Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [98]
None of the noble-born had any idea of how to make a coherent story out of the complicated events leading up to last summer's siege. Dar was perhaps the best at it, but Cadmar and Gwinardd kept interrupting him to add details and digressions. Yvaedd, however, seemed to find their talk of false goddesses and sorcerers who could turn themselves into birds interesting enough. Though at first he asked various questions, eventually he merely sat and listened. Toward the end Rhodry wondered if Yvaedd realized how bewildered he looked. He supposed not. Finally, Dar described the Horsekin. He rose from his chair to indicate their enormous height while Gwinardd and Cadmar kept interrupting to talk about their horses and long sabers. Yvaedd could take no more.
“My lords!” Yvaedd rose and bowed to Dar. “And Your Highness. Truly, I mean not the slightest insult, but these Horsekin—I've never heard of such a thing, and here I was born in the west myself.”
“But in Aberwyn. That's all the way down on the sea-coast.” Dar considered for a moment. “Here, my lord. If you started telling your friends at court about the Westfolk, would they believe you?”
“They wouldn't,” Yvaedd said. “I catch your drift, Your Highness—you're certainly quite real, for all their disbelief. My apologies.” He glanced at the scribe. “We will take these Horsekin as described. Make sure you write down every detail. This is troubling news.”
The scribe nodded.
“They take slaves, you say?” Yvaedd turned back to Cadmar.
“Just that,” Cadmar said. “And I fear me they see Deverry as a fine place to catch some new ones.”
“The high king will see the great import in this. Fear not. I'm cursed glad you could hold your own against them, when the time came to face them in the field.”
“Imph,” Gwinardd said. “We never would have managed that without the dragon's help.”
“The dragon?” Yvaedd turned to him. “Does His Grace have an alliance with Aberwyn, then?”
“Not that dragon!” Gwinardd leaned forward, all seriousness. “I don't mean a blazon, I mean a real one. You know, like in the old tales. A scaly sort of beast, black and green, with enormous wings. The enemy mounts couldn't stand the smell of her, and they bolted.”
Yvaedd looked at him with his mouth stuck half-open like the lid of a rusty metal chest. Gwerbret Cadmar sighed, then hauled himself up with the aid of his walking stick.
“It's late,” Cadmar announced. “We've been at this blasted conference all afternoon, and I for one need some ale. I suggest we convene again tomorrow.”
“Very well, Your Grace.” Lord Yvaedd's voice sounded as feeble as a man with a fever in his blood. “I wouldn't mind a tankard myself.”
As the council was dispersing, Lord Yvaedd caught up with Rhodry just outside the door.
“Come walk with me, silver dagger,” the lord said. “I'd like a private word with you, if I may.”
“Of course, my lord.”
They strolled down to the end of the corridor and stood looking out of a small window, framing the view of the town below the dun. Lord Yvaedd considered Rhodry for a moment, then smiled in a way that was doubtless meant to be pleasant.
“I hear from your way of speaking that you hail from Aberwyn,” Yvaedd said.
“I do, my lord. Eldidd marks the way a man speaks for life.”
“Just so. I can't help noticing just how much you resemble His Grace Cullyn, Gwerbret Aberwyn. Not to bring up anything painful, of course, but I trust you'll forgive me for wondering about the resemblance.”
Rhodry stifled a laugh. Cullyn was his firstborn son, but obviously Yvaedd was thinking this silver dagger one of the great lord's by-blows.
“My father's name was a secret my mother kept, my lord,” Rhodry said. “I do know that we never lacked for food or shelter when I was a child.”
“Ah.” Lord Yvaedd allowed himself a slight smile. “I see.”
Rhodry smiled, briefly, in return.
“On the morrow, silver dagger,” Yvaedd went on. “We'll need your testimony. Lord Gwinnard's tale of a dragon interests me most greatly.”
“No doubt, my lord, but I'll swear it's true, and on my silver