The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [162]
Slowly and deliberately Sligyn got to his feet.
“Are you insulting my lady’s son and her right here to see it?”
“I’m not.” Talidd rose to face him. “I’m merely speaking a wondering.”
Before Lovyan could intervene Cullyn was there, striding over and stepping between the lords with respectful bobs of bows to both of them.
“My lord Sligyn, my apologies, but if anyone’s going to be taking umbrage at insults for my lady’s sake, I will. That’s my duty as her captain, after all.”
Talidd went white and sat down rather fast.
“If Your Grace will forgive me, I fear me I forgot myself. The unsettled state of the rhan is beginning to wear on us all.”
“So it is.” Lovyan favored him with a small nod. “I promise you that as soon as we receive news of Rhodry, the Council of Electors shall have it, too.”
“My humble thanks, Your Grace.”
Although Talidd kept his speech pleasant and his visit very brief, Nevyn found himself wondering about the lord. Why was he so sure that Rhodry was dead? Could it be that he’d had something to do with his kidnapping?
“Curse them all!” Salamander said. “May their teeth rot first, then their noses. May their eyes fill with phlegm, and their ears with a ringing. May their breathing slacken, and their hearts tremble within them. May their testicles harden, and their manhood soften.”
“And is that what you’ve been brooding with your breakfast?” Jill said. “I thought a curse was a wrong thing for a dweomerman to work.”
“It would be if it had any power behind it. Alas, my curses are but words, idle, empty, and most meaningless, except as a way to relieve my most overwrought and troubled heart.” He got up from the table and stalked over to the window. “Curse this fog, too! May it shrivel, may it vanish, may it turn to naught but air!”
Jill looked up from her porridge to see the fog swirling dark outside the window, as if defying Salamander’s curse.
“What’s so wrong about the fog?” she said.
“None of the coasters will sail in it, and we need a ship.”
“We do?”
“We do. While you were sleeping, my turtledove, I was considering wiles and schemes. Your success in the Bilge gave me an idea, or to be precise and thorough, many ideas, of which I have rejected most.” He turned, perching on the sill. “Obviously we are meant to chase after this Briddyn. If the Hawks truly wanted to hide from us, we would’ve discovered naught, no matter how badly you terrified the entire Bilge. Instead they’ve left clues so plain that even the gwerbret’s men could have followed them. So, now, we are left with two choices, to wit, one: Briddyn is a false trail, meant to throw us off the scent; or two: he is the bait to lure us into a trap. Instinct tells me it’s the latter.”
“Oho! But what if we follow the trail, then avoid the trap?”
“My thoughts exactly. I suspect that they’re underestimating us. For all I know, they could well realize that I have dweomer, but I’ll wager my last copper that they don’t know you do. I’m also sure they don’t know how well you can swing that sword.”
“Good. It’ll gladden my heart to show them.”
“No doubt. I …” He broke off at a knock at the chamber door.
When Jill opened it, she found a sleepy lad of about six.
“My apologies, sir, but there’s a man outside, and he says he wants to talk with you, and Da wouldn’t let him just come up, so he sent me, and I’m supposed to ask you if he can come up.”
“Indeed? What’s he like?”
“He’s a Bardek man, and he’s all covered with scars, and he smells funny.”
Smells funny? she thought to herself; what, by the hells? She gave the lad a copper and told him to bring the fellow up. In a few minutes the tavernman from the Red Man arrived at the door. He did indeed smell, but of fear, not of dirt or perfume, the particular reeking sharpness that seeps into a man’s sweat when he’s terrified. As soon as the door closed behind him, he threw himself at Jill’s feet.
“Kill me now! Do not make we wait any more, I beg you. All night I wait, and the waiting drives me mad.”
Utterly confused, Jill hooked her thumbs in her