Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [87]
“I should have known! Ye gods.”
Even Jill had to admit that, expensive drink or not, it was pleasant to sit in a tavern room that didn’t smell of moldy straw and unwashed dogs. They had a table to themselves, because when customers entered, they took one look at Rhodry, another at the pommel of his silver dagger, and sat elsewhere, a double insult when one considered that they were smugglers themselves.
In a few minutes, though, someone entered who seemed to be a traveler, judging from the suspicious way that the locals looked him over. He was dressed in a fine green cloak, gray brigga of the softest wool, and a shirt thick with embroidery; he tipped the innkeep’s lad a couple of coppers to bring in his gear, when one would have done. He also insisted that the innkeep show him the best chamber he had. As he followed the innkeep up the spiral staircase, Jill studied him curiously. Tall and slender, he had the pale hair and handsome features of someone with more than a touch of elven blood in his veins. He also looked oddly familiar, though she couldn’t place where she’d seen him. The innkeep’s lad noticed her interest and hurried over.
“That fellow’s name is Salamander,” he said. “And he’s a gerthddyn.”
“Is he, now? Well, then, we’ll have a splendid time listening to his tales later.”
Jill supposed that at some point on the long road, she’d seen him perform somewhere. Later, however, he came back downstairs, paused, and looked at Rhodry with a small puzzled frown, as if he were thinking that he should know this silver dagger. Seeing the pair of them in profile made her realize the truth: the gerthddyn looked enough like her man to be his brother. At that point she remembered the strange thought that had driven her to Dun Mannannan, and she shivered.
“Here, good sir,” she called out. “Come join us if you’d like. A gerthddyn’s always welcome to a tankard.”
“My thanks, fair lady.” Salamander bowed to her. “But allow me to stand you a round.”
Once the ale was fetched and paid for, Salamander settled in companionably at their table. He and Rhodry considered each other for a moment, both puzzled. They only looked in a mirror once a day when they shaved, after all, and bronze mirrors never showed a man a good picture of himself.
“Here,” Rhodry said, “have we met before?”
“I was just wondering the same myself, silver dagger.”
“Were you ever in Aberwyn?”
“Oh, many a time. Do you hail from there?”
“I do, so maybe I watched you tell a tale in the marketplace. My name’s Rhodry, and this is Gilyan.”
Salamander laughed and saluted him with his tankard.
“Then well met indeed. I’m a good friend of old Nevyn the herbman.”
Rhodry went a bit white about the mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Salamander said.
“How do you know who we are?”
“I just saw the old man over in Cerrmor. Why?”
“Did you, now?” Jill broke in. “Have you seen him lately?”
“Just six days ago, over in Cerrmor. He looked as fit as always. I swear, he’s the best advertisement for his herbs that ever a man could have. If I see him again, and I might well do so, I’ll tell him that you’re both well.”
“Our thanks,” Rhodry said. “Have you heard anything about local wars in this part of the kingdom? A gerthddyn always knows what news there is.”
While Rhodry and Salamander talked over the local gossip, Jill paid little attention. Although it seemed that Salamander had no idea that Nevyn was dweomer, which made it unlikely that the gerthddyn possessed it himself, Wildfolk clustered around him. They sat on the table, they climbed in his lap, they perched on his shoulders and affectionately patted his hair. Every now and then his eyes moved as if he could see them. Of course, all elves could see the Wildfolk, and he was at least half an elf, she was sure of it. Rhodry, however, couldn’t see them. It was a puzzle, and she studied the pair of them carefully, noting all the little points of resemblance: the curve of their mouths, the way the corners of their eyelids drooped slightly, and