Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [13]
As the fighting men arrived, Branoic started keeping a count by the twenties on a bit of smooth board, but when he got up to a thousand, he stopped. Councillor Oggyn would be doing a better job of it, as he remarked to Maddyn.
“Just so,” Maddyn said. “The prince must be happy to see such a good turnout.”
“No doubt,” Branoic said. “Well, we're cursed near to the victory. That always inspires a little extra loyalty among the noble-born.”
They shared a laugh. Since Maryn could not officially ennoble Branoic until he was proclaimed king, Branoic still lived among the silver daggers, and they were sitting together in the barracks on a blustery morning. As they talked, Branoic was polishing his mail shirt with a bit of rag. All around them other men were working on their gear: cleaning mail, replacing leather straps or wooden toggles wherever they needed fixing, talking together in low voices about the fighting ahead, or boasting about their exploits of the summer past.
“Are you looking forward to riding out?” Maddyn said.
“Not truly,” Branoic said. “Odd of me. I used to be eager enough to get free of winter quarters.”
“Well, you've got somewhat to stay for now.”
“Lilli, you mean?” Branoic concentrated on threading the rag through a rusty ring. “If our prince ever lets her go.”
Maddyn said nothing for a long moment. Branoic looked up to find him solemn.
“He promised you,” the bard said at length, “that you'd be wed once he had the victory. Our prince doesn't break his promises.”
“He's never done it before.” Branoic paused, groping for words. “But it's like he's half-mad or somewhat. Lilli tells me he's starting to frighten her. He's jealous, like, and all the time.”
Maddyn muttered something foul under his breath.
“And him with his own lady, as beautiful and sweet as ever a man could want.” Branoic felt his bitterness rise in his throat like bile. “It gripes my soul, Maddo lad, if you don't mind me saying it.”
“Not at all.” Maddyn seemed to be measuring each word. “His lady's devoted to him, as well.”
“She is that.” Branoic was about to continue his tirade, but he could see that Maddyn looked oddly distracted—no doubt all this talk of women was boring him. “Ah well, I don't mean to croak like a frog, the same blasted chorus over and over. We made our bargain, the prince and me, and I've no call to be thinking he'll break it till he does.”
Maddyn was about to reply, but from outside they suddenly heard shouting and cheers. Owaen got up and went to look out the window. “It's Glasloc!” he called out. “Gwerbret Daeryc's held loyal to the prince!”
The silver daggers cheered as well, whether anyone could hear them or not, then went back to their work. Maddyn, however, neither spoke nor moved, merely sat staring out at nothing.
“Here,” Branoic said, “are you ill?”
“In a way, truly.” Maddyn turned to him with an odd twisted smile. “In a way.”
Once again Branoic wondered if he was understanding what Maddyn meant. Since his usual way of dealing with things he couldn't understand was to shrug them off, he changed the subject.
Yet speaking of Lilli had brought his feelings for her to mind, and in but a little while he got up and left the barracks. Since Daeryc had just ridden in, no doubt Prince Maryn would be safely occupied by greeting his guest in the great hall. Sure enough, Daeryc's riders and their horses filled the main ward with confusion. Near the gates a line of carts stood waiting to be unloaded. Servants rushed around, leading horses away, inviting the men inside to drink, and in general sorting things out as best they could.
Branoic left the ward proper and ducked around a half-destroyed wall. He knew a back way