Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [94]
As she often did in these situations, Jill found herself thinking about her master in the dweomer, dead these many years now, and wondering what he would have done. She particularly wished that she had his influence with the priesthood of Bel If she’d been Nevyn, she could have gone to the temple and perhaps worked them round over the matter of the late Lord Matyc’s lands, but they would never listen to a woman, especially not to one they barely knew. That particular matter lay in the laps of the gods, she supposed, such as they were. It occurred to her that the priests stood to lose a great deal if Alshandra’s forces conquered Cengarn and overthrew their god. That grim possibility, at least, might give her some sort of weapon.
She studied the shadows in the ward, making mental notes of their position to give herself a starting mark for the passing of Time. Since her window faced east, she could measure by the shadow of the broch itself, which was at the moment about halfway across the ward. Although she stood there until it touched the main wall of the dun, Dallandra never appeared.
Rhodry slept most of that day curled up on a short bed in the dwarven inn. When the pain of his wound finally woke him, it took him a long time to remember where he was and why. He sat up, stretching cramped muscles, peering round him at what he could see of the tiny chamber in the dim blue light from the half-spent basket of fungi. Only his elven eyesight made it possible for him to see anything at all. As it was, he could make out the walls, the shape of a plain chest, and a door. He got up, grabbing a wall to steady himself as the chamber spun.
“Worse off than you thought, are you? You’re getting old, Rhodry lad.”
He sat down again rather fast, rested for a moment, then found his boots and pulled them on. This time when he stood, he did so slowly and managed to stay standing.
The hallway outside was better lit but utterly featureless, giving him not one hint of which way to go. He choked back an oath, then merely listened. Sure enough, he could hear faint voices far to his left, and following them did indeed lead him to the common room of the inn. Seated round the table were Otho and all his kin, while at the hearth the innkeep tended the iron kettle, which smelled of stew.
“Come sit down,” Garin called out. “You shouldn’t be up this soon.”
“Oh, I’m healing already.”
Still, Rhodry was glad enough to sit, even though the bench was much too short for his legs. The only way he could get comfortable was to perch forward on the edge and cross his legs loosely, so that he was almost resting on his knees, but it was better than hunkering down on the cold stone floor.
“Want some stew?” the innkeep called out.
“None at the moment, my thanks. I was hoping for another drink of that medicinal you gave me earlier.”
“Good idea. I’ll just go fetch it.”
The innkeep had no sooner disappeared down the corridor when they heard a faint pounding that must have come from the outer door. With a sigh Mic rose and trotted off to answer it. He came back with Yraen, carrying a mound of gear, a bedroll, saddlebags, even Rhodry’s winter cloak.
“Oho!” Rhodry said, “So I’ve been banished from the dun?”
“More or less.” Yraen dumped the mound unceremoniously on the floor near Rhodry’s feet. “Jill did mutter somewhat about it being safer for you here, like, but I know it aches the gwerbret’s heart to turn you out.”
“His grace is the very soul of honor. What about my horse?”
“Jill said to leave him be in the stables. Young Jahdo said he’d tend him.”
“Thank him for me, will you?”
“I will.” Yraen squatted down beside him. “How do you fare?”
“Not too badly. It was a shallow enough cut.”
The innkeep returned with the tiny glass of medicinal liquor, handed it to Rhodry, then trotted off again for more ale all round. Garin leaned forward to speak to Yraen.
“Any news from the dun? About more raiders and suchlike?”