The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [140]
“We should arrive tomorrow.”
“Ye gods! What are you going to do, turn into birds and fly?”
“Naught of the sort, truly.” Salamander managed a faint smile. “The king has placed one of the royal riverboats at Blaen’s disposal. We’ll leave soon, and not only will the current be running our way, but we’ll have a crew of rowers. The Belaver runs cursed fast from here to Drauddbry, I’m told.”
“Splendid. Is Blaen going with you?”
“He’s not. The intrigue at court would gripe your very soul, and he doesn’t dare leave. We have letters from him, though, for the gwerbret in Cerrmor. Are you going to join us there?”
“I’ll leave at once. I never dreamt they would go as far as this. Can’t you see what must have happened? Rhodry’s rivals must have hired one of the Bardek blood guilds to dispose of him.”
Salamander’s image, floating above the fire, looked intensely puzzled.
“How would petty lords from Eldidd even know those guilds exist?”
“Well, some merchant or other must have told them, or … I see what you mean. It sounds very farfetched once I say it aloud.”
“Then what’s happened?”
“What indeed? Be very careful until I reach Cerrmor. Ye gods, I’ll have to take a ship! I can’t leave until I’ve spoken with Lovyan, of course, but I can start packing. Her Grace is out hunting with the gwerbret at the moment.”
Down on the Eldidd coast, it was a bright sunny day, although the wind that whipped the silver-and-blue banners of Aberwyn was chilly and the shadows that lay in the great ward of the gwerbret’s dun were positively cold. As she stood beside her horse, Lady Lovyan glanced doubtfully at the sky.
“It might be a bit windy to fly the falcons.”
“Oh, let’s try our luck, Mother,” Rhys said.
He spoke with such forced cheer that she knew this hunting party was merely an excuse to speak with her alone.
“By all means, then. We’ll have a good ride if naught else.”
They mounted and rode out of the dun into the streets of Aberwyn. Behind them came the falconers, with the hooded birds on their wrists, and four men from Rhys’s warband as an escort. As they wound their way through the curving streets, the common folk bowed to their overlord, who acknowledged the gesture with an upraised hand. Occasionally—and quite spontaneously—boys and young men cheered him. For all his stubbornness, Rhys was a good ruler, scrupulously fair in his judgments over everyone but his younger brother, and his townsfolk appreciated him for it.
When they left the city, they turned north on the river road that followed the Gwyn, sparkling and full from the summer’s heavy rains. Among the willows and hazels that grew along the water, Lovyan saw a tree or two that were turning yellow.
“It seems that autumn’s coming quite fast this year,” she remarked.
“It does. Well, we’ve had a wretchedly cold summer.” Rhys turned in his saddle to make sure that his men were following at a respectfully far distance behind, then turned her way. “Here, Mother, I’ve got somewhat to ask you. It’s about little Rhodda.”
“Indeed?”
“I was thinking that I might formally adopt the child and legitimize her.”
Lovyan was caught with nothing to say. Rhys gave her an ironic smile that must have cost him dear.
“It’s time I faced the harsh truth of things. I’ll never give Aberwyn an heir.”
“The gwerbretrhyn can’t pass down in the female line.”
“Of course not, but she’ll marry someday, won’t she? Have a husband, maybe a son or two. At least they’ll have some Maelwaedd blood in them.”
“If the Council of Electors accepted her husband as your successor, anyway.”
“There’s precedent for it, hundreds of years of precedent.” He tossed his head in anger. “Besides, at least it’ll give my vassals pause. Ye gods, don’t you think it aches my heart? I know cursed well that every tieryn in Eldidd is already scheming and politicking to get my lands for their son when I die.”
“True-spoken, alas. But you know, my sweet, there’s