Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [52]
Nevyn tied his horse up by the door, then followed Ludda inside to the servants’ hearth in the great hall. He sat down in the straw in the curve of the wall, out of the way of the other servants, who were busy preparing dinner. They gave him hardly a look; Ludda had the privilege of being generous to a stranger if she chose. Down at the far side of the hall, Gerraent and Blaen were drinking at the honor table. From his distance, and because they talked in low voices, Nevyn couldn’t hear their words, but it was plain enough that Blaen was furious from the way he leaned forward in his chair and clutched his tankard like a weapon. When Blaen’s page returned, he gave his master an anxious glance and sat down by his feet in the straw. Ludda brought Nevyn his ale and knelt down beside him with a nervous look at the lords.
“Where’s your lady?” Nevyn whispered.
“Hiding from Lord Blaen. But she’ll have to come out sooner or later, or Lord Gerraent will take it amiss.”
“No doubt. Oh, no doubt.”
Ludda winced and began to tremble.
“I know the truth,” Nevyn said. “I don’t care. I’ve come to take her away.”
Ludda wept in two thin silent trails of tears.
“I’ll help if I can. But I don’t know what good can ever happen now.”
On the pretense of keeping out of the cook’s way, Nevyn moved from the hearth to a spot nearer the two lords. At last Brangwen slipped into the hall, pressing against the wall and watching her brother. Nevyn was shocked at the change in her. Her cheeks were hollow and pale, her eyes deep-shadowed, and her stance that of a doe poised for flight. She glanced his way and allowed herself a tremulous smile. Nevyn rose slowly, fighting with himself to keep from rushing to her side. Then Brangwen shrank back against the wall.
Nevyn had forgotten Blaen and Gerraent, who were leaning forward in their chairs and staring each other down. Slowly and deliberately Blaen rose, his hand on his sword hilt.
“May the gods curse you,” Blaen said. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Gerraent rose to face him, his hands on his hips, and he smiled in a calm that made Nevyn’s blood run cold.
“Answer me,” Blaen said, his voice ringing in the hall. “You’ve taken your sister to your bed, haven’t you?”
Gerraent drew, the sword flashings swung and struck before Blaen could get his blade half out of the scabbard. Brangwen screamed, one high note, as Blaen took one step and staggered, the bright blood pouring down his chest. He look at Gerraent as if he were bewildered, then crumpled at Gerraent’s feet. His page began inching for the door. Gerraent turned and went for him.
“Gerro!” Brangwen rushed in between. “Not the lad!”
Gerraent hesitated, and that moment gave the page his life. He dashed outside without looking back. Just as Nevyn ran forward, the boy grabbed the bay gelding and swung himself into the saddle. Screaming and weeping, the servants rushed for the door. The bloody sword still in his hands, Gerraent began to laugh, then saw Blaen’s body on the floor and came to himself. Nevyn could see the reason return to his eyes as he fell to his knees and started keening. Nevyn grabbed Brangwen by the arm.
“We’ve got to get out now!”
“I can’t.” Brangwen gave him a smile as mad as her brother’s. “I swore I’d die with him.”
“No god or man would hold you to such an unclean oath.”
“I hold myself to it, my prince.”
Nevyn grabbed her and started pulling her toward the door, but Gerraent leapt up and ran to block it, his sword at the ready. Here’s where I die, Nevyn thought.
“Prince Galrion, by the gods,” Gerraent hissed.
“I am. Go on. Add my blood to your sworn friend’s.”
“Not him, Gerro!” Brangwen burst out. “Just kill me and be done with it.”
“I won’t raise my sword against either of you. My prince? Will you take her away?”
“Gerro!” Brangwen stared at him in disbelief. “You promised me. You swore you’d kill us both.”
Gerraent’s eyes snapped in fury. He grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her into Nevyn’s arms.
“You little bitch, get out of here! I’ve slain