Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [123]
“If you brought me here to badger me, I’m leaving right now.”
“Is it badgering to ask a man I haven’t seen in four years where he’s been?”
Yraen allowed himself a brief smile. She waited, saying nothing, her head cocked a little to one side.
“Marro, please?” she said at last.
“There’s not much to tell. I rode away from Dun Deverry because I was sick in my gut of court life. I became a silver dagger because a man’s got to eat along the road, and what else did I know but sword craft?”
“But a prince turning into a silver dagger?”
“A very minor prince, my lady. Let’s not forget that. The younger son of a younger son, and I could have died of boredom, waiting round for my turn to carry the king’s falcon on my wrist and little duties such as that.”
Utterly bewildered, she stared.
“No one ever did understand you, Maryn,” she said at last. “You were always such a strange lad.”
“Stop calling me that! The only name I have is Yraen.”
She sighed, running both hands through her hair to push it back from her face.
“I’m glad I’ve seen you again,” she said. “I’m glad to know you’re alive and well.” She looked up, her eyes glinting tears. “For now, anyway. This war—”
“I won’t lie to you, my lady. Things bode ill. Very ill. When were you planning on returning to your husband’s dun?”
“In a few days. Why?”
“Don’t. Stay here. If we fail, if we can’t turn this besieging army back, they’ll be riding south, and Trev Hael’s in their path.”
She lay back in the chair and laid a trembling hand at her throat.
“I’m sorry, but you deserve to know the truth.”
“I’ve got children there, Mar—, well, Yraen. Three of them.”
“Send for them.”
“I will, on the morrow.” She rose, tossing her head in the familiar gesture of women of her rank, who reminded themselves many times over a lifetime that they were a warrior’s daughter and a warrior’s wife. “That reminds me. Drwmyc sent messengers to the king about this siege, well over an eightnight ago.”
“Did he? Good. Grandfather needs to know. How is he, by the by?”
“Doing splendidly for a man his age. Your mother’s well. I don’t suppose you care about your father.”
Yraen smiled, a bare twitch of his mouth, then rose.
“I won’t take up my lady’s time any longer. I need to find a place to sleep.”
She laughed, then covered her mouth with one hand.
“Oh, ye gods, don’t be daft!” Yraen snapped. “If someone finds out—”
“I’ve sent my maid away, and bribed the page, and besides, if things are as grim as you say, then who’s to care where either of us sleep tonight?” She ran her hand along his arm. “I’m in no mood to be alone.”
“Well, truly, I’m not either.”
Yraen caught her by the shoulders and kissed her, her mouth still familiar, despite the years between them, and as greedy as he remembered it as well.
• • •
The Horsekin camp lay bound in apathy and hot sun, while it tended those things that even the most glorious army must deal with here on earth. Every tenth man had been detailed to go fill in the old privy ditches near the edge of the camp and dig new ones. Others led horses round to the river that ran west of their camp and watered them. Out in the parade ground, where the food wagons were drawn up in a long line, Ddary was distributing rations to the warband, handing each man wrapped packets of flat-bread and cheese, each stamped with the army seal, then slicing up the haunch of cooked beef they’d been allotted as evenly as he could. Tren himself handed out salt twisted in bits of cloth. When they were finished, and the men on their way back to their camp, Tren gave the rations officer a special wooden stick, which the Horsekin solemnly notched and returned. Tren bowed; the rations officer bowed. Tren moved aside to let the next captain take his place.
“Ye gods,” Ddary muttered. “They do like their little ways, don’t they?”
Lord and captain walked back to the camp together, but