Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [45]
The wife rose and fled the hall.
“How far away are your nearest vassals?” Dannyn remarked.
“Fifteen miles north, and then there’s another one sixteen miles to the west—or should I say, there was. Who knows if his dun still stands?”
When Dannyn swore aloud, Cavydd’s mouth twisted in what might have been a smile.
“When you return to court,” he said levelly, “tell our liege somewhat for me, will you? I don’t know how much longer we can hold out. When you ride north, my lord, look around you. Once there were demesnes all the way between here and the Eldidd border, all the way north along the Aver Vic. Just look round and see how many Deverry lords are left.”
“I have no doubt our liege will remedy the situation.”
“He’d better. I swore I’d die for our king, and I will if it comes to that, but there are some who are ready enough to make their peace with Eldidd if it’ll put a stop to these raids.”
Dannyn slammed both hands palms down on the table and leaned forward.
“Then let me tell you somewhat,” he growled. “If anyone turns traitor, then he’ll have me and my men raiding his lands. Ask your grumbling friends which would be worse.”
He swung himself free of the bench, turned on his heel, and stalked off without another word. Cavydd sighed and picked up his tankard of ale.
“Do you know Dannyn well, Lady Gweniver?” he said.
“Not truly, Your Grace. I’ve never met him before this spring.”
“Then you have a very interesting time ahead of you.”
On the morrow the army rode north through deserted farms, stripped of food, that were as good as the tracks in the road for tracing the Eldidd raiders. At sunset they came to a village burnt to the ground. A tangle of charred timbers, still smoking, lay among black trees and a tumble of cracked stone from the village well.
“Looks like the folk escaped in time, my lady,” Ricyn said.
“So it does. There! Look!”
Next to the ruins stretched the village commons, lined with a thick stand of poplars. Among the trees stood women with children huddled against them, men with flails, pitchforks, sticks, whatever impromptu weapons they’d managed to grab when the raiders swept over them. Gweniver dismounted and joined Dannyn as two old men came to meet them. They stared at Gweniver’s tattoo, then knelt.
“You be Cerrmor men,” one stated.
“We are,” Dannyn said. “When were you raided? How many men were there?”
“Two days ago now, your lordship.” The old man sucked his teeth in thought. “And as to how many, well, it’s hard to say, because they just comes riding out of nowhere. Young Molyc was out with the cows, you see, and if it weren’t for him, we’d be dead, but he sees them coming, so he runs back.”
“And how did Molyc know they were enemies?”
“They had these blue shields, with these silver dragons on them, and Molyc’s never seen any such thing in his life, so he figures it means no good.”
“He was right enough.” Dannyn glanced at Gweniver. “Do you know what those shields mean? These raiders are part of the king’s own men, and they never ride unless a prince of the realm is with them.”
“A prince?” The old man spat on the ground. “He must be a poor kind of prince if he needs our cows that bad. They took everything we had, my lord. Our cows, our chickens, every miserable scrap of food we had.”
“No doubt. Well, you’ll eat well for a while. We’ll leave you all the food we can spare, and a packhorse or two that maybe you can trade for seed grain.”
The old man kissed his hand, then began to sob in convulsive shudders. Gweniver stared in amazement, because she’d expected Dannyn to care even less about peasants than most lords would, which was cursed little. The captain turned to her with a twisted smile.
“I know what it’s like to have naught,” he said. “I remember it every day of my life. That’s somewhat you wouldn’t understand, is it? My most noble lady.”
In embarrassment Gweniver strode away, but the first order she gave was for the carters to unload food for the villagers.
Once the army was settled in for the night and the guard posted, Gweniver joined Dannyn at his fire for