The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [48]
It was several hours after sundown before they let her make her escape, pleading exhaustion between giggles. In a drunken, satisfied gallantry, Maddyn put on enough of his clothes to escort her downstairs and press a clutch of coppers into her hand. Although he may have been overpaying her, he felt she’d earned it. When he staggered back into the chamber, he found the candle burning itself out in the lantern and Aethan sound asleep and snoring on his side of the bed. Maddyn took off his brigga, threw a blanket over Aethan, then blew out the candle and lay down. The room spun slowly and majestically around him in a gold-flecked darkness. And what would old Nevyn think of me now? he thought; well, thanks be to the gods, he’ll never know what became of me. Then he fell asleep as suddenly as he’d blown out the candle.
When he left Dun Deverry, Nevyn headed straight south, following the open road that ran beside the Belaver. He’d gone no more than five miles when he met a mounted patrol of five of the king’s riders, coming right for him. Automatically, thinking little of it, he pulled off to the side to let them pass, but their leader hailed him and trotted over, blocking his path.
“That’s a fine mule you’ve got there, herbman. He’s going to see the king’s service, too.”
“Oh, is he now?” Nevyn looked deep into the man’s eyes and sent a soothing flow of magnetic force out of his aura. “You don’t want this mule. He comes up lame too often to be of use to you.”
“Do you think I’d fall for such a clumsy ruse?” He started to laugh, then merely shook his head, his eyelids drooping. “Clumsy ruse. I don’t want that mule.”
“Truly, you don’t want this mule.”
The warrior yawned, shook himself, then turned his horse around.
“Come on, lads, we don’t want that mule. He comes up lame too often to be of any use to us.”
Although they looked puzzled, the others obeyed him without question and trotted after as he headed back toward Dun Deverry. In a bad temper, Nevyn rode on, and this time he kept a good watch out for mounted men. The incident made him think over his proposed route. Although he’d been planning on riding to Eldidd, he disliked the idea of having to ensorcel endless patrols of confiscating warriors the whole way there. Thanks to the war, he could no longer simply take a ship from Cerrmor, but just possibly there were less legitimate ships than ran the border far out to sea where few could catch them. Even though it was a good bit out of his direct route, he decided to swing by Dun Mannanan and see what he could find.
At that time Dun Mannanan was a pleasant-looking little town of some two thousand souls, whose round houses marched up from the harbor in tidy semicircles. Despite the war every house looked oddly prosperous, with fresh thatch, nicely whitewashed walls, and a handsome cow and a flock of hens in every yard. The town’s one inn was clean and tidy, too, with a proper stable out back. It was quite a surprise, then, when he went into the tavern room and found the innkeep cooking stew at a hearth where the spit across the fire, the kettle itself, and the long spoon were made of bronze, not iron. When he commented about it, the innkeep snarled under his breath.
“You won’t find a bit of good iron all along the Cerrmor coast, good sir. Naught can come south through the Cantrae battle lines, you see, and our wonderful king and his wonderful warbands have to have shoes for their misbegotten horses and swords and suchlike. So they strip every bit of iron they can find, right down to the rotten buckle on your belt, and if you