Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [75]
A hunter who lays snares had better watch where he puts his feet.
—Old Deverry proverb
Of all the towns in all the wide kingdom of Deverry, the Westfolk only ever visited Cernmeton and Dun Gwerbyn, and them only rarely. The townsfolk in both places had a curious reaction whenever the People rode their way. In a kind of unconscious conspiracy, they simply refused to admit how different the elves were. Any child who asked about elven ears was told that this savage tribe cropped their babies’ ears. Any child who pointed out the strange cat-slit eyes was told to hold his tongue, or else his ears might get cropped the same way. The adults themselves, however, found it hard to look an elf in the eye, which was one reason that the People considered human beings shifty and untrustworthy.
Devaberiel, therefore, wasn’t surprised when the guards at Dun Gwerbyn’s gates first stared at him, then looked quickly away. They did the same to the others with him, Jennantar and Calonderiel, but they managed to take a good look at the two packhorses dragging travois, and finally, a string of twelve riderless horses.
“Have you come here to sell those?” the guard asked. “There’s taxes to pay if you have.”
“I’ve not. I’m bringing them as tribute to the tieryn.”
“Ah. Go on through, then.”
Although Jennantar and Calonderiel had been in Eldidd before, they’d never been inside the town, and Devaberiel noticed them looking scornfully at the grimy round houses, dripping smoke-stained thatch, and the narrow streets, curving in a seemingly aimless pattern. Devaberiel himself felt faintly uneasy about the way everything was crammed in together. You simply couldn’t get a clear view in a human town, no matter which way you looked.
“We’re not going to stay here long, are we?” Calonderiel muttered.
“Not very. You can leave straightaway, if you like, after we get the horses to the dun.”
“Oh, no. I want to see Rhodry again, and Cullyn, too.”
Cullyn they saw immediately, because he happened to be standing in the open gates of the dun when they puffed up the hill. With a shout of greeting he trotted down to meet them. Although Devaberiel had heard a good bit about the man who was considered the best swordsman in all Deverry, he was unprepared for the sight of him. Well over six feet tall, he was broad-shouldered and hard-muscled. An old scar slashed down his left cheek, and his blue eyes did nothing to dispel the grim impression. They were as hard and cold as a winter storm, even when he smiled and shook Calonderiel’s hand.
“Now, this is a gift from the gods,” Cullyn said. “It gladdens my heart to see you again.”
“And mine to see you,” said the warleader. “We’ve brought tribute to Lady Lovyan and young Rhodry.”
“Well, the lady will be glad to receive it.” His eyes turned even grimmer. “But Gwerbret Rhys of Aberwyn sent Rhodry in exile last fall.”
“What?” All three elves spoke at once.
“Just that. But come in, come in. I can tell you the tale over a tankard of the tieryn’s hospitality.”
As they led the horses up to the dun, Devaberiel felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.
“Cullyn?” he said. “Then where’s Rhodry now?”
“Riding the long road as a silver dagger. Do you know what that means, good sir?”
“I do. Oh, ye gods, he could be anywhere in the wretched kingdom!”
As they came into the ward, servants and grooms came running, exclaiming over the horses. The elven breed, known as Western Hunters in Deverry, stood sixteen to eighteen hands, with broad chests and delicate heads. Although they were usually gray, buckskin, or roan, a few were a rich golden color, and those were the most prized. Although Devaberiel had brought a golden mare for his son to use as breeding stock, now he was tempted to take her back again. Come now, he told himself, I owe Lowa something for giving me a son.
The clatter and the shouting outside had apparently aroused Lovyan’s curiosity, because she came out of the broch and strolled over. Wearing a dress of red Bardek silk, kirtled with her clan’s red, white, and brown plaid, she walked as lithely