Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [10]
“True spoken,” Jill broke in. “Here, did he say where this noble lord lived?”
“Not to put a name to it, but I got the feeling, just from a few things he said, like, that it was somewhere to the south.”
After the thief took himself off again, Jill sat down next to Rhodry on the unsteady bench.
“Thinking of riding south, my love?”
“I am. It gripes my soul, thinking of one of the noble-born murdered by some base-born coward. Wonder if we can find our plump little killer again?”
But although they searched the town before they rode out, they never saw or smelled him.
The late afternoon sun, flecked with dust motes, streamed in the windows of the great hall. At the far side of the round room, a couple of members of the warband were wagering on the dice, while others sipped ale and talked about very little. Tieryn Dwaen of Bringerun lounged back in his carved chair, put his feet up on the honor table, and watched the first flies of spring as he sipped a tankard of ale. His guest, Lord Cadlew of Marcbyr, sat at his right and fussed over a dog from the pack lying round their feet. A fine, sleek greyhound of the breed known as gwertroedd, this dog was new since Cadlew’s last visit, or at least, the last one when he’d had time to pay attention to something as mundane as a dog.
“Do you want him?” Dwaen said. “He’s yours if you do.”
“Splendidly generous of you, but not necessary.”
“Go ahead, take him. He’s the last thing my father ever bought, and for all that he’s a splendid hunter, I’d just as soon have him out of my sight.”
Cadlew looked up with a troubled toss of his blond head.
“Well, in that case I’ll take him with me when I ride home. My thanks, Dwaen.”
Dwaen shrugged and signaled the page, Laryn, to come pour more ale. The boy was the son of one of his vassals sent to the tieryn for his training, and raising him was now Dwaen’s responsibility. Even though it was over a month since he’d inherited, Dwaen still found it terrifying that he was the tieryn, responsible for the demesne and the lives of everyone on it.
“You know,” Cadlew said, and very slowly and carefully, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the death. I can’t help thinking you were a bit of a fool.”
“Fine friend you are. Did you ride all this way just to twit me?”
“Nah, nah, nah, my friend, and I call you that truly. I came to give you a warning. Lord Beryn offered you twice the gold of your father’s blood price. I don’t see why you didn’t take the lwdd and be done with it.”
“Because I wanted my father’s murderer hanged. It should be obvious.”
“But young Madryc was the only son Beryn had. He won’t forget this.”
“Neither will I. Da was the only father I happened to have, too.”
With a sigh, Cadlew drank his ale in silence. Although he felt his wound of rage opening, Dwaen could forgive his friend’s lack of understanding. Doubtless every lord in Gwaentaer was wondering why he’d pushed the law to its limit and insisted that the gwerbret hang Madryc. Most would have taken the twelve gold pieces and got their satisfaction in knowing that Beryn had impoverished himself and his clan to raise them.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Dwaen said, choosing his words carefully. “It’s a wrong thing to take gold for blood when a man murders in malice. If it’d been an oath-sworn blood feud or suchlike, no doubt I would have felt different, but that drunken young cub deserved death.”
“But it would have been better if you’d killed him yourself instead of running to the laws like a woman. Beryn would have understood that.”
“And why should I add one murder to another when we’ve got a gwerbret not forty miles north of here?”
“Ye gods, Dwaen, you talk like a cursed priest!”
“If I’d had brothers, I would have been a priest, and you