The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [170]
“Don’t tell me you’re back in town, gerthddyn.”
“I am, good Dumryc. How could I live without another sight of your handsome face, another view of glorious Slaith, another breath of its rich and wine-sweet air?”
“Still gabble as much as always, don’t you? Who’s this with you?”
“My bodyguard. Allow me to introduce Gilyn, a true silver dagger, who’s killed at least one man for each of his sixteen years.”
“Huh. Cursed likely.”
Jill drew, swung, and slit his leather apron from collar to paunch with the point of her blade. With a yelp, Dumryc flung himself back and clutched at the flapping halves.
“Next time it’s your fat throat,” Jill said.
“Well and good, lad. Now put that thing away and come in for a nice, peaceable tankard, like.”
Salamander chose them a chamber on the second-floor corner of the inn with windows that overlooked the stable yard in both directions, because it was always a good idea to have a clear view of trouble coming in Slaith. They stowed their gear, locked the door with a stout padlock, then went down to the tavern room. A small boy was stirring an iron kettle of greasy stew at the hearth while Dumryc was chopping turnips with a dagger at the end of a table. Jill and Salamander helped themselves to ale from an open barrel, picked out a fly or two, then sat down nearby.
“And what brings you to Slaith this time?” Dumryc said. “If you don’t mind my asking, like.”
“I don’t, though I’m not yet ready to answer. Gilyn, here, however, is looking for an old friend of his, the sharer of many a campfire and grievous battle. The lad seems to have headed east from Cerrmor, so I thought. Well, mayhap we’ll pick up news of him in Slaith, because he’s an Eldidd man, as good on a boat as he is with a sword.”
“There’s always work for a lad like that here.”
“Just so. His name’s Rhodry of Aberwyn.”
“Hum.” Dumryc was concentrating on his chopping. “Never heard of him.”
“He might not be using that name. He’s a good-looking fellow, tall, dark hair, Eldidd eyes, and a silver dagger in his belt.”
“Never ran across him.” Dumryc grabbed another turnip and chopped it, the dagger moving fast and nervously. “But that doesn’t mean anything. He might have found a berth as soon as he got here and shipped out.”
“Could be, could be. He’s a useful sort of man.”
Dumryc smiled tightly at the turnip and said nothing. Salamander gave Jill a smile and raised one eyebrow as if to say that she shouldn’t believe a word the innkeep said. He needn’t have worried; she didn’t need mighty dweomer or suchlike to tell when a man was lying to her face.
After they finished the ale they went out for a stroll around town. The market fair was beginning to break up; the farmers and tradesmen packed what was left of their wares back into wagons while exhausted children whined and fussed, and wives carefully counted over their earnings for the day. A few drunks snored in the strewn straw; dogs nosed about; gaudy whores strolled around, looking over the pirates who were heading for one tavern or another. When Jill and Salamander went to look for it, they found Rhodry’s horse gone.
“There’s no use in asking around for its new owner,” Salamander remarked with a certain gloom. “No one would tell us the truth.”
“No doubt. What should we do now? Sit around a tavern and see if we can overhear somewhat of interest?”
“I’m not sure. I—”
“Gerthddyn! Salamander! By the hells, hold and stand!”
A dark-haired man, quite stout, with his long black beard tied up in six neat braids, was hurrying over to them.
“Snilyn, oh, most beauteous of the bilge rats! Still alive, are you?”
“I am, and glad enough to see you, lad. Got some more good tales for us?”
“I do, but this time I brought a bodyguard along.”
With a roar of laughter, Snilyn slapped Jill on the