Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [104]
She brought the fish back up to a camp of people already packing to leave, though a fire had been started and twigs prepared to spit whatever she brought. She raised an eyebrow.
“I had thought to stay and rest the horses,” she offered.
Ifan took the fish from her, and he and Bronwyn began cleaning and gutting them, as Cataruna shook her head. “We can walk them if we need to, and make our way slowly back home, but I think we should put some distance between us and—that,” she said, thoughtfully. “Yes, they are feeling well-inclined towards us now, but—”
“Besides, we have raised a great deal more power than either of us expected to,” added Ifan, with a frown, as he set a fish to cook over the fire. “One could liken it to setting down a chest of gold and silver and spilling it open in the village square. Some will come to admire, but word will spread.”
She blinked. She had not considered that. “And what comes to look will not be bound by the bargain I made with the water spirits,” she said, slowly. “Which could be equally bad for March and for us.” She straightened her back. “On the whole . . . I think a slow walk back for a day or two would be of great benefit to all of us.”
“Healthier than remaining here,” said Bronwyn.
Chapter Sixteen
Lleudd’s war chiefs and captains sat around his hearth fire in varying states of relaxation. Gwen had already recounted what she had done to Peder and her father privately and had gotten praise for her quick thinking. Now she had been asked to tell the tale at the hearth for the rest, who were all relaxing because there was no longer an immediate threat from March. Relaxing because of what she had done.
Supper was over, the mead was being poured out by the young squires, and Gwen had to hide a smile when she realized from the taste that Eleri’s special recipe had survived intact. The fire smoked just enough to drive the insects away and imparted just enough warmth to be comfortable. This was an occasion for a more . . . bardic retelling.
So she obliged, as best she could. At the end, King Lleudd roared with laughter. “Well, my war chief daughter, I hope that you are content with your lands being the ones under water!”
That elicited laughter from the rest. “Will you be farming eels and frogs?” one of the others asked, straight faced. “I hear the Romans thought frogs right tasty, and I am partial to an eel pie.”
“When you plant eels, do you plant ’em head first or tail first?” asked another.
Gwen smiled ruefully. War chiefs were expected to offer gifts, of course. And up until now she had mostly given things like ornaments, horses, or weapons. But land was always an option, and as Lleudd’s daughter, she was entitled to a certain amount to hold for herself or give as rewards as long as it had not been granted to another.
“I am content with awarding the new guardians of that border with the land they are guarding, my lord King,” she replied dryly. “If they prefer it being under water, well so do I.”
The king laughed again, as did the rest of his chiefs. “Well said. And, yes, I approve, most heartily, of your decision.” He looked around the fire at the men on his benches. They were all nodding too, even if one or two of them were doing so reluctantly.
“Also . . . if I were to give advice on this,” she added cautiously, “I would say it were best to simply stay away from that marsh. While Cataruna thinks they are bound, and well bound, by the oaths they gave . . . the less traffic with the Folk of Annwn the better.” With the Folk of Annwn. With my mother’s people? Does Father guess? “I certainly have no plans to return there. Not even to see what March makes of the situation. He cannot pass there, that is all we