Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [16]
With a wrench of will she calmed herself. Giving in to mad fury would do her no good.
“You’ve got to think,” she told herself. “And pray to the Goddess. She’s the only hope you’ve got.”
“The main body’s pulled out,” Dagwyn said. “But they left four men behind.”
“Bastards!” Ricyn snarled. “Treating our lady like she was a prize horse or suchlike, there for the stealing!”
Camlwn nodded grimly. The three of them were the last men left alive from the Wolf’s warband, and for days they’d been camping in the wooded hills behind the Temple of the Moon, where they could watch over the woman that they considered their sworn lord. All three of them had served the Wolf clan from boyhood, and they were prepared to go on serving it now.
“How good a watch are they standing?” Ricyn said. “Armed and ready for a scrap?”
“Not on your life.” Dagwyn paused for a grim smile. “When I sneaked up on them, I saw them sitting around in the grass, as happy as you please, and dicing with their shirtsleeves rolled up.”
“Oh, were they, now? Then let’s hope that the gods make their game a nice long one.”
The free men who worked the temple’s lands were extremely loyal to the high priestess, partly because she took far less of their crops in taxes than a noble lord would have, but mostly because they considered it an honor for them and their families to serve the Goddess. Ardda was sure, or so she told Gweniver, that one of the men would make the long trip to Dun Deverry for her with a message.
“This has got to stop! I can’t order those men off land that doesn’t belong to me, but I’m not going to let them sit there all summer, either. You’re not a criminal come here for sanctuary, and so they’ve got no right to keep you in. And besides, we all know they’d murder you if they could. We’ll see if the king Burcan serves can make him call his men off.”
“Do you think the king will listen to your petition?” Gweniver said. “I’ll wager he wants our lands in the hands of one of his vassals.”
“He’d best listen! I’m asking the high priestess in the Dun Deverry temple to intercede personally.”
Gweniver held the bridle of Ardda’s palfrey as she mounted, adjusting her long dresses over the sidesaddle, then walked beside her horse as she rode down to the gates. Since the four Boarsmen had shown no inclination to try entering the temple, the gates were standing open. Gweniver and Lypilla, the gatekeeper for the day, stood together and watched as Ardda rode out, sitting straight and defiantly in the saddle. As she reached the road, the Boarsmen scrambled to their feet and made her deep, respectful bows.
“Bastards,” Gweniver muttered. “They’re keeping to every letter of the law while tearing out its heart.”
“Just that. I wonder if they’d even murder you.”
“Take me to Burcan for a forced marriage, more like. I’d die first!”
They shared a troubled glance. Gweniver had known Lypilla all her life, just as she’d always known Ardda. They were as close to her as aunts or elder sisters, yet she doubted deep in her heart if she could bear to share their life. Out on the road Ardda turned round the curve of the hill, riding north, and disappeared. The Boarsmen sat down and returned to their dice game. Gweniver found herself remembering the man she’d killed on the road and wishing that she could deal those four the same Wyrd.
Although she could have gone back and made herself useful in the kitchen, Gweniver lingered at the gates for a while, idly talking with Lypilla and staring out at the freedom of hill and meadow denied her. All at once they heard distant hoofbeats, riding fast from the south.
“I suppose Burcan’s sending messengers or suchlike to his men,” Lypilla remarked.
The Boarsmen in the meadow seemed to agree, because they rose, idly stretching, and turned toward the sound. Suddenly, out of a stand of trees, burst three riders in full mail and