The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [49]
“I see. Ye gods! I never dreamt things had gone as far as all this.”
“I only wonder how far they’ll go. Soon enough we’ll all have gold hinges on our privy doors—it’ll be cheaper than iron.” His laugh was not a pleasant one.
As the evening wore on, a fair amount of customers drifted into the inn. As soon as they realized that Nevyn was an herbman, he had custom of his own and set up something of a dispensary on a table in the curve of the wall, out of the tavernman’s way. When he was done, a young sailor named Sacyr, who’d bought herbs to ease a bad hangover, settled down next to him and insisted on buying a round of ale so that he could start developing his symptoms all over again.
“Will you be staying in Dun Mannanan long, sir?”
“I won’t, truly. I’m hoping to find a ship going to Morlyn—on the Eldidd border, you know—one that has the draft to take my horse and mule. There are some valuable herbs that only grow in that part of the kingdom.”
Sacyr nodded, taking the lie with the faith of the ignorant, and considered the question.
“Well, I do know a man who’s running a good-sized boat west. He might be stopping in Morlyn.”
“Stopping there? How much further west can you go these days?”
Looking suddenly stricken, Sacyr devoted himself to his tankard.
“Now, here.” Nevyn dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’d truly like to get to Eldidd, and I’ll pay well for my passage. Is that at all possible?”
“It just might be. Wait around here a bit.”
In about an hour, a stout, graying man in the checked brigga of a merchant appeared, pausing in the tavern door and looking around carefully before he came any further. When Sacyr hailed him, he strolled over to the table, but he had a cautious eye for Nevyn.
“Sit down, Cabydd,” Sacyr said. “There’s coin in it.”
With a small smile, the merchant sat. Sacyr leaned across the table to whisper.
“This herbman has a great desire to get to Eldidd. He needs a ship that can carry stock. I don’t suppose you’d know of such a thing.”
“Well.” Cabydd paused to size Nevyn up. “It’s a dangerous trip, good sir. I can’t guarantee your safety if the Eldidd war galleys catch us.”
“Ah, I see.” Nevyn was quite sure that he could do the guaranteeing, though he didn’t dare tell Cabydd that, of course. “But slipping across the border by land won’t be much safer, and it’d be a cursed sight longer.”
“True enough. But what if you came across from the west, right by Cannobaen?”
“Perfect! That’s exactly where I want to go.”
“Well and good, then. How many head of stock do you have?”
“Only one horse and a mule.”
“Oh, well now, that’s no trouble at all. You see, I’ve got a cattle boat that’ll hold a hundred head easy, but we’ll be running empty on the westward trip.”
“I think I begin to understand. You’ve found a less than patriotic Eldidd man who’s selling you war horses for the Cerrmor army.”
“Not an Eldidd man.” Cabydd leaned close to whisper. “Some of the Westfolk. Ever heard of them? They’re a strange lot. They crop their babies’ ears like calves, and they speak this language that’d break your jaw, but they raise beautiful horses. But best of all, they hate the men of Eldidd with a passion, so they sell at good prices to supply Eldidd’s enemies.”
Nevyn caught his breath. Although he knew that the elves never forgot a grudge, he was surprised at how far they would go to satisfy one.
On the next night, Nevyn went down to the dark, silent harbor at about the middle of the third watch, when the tide was turning to run out. At the end of a long wooden pier, muffled lanterns winked with a narrow beam beside the squat shape of the cattle boat. Nevyn coaxed his animals across the gangplank and settled them in solitary splendor in the hold, then came back up on deck. Cabydd showed him the low cabin, built on deck like a hut, that they would share: