Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [160]
After she left the princess, Jill was crossing the ward on her way to her own side broch when she saw a small party forming at the gates, a herald, carrying a staff wound with ribands, and an escort of warriors to take him through the town. The equerry and Gwerbret Cadmar himself, leaning on his stick, were standing talking with the young herald. At his right hand, and all dressed in clean clothes for the occasion, stood Meer with Jahdo to lead him. When Jill joined them, the bard stepped forward, swinging his massive head from side to side.
“Is that the mazrak?” he bellowed.
“It is, indeed,” Jill said. “What are you doing here?”
“I have offered my services to the gwerbret in thanks for his generous treatment of me and my lad. Among our people one of the twelve essential conditions for a parley is the presence of a bard. Besides, if these savage swine don’t speak your language, the herald will need a man along who speaks theirs.”
“Just so, and my thanks. Savage swine, is it? They’re Horsekin from the north, then.”
“They are, and I don’t like the smell of them. Somewhat evil’s afoot here, but you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“I’m afraid not, good bard, I’m afraid not.” Jill turned to the gwerbret. “Who’s called for the parley, Your Grace?”
“They have. They want to deliver a demand and terms.” Cadmar’s face flushed red with rage. “The filthy gall, thinking they can make demands upon me!”
“I’m willing to wager what they’ll be, too,” Jill said. “Hand over Princess Carramaena and thus the unborn child.”
Although the herald looked profoundly skeptical, in the end Jill was proved right. Those sent to the parley rode back soon and fast. Though the herald himself was white and shaking, Meer raged, bellowing and stomping his way into the great hall. Jill hovered by the dragon hearth while the herald delivered his news. Everyone in the hall, whether noble or common-born, went dead-silent to listen.
“They demand we hand over the princess, sure enough,” the herald said. “The only terms they offer are these, that we may kill her ourselves, to assure ourselves that her death is a merciful one, and hand over her dead body instead.”
The hall broke out in rage—curses, shouts, inarticulate howls of sheer horror. Meer turned to Jill and hissed a single word, “blasphemy.” Cadmar rose, pounding on the honor table with his stick until he got silence.
“It gladdens my heart to hear you as furious as I.” The gwerbret’s voice rang loud but steady. “Never fear. Never would I turn over any woman to this swarm of filthy maggots, whether she were princess or tavern wench.”
A roar of approval answered him. Jill could only hope that they’d feel the same if the siege dragged on into long months of starvation and disease. With Jahdo at his elbow, Meer strode forward and made a bow in the gwerbret’s direction. The hall silenced itself again, straining forward in curiosity.
“Your Grace, I have a thing that I must say, for it burns in my mouth. These people are not my people. They may be Horsekin, but they are not Gel da’Thae. They would kill a woman who carries a child, and such is one of the four greatest offenses to our gods. They are blasphemers, idolaters, followers of perverted magicks, filth clotting the pure face of the earth and a stinking dung heap under the sky. I abjure them, I abhor them, I turn my back upon them forever and utterly.”
The crowd in the hall muttered to one another, but quietly, waiting for his grace’s answer.
“For that you have my thanks, good bard,” Cadmar said. “And from now on, I shall consider you one of my own men. Even if you choose to leave us, you will always have a place here in my dun and at my table, any time you see fit to return.”
The crowd sighed, nodding approval.
“My lord has my humble thanks. He has shown the greatness of his heart and soul this day.” Meer bowed again, then whispered something to Jahdo, who turned him in Jill’s direction. “Mazrak, everything