The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [47]
“There’s naught you can say to that, is there?” His voice was low and level. “There’s naught anyone can say.”
“True enough.”
Around them the Wildfolk began to appear, sprites and gnomes, and in the glow of the brazier, she saw a salamander lounging on the coals.
“You’re not thinking of killing yourself, are you?” Dallandra said.
“I’m not. Not while the Raven Woman lives, at least.”
“Ah ye gods! Promise me you won’t—”
“Won’t what? Take a knife to my own throat or suchlike?” Rhodry turned around at last, and he was smiling. “I won’t. I’ll swear it to you on my silver dagger. That’s the one oath you know I’d never break.”
“How can you smile like that?”
He cocked his head to one side and considered her for a long moment, then wiped the smile away.
“True enough. It’s no jest, is it?” He grabbed his cloak from the chair’s back. “I’ll not be able to sleep. Don’t wait up for me.”
He strode out of the room with the Wildfolk following him in a swirl of little lives. She sat down on the chair and held out her hands. She wasn’t in the least surprised to find them shaking.
Although the gwerbret had seen nothing, Prince Daralanteriel proved unwilling to let the matter drop. When Rhodry walked into the great hall, the prince rose from his chair at the honor hearth and hailed him. Rhodry stood where he was and waved vaguely in Dar’s direction. For a long moment, while every man in the great hall watched, the stalemate held; then with a shrug Dar grabbed his cloak from his chair and strode across the hall to join Rhodry at the door.
“You wanted to speak with me?” Rhodry said. “What about?”
“Things.” Dar busied himself with draping his cloak over his shoulders. “We’d best talk outside, anyway.”
Around back of the main broch they found a spot out of the wind, where flickering light from the fires inside spilled out onto the frozen mud. Both of them could see in far less light than any ordinary man, but the glow seemed somehow comforting against the night.
“That fellow called me a thief,” Dar said abruptly. “Should I challenge him to an honor duel?”
“Do you want to?” Rhodry said.
“I don’t, no. It would be stupid, and you’ve already given him the scare of his life. But what will the men here think of me if I don’t?”
“Ah. You’re starting to think like a Deverry lord.”
Dar flushed scarlet. Rhodry looked him in the face and refused to flinch. After a moment, Dar looked down.
“Maybe I am. I wish to all the gods that we could just ride out of here, but in this weather—”
“We’d never make it home. Your men are getting worried, Dar. They look at you sitting with the gwerbret and wonder if your head’s getting too big for your helm.”
Dar stared at the muddy ground for a long moment, then turned on his heel and strode off. Rhodry followed him as he ducked back inside the great hall. Dar hesitated briefly, then walked over to the table where the other men of the Westfolk were sitting. He spoke a few brief words to Vantalaber, then sat down on the bench at his captain’s right hand. Smiling to himself, Rhodry strolled over and joined them.
In the morning Dallandra woke to find Rhodry still gone. When she went downstairs, she found him rolled in his cloak and asleep in the straw near the riders’ hearth, with a couple of dogs at his back and Jahdo asleep nearby. As she hovered there, wondering whether to wake him, he solved the problem by sitting up and yawning.
“Good morrow, fair sorceress,” he said, grinning. “I got too drunk last night to manage the stairs. Dar had squirrelled away some mead in his chamber, and he brought it down for us.”
“Ah. I see.”
Yawning, shaking his head, he rubbed his face with both hands.
“I need to shave,” he said. “I hate getting shaggy, winter or no. Have you eaten yet?”
“I’ve not.”
Rhodry got up, shaking out his cloak.
“I’ve made a bit of a fool of myself, haven’t I?”
“Not truly.” Dallandra spoke in Elvish. “No more than the rest of the men have, at least, and I’m including the prince in that. You know, you should all get out of the