Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [147]
Rhodry was too worried to protest when the guards disarmed him. As they marched through the streets, he kept a sullen silence. He’d been hoping to avoid Blaen, who (or so he thought) doubtless despised him as a dishonored outcast, and now he was faced with the prospect of seeing him again only to beg for Jill’s life. And what’s Jill done? he thought. If I get her safely out of this, I’m going to beat her black-and-blue! In the ward of the dun, the guards turned their horses over to a page, then shoved him inside the broch. Rhodry hadn’t been inside Dun Hiraedd for two years, when he’d come for Blaen’s wedding. He looked around dazed at the great hall where once he’d dined as an honored guest; then the guards hustled him up the spiral staircase to the second floor. The heavy oak doors of the chamber of justice stood open, and he and the guards stepped just inside and waited.
In the curve of the wall, under a rank of windows, Blaen sat at a table with a scribe at his left hand and two councillors at his right. Since there were no priests in attendance, Rhodry could tell that this was merely some sort of hearing, not full malover. Kneeling on the floor in front of the gwerbret were Jill, a couple of unprepossessing young men, and an enormously fat fellow. Wardens stood about with quarterstaves in their hands. In the corner where the curved stone wall met a wickerwork partition sat Nevyn in a half-round chair. Rhodry felt profoundly relieved, knowing that the old man would never let Jill come to harm.
“Very well, Ogwern,” Blaen was saying. “I admit that the dead man’s threats were sufficient for you to want a bodyguard.”
“It was most horrible, Your Grace,” the fat fellow said. “And a poor but honest innkeep like myself has no time to train with a blade.”
“Even a porker should have tusks.”
“His grace is ever a quick man with his jests, but I’d rather hire tusks than grow them. Truly, the silver dagger was an excellent bargain, seeing as the nasty fellow actually drew on me.”
Blaen nodded, then glanced at Jill.
“Well, silver dagger, I begin to think you were justified in drawing first blood.”
“My thanks, Your Grace, and truly, I had no way of knowing that the fellow was going to poison himself.”
At that peculiar statement Rhodry forgot himself enough to step forward. With an oath the guards grabbed him and pulled him back. Blaen turned toward the interruption.
“Bring him forward. So you caught this miserable lout of a silver dagger, did you?”
“Riding in the south gate as bold as brass, Your Grace,” said a guard. “And he’s got a Western Hunter with him that I’ll wager is stolen.”
“No doubt. He always was too fond of other people’s horses.”
Although Blaen was trying to suppress a grin, Rhodry caught him at it.
“Blaen, you bastard!” Rhodry snapped. “This is one of your cursed jests.”
Although everyone in the room gasped at the insult, Blaen burst out laughing and rose, striding across the chamber to grab his cousin’s hand.
“Well, so it is. I thought we’d have a laugh by arresting you like the silver dagger you are. Ah, by the gods, it gladdens my heart to see you.”
As they shook hands, Rhodry felt like weeping.
“It gladdens my heart to see you, too,” he said. “But what are you doing with my woman?”
“Naught, I assure you. I’ve got more honor around women than some of my kin I could mention.”
With a grin Rhodry punched him on the shoulder. Everyone in the chamber was staring at them, and Blaen suddenly remembered that he had a judicial proceeding on hand.
“Go stand with old Nevyn, will you? Let’s finish this blasted thing up.”
When Rhodry did so, Nevyn gave him a thin, dry smile, but the old man’s eyes were deeply troubled. Rhodry found out why when the warden stepped forward to give evidence about a stranger who took poison rather than face the gwerbret and who wore some sort of witchcraft talisman around his neck. Blaen considered the matter for a moment, announcing that he found no fault with anyone over the death, then closed the hearing.
“Doubtless