then that’s splendid news,” Jennantar said. “I only wish I could have gotten within bowshot faster than I did.”
Jill nodded miserably, wondering how she could bear to lie to her father when he lay wounded, even if she’d never wanted anything more in her life than this chance to ride to war.
“Huh,” Calonderiel said. “Here comes our round-eared cadvridoc. I’ll wager it’s not us he wants a word with.”
Jill looked as Rhodry strolled up to them—in truth, it was her that he was watching with one of his soft smiles on his handsome face. At times Jill hated him for being so handsome; here was a man that she couldn’t simply dismiss. Although she and Jennantar got to their feet, Calonderiel lounged insolently on the grass. Rhodry turned to him with the smile gone.
“When the cadvridoc speaks to you, you stand.”
“Oh, do I now?” Calonderiel said. “What makes you think I ride at your orders?”
“You ride at my orders, or you leave the army.”
Slowly and deliberately Calonderiel rose, but he set his hands on his hips in a gesture far from respectful.
“Listen, lad. Save your Eldidd arrogance for others of your stinking kind. I came here with the Wise One of the West, and for no other reason than he asked me to.”
“I don’t give a pig’s fart why you came. You’re here now, and you follow my orders or leave.”
Jennantar sighed in irritation, then muttered something in Elvish, which Calonderiel ignored. Rhodry and the elf were staring each other down, both of them unblinking and tense. Jill thought of trying to say something conciliatory, but she suddenly knew, in a wordless way that ached with dweomer, that it was crucial for Rhodry to have Calonderiel’s respect, and for more reasons than simple army discipline.
“If you have a bone to pick with me, Round-ear,” Calonderiel said at last, “then let’s pick it clean between us—and now.”
“Now, here!” Jennatar stepped forward. “He doesn’t know how men duel in our lands.”
“Oh, don’t I, now?” Rhodry said, and he had a twisted little grin. “My uncle made Westfolk welcome at his court, and I’ve seen your folk before. You’re on, then, Cal.”
In the middle of a growing crowd they stripped off their shirts and faced off, Calonderiel with his knife, and Rhodry with Jennantar’s, since his dagger blade was unfairly short. Jill’s heart was pounding; she could see the livid bruises up and down Rhodry’s back, and she knew the injuries would slow him down.
Calonderiel began to circle, and Rhodry moved with him, both of them dropped to a crouch, circling in dead silence. Rhodry feinted in; Calonderiel sprang and slashed; Rhodry twisted out of the way barely in time. Again they circled, slowly, eyes locked, until Calonderiel feinted in. Rhodry stepped back smoothly, then sprang from the side. Calonderiel struck up from below, but Rhodry’s left hand moved so fast that Jill could barely