Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [92]
“We’ve got a good life,” Avascaen would tell Egamyn. “You should thank the gods that things are peaceful, like.”
Egamyn would only shake his stubborn dark head and mutter that things were tedious. Aside from the farmers, company rarely came to Dun Cannobaen.
It was, therefore, quite an event when someone did turn up at the gates one afternoon. Since he slept all morning, Avascaen was just starting his day with a stroll when he saw a rider on a chestnut horse coming up the road followed by two gray mules heavily laden with canvas packs. When the rider dismounted, Avascaen realized that it was a woman, stout and middle-aged. Although she wore a dress, she wore a pair of dirty brigga under it so she could ride astride like a man. Her gray hair was caught back in a clasp, marking her an unmarried woman, and her dark eyes brimmed with good humor. The oddest thing of all was the color of her hands, a dirty brownish-blue all the way up to her elbows.
“Good morrow, good sir,” she said. “I’ll wager you’re surprised to see me riding up.”
“Well, that I am, but you’re most welcome, anyway. May I ask your name?”
“Primilla of Abernaudd, good sir. I’m out here looking for rare plants and suchlike for the dyers’ guild in Abernaudd.”
“Fancy that! Well, won’t you take our hospitality? I can offer you a meal, if you don’t mind having breakfast for your dinner, anyway.”
Primilla minded not in the least. While Maryl tended her horse and mules, she agreeably pitched into a trencher of bacon and a bowl of barley porridge. She was full of precious news from Abernaudd, the royal city of Eldidd, and Scwna and Egamyn listened avidly as she described the goings-on in the town.
“And I don’t suppose there’s any news of my Prince Mael,” Avascaen asked finally.
“Well, now, there is, and sad news at that. His wife just died, poor thing, of a fever.” Primilla shook her head sadly. “A pitiful thing, her never getting to see her husband again.”
Tears welled in Scwna’s eyes. Avascaen felt a bit rocky himself.
“And is there talk of disclaiming my prince and putting his son in his place?”
“Well, there is, and what will you think of that?”
“Mael’s the prince I swore to serve, and serve him I will. I’m like a badger, good dame. I hold on.”
Primilla smiled as if she found his loyalty delightful, a great relief after all the people who mocked him for it. As he considered her eyes—shrewd, really, for all the jolly look of her round face and pink cheeks—Avascaen wondered about her.
That night, when the moon was at its zenith, Primilla panted up the stone steps to join Avascaen on top of the tower. She helped lay the second load of wood on the beacon, then strolled over to the edge of the tower for a look at the view. Far down below them, the full moon was laying a silver road across the rippled sea, stretching out to the featureless horizon. In the clear spring air the stars seemed to be a mere arm’s reach high.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Avascaen said. “But few bother to come up for a look, except for me and my lads.”
“You must have strong legs, good sir, from all these cursed steps.”
“Oh, you get used to it in a bit, truly.”
As the fresh wood caught, gold light danced around them. Primilla leaned comfortably on the stone guardrail and contemplated the beach far below, where breakers rolled in like silver ghosts.
“Now, begging your pardon and all,” Avascaen said, “but it’s a rare thing to find a woman traveling alone. Aren’t you afraid of danger on the roads?”
“Oh, I can take care of myself when I have to,” Primilla said with a chuckle. “And besides, there’s not a lot of folk out here to give me trouble. It’s worth the trip, truly, to poke about in the woodlands and find my plants. You see, I’ve been a dyer all my life,