Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [42]
“And just why did you say that about our bastard? I want the truth out of you.”
“Well, me and the whole cursed army honor your vow. Does he?”
“He’s not going to have any choice. What’s making you think otherwise?”
“Naught, my lady. My apologies.”
She hesitated, still looking at him with that deep-eyed suspicion, then turned away and brought out a pair of dice from her saddlebags, tossing them in one hand like a hardened rider.
“Are you game?” she said. “We can play for splinters of firewood.”
“Of course, my lady. Have the first roll.”
With a toss she threw them into the firelight.
“Five, by the hells!” she groaned. “Your roll, then, but I hope it’s the last cursed five I see from now on.”
They played dice all evening, and never once did she mention Lord Dannyn’s name again. Yet in the morning she went to speak to the king’s captain, then came back with the news that she’d be riding with her own men from then on.
The morning was thick with sea fog, which turned the air as cold as winter and dampened their heavy wool cloaks as the army rode, strangely silent in gray air. Although Gweniver grumbled about it as loudly as any of her men, in the end it turned out to be something of a blessing. Close to noon they came to Morlyn, a small harbor town some thirty miles from the Eldidd border, and found the gates shut against them. When Dannyn hailed them in Glyn’s name, guards leaned over the ramparts on top of the stone walls.
“Cerrmor men, by the gods!” yelled one. “Open the gates, lads! And aren’t we glad to see you, my lord Dannyn.”
“Why? Has there been trouble?”
“Trouble and twice trouble. Eldidd ships cruising along outside the harbor, and Eldidd raiders firing farms along the roads up north.”
Ricyn suddenly loved the fog, which was keeping the warships becalmed out at sea where they couldn’t raid and burn the harbor. When they rode through the gates, they found the town looking like a market fair. From miles around farmers had fled into the walls and brought their families, cattle, and pigs with them. Every street was a camp where women made do in rough tents, and children ran round among the cooking fires with dogs trailing after them. Dannyn tried to find somewhere to draw up his men, then settled for letting them trail down alleys where they could—the streets were crowded with tethered livestock. Ricyn followed Gweniver as she made her way through the confusion to Dannyn’s side.
“Well, my lady,” Ricyn said, “it looks like we’re going to have a bit of sport after all.”
“I’ll pray so.”
From a nearby tavern a stout, gray-haired man emerged, pulling a long black ceremonial robe over his shirt and brigga. He clutched Dannyn’s stirrup as a sign of fealty and introduced himself as Morlo, the town mayor.
“And when did you see these ships?” Dannyn said.
“Three days ago, my lord. The fishermen come in with the news, a merchantman, they say, and two galleys with her.”
“I see. Well, then your harbor’s probably safe enough. I’ll wager those ships are there only to provision the raiders. Where’s your local lord? Tieryn Cavydd, isn’t he?”
“He is.” Morlo paused to run a worried hand over his eyes. “But we haven’t seen a trace of him or his men these past two days, and that’s a bad omen, says I. We been afraid to send him a messenger.”
With an oath Dannyn turned to Gweniver.
“Let’s get our lads out of here. If Cavydd isn’t dead, he’s under siege. We’d better send a messenger back to Cerrmor, too, someone reliable, and get some ships out here to chase the Eldidd scum away.” He glanced around and saw Ricyn beside her. “Your captain might be a good man for the job.”
“He’s not,” Gweniver snapped. “My lord.”
Dannyn flushed scarlet. Only Ricyn’s long years of military discipline kept his hand away from his sword.
“As you wish, my lady,” Dannyn said at last. “I’ll send some of my own lads back.”
In a disorganized mob the army picked its way through town, then re-formed on the north-running road. Reluctantly Gweniver rode beside Dannyn when