Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [128]
“It is that, especially here in this rotten place.”
“What?”
“In Deverry. Truly, my lady, I do hope I give no offense, but were I home, this thing would be a rotten sight easier to bear.”
“Well, no doubt. If you had your family—”
“That be not what I mean.” Jahdo paused, choosing words. “Ever since we came to Deverry, Meer and me, I’ve been thinking. First we were prisoners, and we were naught until you did speak up for us. You and Rhodry, too, though he were but a silver dagger himself. And then we had a place, a good place, because Meer were a bard and I did tend a bard. But now he’s dead.”
“Ah. And now you have no place again?”
“Just that. I do understand somewhat now, a thing my Da always told me. We are but ratters, he would say, the lowest of the low, but no matter. We have our place. We are citizens, citizens of Cerr Cawnen, and every bit as good as the grand folk who do live on Citadel. No one can turn us from our place, he would say. Well, there be no citizens, here in Deverry. There be only lords, and truly, in them I do see the Slavers that always I heard about, no matter how kind a single lord like Cadmar might be. And all the rest of us, we are naught unless the lords, they do give us some place.”
Jill was too staggered to answer for some moments. She’d always known that the lad had wits far beyond the ordinary, but this outburst showed her the great man he’d someday become—if, of course, he lived to grow up. Jahdo glared, defiant.
“You’re right as rain, lad,” Jill said at last. “Right as rain. And when you get home to Cerr Cawnen, I hope you tell everybody what you’ve seen and learned here, so they value what they have there.”
It was his turn for the surprise, his defiance sagging to a gawk.
“But I wouldn’t go talking about it now, not in the dun,” Jill went on. “It’ll get you into trouble, sure enough, if the lords hear you.”
“Well, truly, I do know that.”
“Good. Tell you what. For now, till the war’s over, you can come be my servant, and then you’ll have a place again. How’s that?”
“Oh, splendid! I do thank you, my lady, from the bottom of my heart. Never have I begrudged working for my food, because my Da, he did teach me so.”
“Done, then. Now let’s get your things moved into my chamber, before the chamberlain grabs them again.”
That evening, clouds blew up from the south, a promise of rain, scudding before the wind in the last of the sun and sending long shadows racing across the besiegers. As Tren trudged up the ridge to the captain’s camp, he felt as insubstantial as one of those shadows. No one came near him; no one spoke to him; no one looked him in the eye. Any man he met by chance ducked away from him fast. Bad geis—he could almost hear them thinking it.
In Hir-li’s tent, the other captains were already assembled, kneeling on the ground while the warleader paced back and forth, haranguing them. When Tren came in, Hir-li stopped, watching as the human lord took a place near the door and the two Horsekin closest him moved away. Off to one side of the rakzan, the high priestess sat in her wooden chair. Tren wondered if the Goddess would take over her priestess’s body and address her officers again—he rather hoped not. Behind her stood a squad of Keepers, hands on the hilts of their sabers.
Hir-li spoke to a young human slave, a blond lad with a narrow face, and sent him down the long line of captains. Although Tren went tense, wondering if he were to be assassinated right there, the lad turned out to be a translator. He crouched directly behind Tren and whispered the gist of what was being said in what intervals he could find.
“The priestess has already explained that she ordered you to kill the bard,” he murmured.
“Good. Will you convey my apologies to Hir-li for being late?”
The boy stood and did so, then knelt again. Hir-li looked Tren’s way and raised one hand in greeting, then returned to his harangue.
“The master’s angry about the way the First Regiment acted when you killed the bard,” the lad whispered. “He’s about to call out the officers who were