Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [148]
Tren wiped his dagger on the dead prisoner’s shirt, then thrust the body away, letting it flop into the dirt. He rose to find himself face to face with Hir-li, who had taken the dead man’s belt from the guards.
“Very cleanly done,” the rakzan said. “You have a nice hand for these things, Lord Tren. Here. You’ll want this.”
Tren took the proffered silver dagger, hefting it in one hand.
“My thanks. This is how I knew who he was. Our spy told me about two silver daggers. One set up the fight, she said. The other did the killing.”
“I see.” Hir-li nodded, swallowing the lie. “Well, you have half your revenge, then, and a trophy.”
Tren, however, kept the silver dagger not more than a scant hour. He was sitting in his tent, examining it by lamplight, wondering who the poor bastard was that he’d slain to spare him the long spear, and wondering as well why he’d done so, when Raena’s maidservant shoved back the tent flap.
“Her Holiness summons you.” She pointed one finger at the dagger. “Bring that.”
Tren found her alone in the tent. Dressed only in a linen tunic, she was pacing back and forth in the silvery moon glow, her hair spread out round her shoulders, and it seemed that the long black mane had come alive, swirling and snapping in some private breeze. When she saw the dagger, she smiled, grabbed it in both hands, and held it up to catch the dweomer light. He knelt, thinking that the Goddess was upon her, but her voice sounded human enough, giggling like a lass who’s been given a courting gift.
“Name your price for this, my lord.”
“Take it as a gift to you and our Goddess both.”
She laughed and rubbed the flat of the blade over her breasts, the edge so near her nipples that he winced. She saw the gesture and smiled as she lay the dagger down on a wooden chest.
“My thanks, then,” she said, “and a pretty gift it is. I only wish I’d seen him die. Do you know who that was?”
Tren debated.
“I don’t,” he said at last. “That he was a silver dagger was enough reason for me to hate him.”
“He was Rhodry Maelwaedd’s friend. I’m sure he had a great deal to do with your brother’s death.”
Tren laughed himself, one short bark that he’d all unwittingly told Hir-li the truth.
“I shall treasure this blade,” Raena went on. “I shall savor it, I shall brood over it, I shall work dweomer with it, and someday I shall have revenge with it.”
“No doubt.” Tren rose with a bow in her direction. “I have every faith that Her Highness will be successful.”
“Do you? Good.” She reached out and caught his arm. “There’s blood all over your sleeve, Tren.”
“So there is, Your Holiness. My apologies, but slitting a man’s throat is a messy job.”
“No need to apologize.” She looked up with a soft smile, her eyes suddenly bright. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave me, my lord. You shall have a reward for this.”
“Tonight, Your Holiness, my place is with my men. What if there’s a night attack on the camp?”
“There won’t be. The Goddess would have warned me.”
He considered excuses, realized how fast her gleeful mood could turn to rage, then took her by the shoulders and kissed her on the mouth. With a little sob, she rubbed herself against him.
“My heart aches to say this, Silver Dagger,” Erddyr said, “but if Yraen’s not here by now, he’s not coming back. The same goes for the others.”
“None of them have come back?”
“None. It bodes ill.”
Rhodry nodded, staring at the lightening sky.
“One more reason for blood.” Rhodry drew his silver dagger and held it up to catch the dawn. “Yraen, you’ll be avenged. I promise you that.”
He tipped back his head and began to laugh, felt the laugh bubbling and shrieking out of his mouth while men turned to stare, and the dragon swung her head round and hissed. Lord Erddyr earned the admiration of every man in the camp by grabbing Rhodry by the shoulders and shaking him when he had a dagger in his hand and the fit upon him.
“Stop it! Stop it, man! That’s an order!”
Rhodry