The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [167]
“Now here! I’m not a thief!”
“Hah! That’s all I have to say to that: hah! Now, what do you want with me today, Jill?”
“Just some advice. Is there an honest horse trader in town?”
“Not in town, but there’s one about a mile north of here. Bevydd’s his name, and he’s somewhat of a friend of mine. I’ve made him many a fancy piece of tack over the years. Tell him I sent you. You take the river road straight out of town to the north, and then turn left at the lane edged with beech trees.”
“A mile?” Salamander said with a groan. “Walk a whole mile?”
Otho rolled his eyes up so far it looked like he was going to lose them.
“And doesn’t her ladyship have soft feet today? Ye gods, Jill, I’d find some other clan to marry into if I were you.”
“They grow on you once you get to know them.”
“Like moss, no doubt, or mildew.”
“I beg your pardon,” Salamander snapped. “I don’t have to stand here and be insulted.”
“No doubt you could be insulted anywhere you went.”
When Salamander opened his mouth for a retort, Jill elbowed him sharply.
“Please forgive him, Otho. I was wondering if you had a map of the Auddglyn I could look at. One that shows what lies to the east.”
“Well.” He paused to scratch his head with one gnarled finger. “I might have somewhat like that, and for old times’ sake I’ll go look for it. You keep an eye on this fancy lad out here for me.”
Otho pushed his way back through the blanket, and in a moment or two they heard the unmistakable sound of heaps of objects being rummaged through, a rustling, a banging, and the occasional oath.
“May the gods shorten his beard for him!” Salamander hissed. “The gall, calling me a thief.”
“Now, now, it’s not like it were personal or suchlike.”
“Humph! And you’ve got gall of your own, asking him to forgive me.”
“Well, I was just trying to smooth things over. Hush—here he comes.”
Otho made a triumphant return with a yellowed and cracking scroll in one hand. He took it to the window and unrolled it carefully while Jill and Salamander crowded round for a look. It mostly showed the Auddglyn coast, and Jill got the distinct impression that it had been drawn long before the province was truly settled. To the east beyond Dun Mannanan it showed the island group known as the Pig and Piglets, but the village of Brigvetyn just to the north of them was missing. Even farther on, the eastern side of the parchment was blank, except for a small banner bearing the words “Here there be dragons.”
“Dragons?” Jill said. “That must be some scribe’s whimsy and naught more.”
“Just so,” Salamander said. “Deverry dragons all live in the northern mountains.”
“What?!”
“Oh, just a jest.” Yet he spoke so hurriedly that she knew he was covering something over. “A tale for another time. Now see that little river here, my turtledove? The Tabaver? That estuary is where we’re going.”
“I never heard that there was any town out there.”
“Of course. That’s why I said you were in for a surprise.”
Salamander was speaking naught but the truth for a change. After they bought new stock, a sturdy gray for Salamander, a battle-steady chestnut for Jill, and a pack mule, they headed east, following the coast road to Cinglyn, about four days’ ride away. For this part of the journey, the gravel and packed-earth road was well kept up, and it ran through good farmlands, where the farmers were beginning to harvest the golden summer wheat. Cinglyn itself was on the verge of growing into a small town from a large village; they had no trouble buying provisions there. When it came to knowledge of the road ahead, however, all they got was blank stares or outright mockery.
“There’s naught out there,” the blacksmith said. “Naught but grass, that is.”
“Perhaps so,” Salamander said. “But hasn’t anyone ever been curious, like? Surely someone’s ridden out just for a look.”
“Why?” He paused to spit in the dirt. “Naught out there.”
For the first couple of days, Jill had to agree with him, and she began