Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [178]
“I’ll cause you no trouble.”
Sarcyn was as good as his word. He never spoke again, either, during the long ride back to Dun Hiraedd.
Floating above the fire, the image of Salamander’s face grinned. Nevyn heartily wished that just once in his benighted life the gerthddyn would take something seriously.
“So,” Salamander thought to him. “Camdel’s evidence means that I was right about the opium.”
“Just so. I want you to go to a certain Lord Gwaldyn straight away. He’s associated with the king’s provost, and he knows me well. Have Gwaldyn take this Anghariad under arrest as soon as he can, and tell him to guard her carefully. I’ll wager there will be a lot of the noble-born at court who are going to want her poisoned to stop her tongue from wagging.”
“I’ll go to him first thing on the morrow. How long should I stay in Dun Deverry?”
“Until I arrive. Liddyn the apothecary—you’ve met him, I think—is on his way here from Dun Cantrae. I’ll be giving Camdel into his care, then setting out to return the Great Stone to the king. Do you mind waiting there?”
“Not in the least. In fact, your asking me to stay is somewhat of a boon, because my beloved and esteemed father wants me to come home.”
“Well, now, if he needs you, I can send someone else to the capital.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, O Master of the Aethyr.” Salamander turned melancholy in a most dramatic way. “I can guess exactly what this is about: he wants to berate me for my wandering ways. I said I’d return in the fall. That’ll be soon enough to hear yet another carefully composed and precisely pointed lecture on my faults, all delivered in full bardic voice.”
When they finished their conversation, Nevyn put out the fire, for the summer night was warm. On the hearthstone nearby sat Alastyr’s three books, which the dwarves had handed over to him. One was simply a copy of the Secret Book of Cadwallon the Druid; the others, in the Bardek tongue, were called The Way of Power and The Warrior’s Sword, half pretentious garbage, half exceedingly dangerous procedures and rituals. Idly Nevyn opened The Warrior’s Sword.
“Yea, for all things shall be dominated by the Will of the true Warrior, down even unto the secret places of the Darkness, for it is most admirable and recondite a truth that they who fight under the Sigil of the …”
With a snort Nevyn slammed the book shut and tossed it aside.
“I wonder why those people can never write decently,” he remarked to the yellow gnome. “Recondite, indeed!”
The gnome scratched its stomach, then grabbed a handful of charcoal from the hearth and scattered it all over the carpet. Before Nevyn could grab it, it was gone. He was picking up the last of the bits when there was a knock at the door.
“It’s Jill.”
“Come in, child, come in.”
She stepped in, shutting the door, then leaning back against it as if she were weary.
“I’ve come to say farewell. Rhodry and I are leaving on the morrow.”
“Ye gods! So soon?”
“So soon. It’s the way Blaen treats Rhodry. All the generous things he does only make Rhoddo feel more shamed. Sometimes I don’t understand the honor-bound at all.”
“They have a rocky field to plow. But I’d hoped you’d linger here until I finished up my affairs, at least.”
“So did I. I’ll miss you.”
“Will you, now?” He felt his throat tighten. “I’ll miss you too, but you can always reach me through the fire.”
“So I can.” She was silent for so long that he came closer to look at her. “I’ve been thinking. At times I wish I’d just gone with you when you wanted me to study herbcraft, but now it’s too late.”
“Because of our Rhodry?”
She nodded agreement, thinking something through.
“But, well,” she said at last, “one of these days he’s bound to get me with child, and I won’t be able to ride with him. If I went back to Dun Gwerbyn to be with Da, he couldn’t even visit because of his exile. But cursed if I’ll end up a tavern wench like Mam. So I was wondering,