Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [8]
Just at twilight, they crossed a shallow river and reached the walled town of Averby. Cullyn dismounted and led the horse along narrow twisting streets while Jill clung to the saddle and looked round wide-eyed. She had never seen so many houses in her life—easily two hundred of them. On the far side they reached a shabby inn with a big stable out in back, where the innkeep greeted Cullyn by name and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. Jill was too tired to eat dinner. Cullyn carried her upstairs to a dusty wedge-shaped chamber and made her a bed out of his cloak on a straw mattress. She fell asleep before he’d blown the candle out.
When she woke, the room was full of sunlight, and Cullyn was gone. Jill sat up in a panic, trying to remember why she was in this strange chamber with nothing but a pile of gear. It wasn’t long before Cullyn came back, with a brass bowl of steaming water in one hand and a large chunk of bread in the other.
“Eat this, my sweet,” he said.
Gladly Jill started in on the bread, which was studded with nuts and currants. Cullyn set the bowl down, rummaged in his saddlebags for soap and a fragment of mirror, then knelt on the floor to shave. He always shaved with his silver dagger. As he took it out, Jill could see the device engraved on the blade, a striking falcon, which was Cullyn’s mark, graved or stamped on everything he owned.
“That dagger looks awfully sharp, Da.”
“It is.” Cullyn began lathering his face. “It’s not pure silver, you see, but some sort of alloy. It doesn’t tarnish as easily as real silver, and it holds an edge better than any steel. Only a few silversmiths in the kingdom know the secret, and they won’t tell anyone else.”
“Why not?”
“And how should I know? A suspicious lot, the smiths who serve the silver dagger. I tell you, not just any exile or dishonored man can buy one of these blades. You have to find yourself another silver dagger and ride with him awhile—prove yourself, like—and then he’ll pledge you to the band.”
“Do you have to show him you can fight good?”
“Fight well.” Cullyn began to shave in neat, precise strokes. “That’s somewhat of it, truly, but only a part. Here, silver daggers have an honor of our own. We’re scum, all of us, but we don’t steal or murder. The noble lords know we don’t, and so they trust us enough to give us our hires. If a couple of the wrong kind of lads got into the band, gave us a bad name, like, well, then, we’d all starve.”
“Da, why did you want to be a silver dagger?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. I didn’t want to. It was the only choice I had, that’s all. I’ve never heard of a man being so big a fool as to join up just because he wanted to.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cullyn considered, wiping the last bit of lather off his upper lip with the back of his hand.
“Well,” he said at last. “No fighting man joins the daggers if he has a chance at a decent life in a lord’s dun. Sometimes men are fools, and we do things that mean no lord would let us ride in his warband ever again. When that happens, well, carrying the dagger is a fair sight better than sweeping out a stable or suchlike. At least you get to fight for your hire, like a man.”
“You never could have been a fool!”
Cullyn’s lips twitched in a brief smile.
“But I was, truly. A long time ago your old Da here was a rider in a warband in Cerrmor, and he got himself into a good bit of trouble. Never dishonor yourself, Jill. You listen to me. Dishonor sticks closer to you than blood on your hands. So my lord kicked me out, as he had every right to do, and there was nothing left for me but the long road.”
“The what?”
“The long road. That’s what silver daggers call our life.”
“But Da, what did you do?”
Cullyn turned to look at her with eyes so cold that Jill was afraid he was going to slap her.
“When you’re done eating,” he said instead, “we’re going to the market fair and buy you some lad’s clothes. Dresses aren’t any good for riding and camping by the road.”