The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [59]
“I’ll wager there’s plenty of men who’d rather see our prince sitting on that fancy chair.”
“It’d be a safe wager, sure enough. Here, I’ve been stewing with curiosity. What did the prince say when he called you to his chamber this afternoon?”
“Offered to take us into his warband. I turned him down.”
“You what?!”
“Turned him down.” Caradoc paused for a calm sip of mead. “Thanked him for the honor, mind, but I’d rather negotiate our wages summer to summer than swear fealty.”
“Ah, curse you to the ninth hell!”
“Listen, Maddo. I know it sounds splendid to think of being honorable men again and all that, but a silver dagger’s got to be free to change sides if he doesn’t want to hang after a defeat.”
“Well, true-spoken. We’ve changed sides too often before to be treated honorably, no matter what a prince says about us.”
“Just that. Not a word of this to the others, mind.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. You should know that we’d all follow you to the death.”
Caradoc looked away, tears in his eyes. Maddyn was too embarrassed to do more than leave him his silence.
While he sipped his mead, Maddyn considered the troop, seventy-five strong, and everyone of them a blood-besotted man who fought like a demon from hell. It had taken Caradoc three years, but he’d scraped and scrounged and bargained until he had a troop so valuable that the prince would consider taking them into his own warband. Every one of them, too, had one of Otho’s mysterious daggers at his belt. Some of the best smiths in the king’s court had gone down on their knees to beg the dwarf for the secret of that metal, but not even the offer of whole sacks of gold coins and jewels would have softened Otho’s stance. Once he had remarked to Maddyn that someday, when he found a deserving lad, he’d pass the secret on, but so far, no such paragon of smithly virtue had ever appeared.
After a hard summer’s fighting, the men of Eldidd, paid and pledged alike, were back in winter quarters in the king’s palace at Abernaudd. They’d fought late, that autumn, skirmishing in the hills with Cerrmor troops, or riding raids up to the borders of Pyrdon, which the people of Eldidd still insisted on calling a rebellious province. The rumors were going round that in the spring they’d make a proper attack on Pyrdon, but those rumors went round every winter. The truth was that Eldidd couldn’t afford to drain off men and supplies to conquer Pyrdon when it had two bigger enemies at its eastern borders. Maddyn frankly didn’t care where they rode in the spring. All that mattered was that for the winter they’d be well fed and warm.
To avoid drunken brawls between his men and the king’s, Caradoc led the silver daggers back to their own barracks before the great feast was truly over. As they crossed the ward, Maddyn lingered to walk with Caudyr, whose clubfoot slowed him down. With the clatter of hooves and a jingle of tack, a squad of the king’s personal guard came through the gates. Back from a cold, long patrol, they were hungry and eager to get to the warm feast inside. Even though there was plenty of room to pass, they started cursing and yelling at Maddyn and Caudyr to move aside. They were both willing, but Caudyr had no choice but to lurch slowly along. One of the horsemen leaned over in his saddle.
“Move your cursed ass, rabbit! They should have drowned a lame runt like you at birth.”
When most of the squad laughed, Maddyn swirled around, reaching for his sword, but Caudyr grabbed his arm.
“It’s not worth it. I’m used to being the butt of a jest.”
As they went on, Caudyr tried to hurry.
“Look at him hop!” called another guardsman. “You were right enough about the rabbits.”
At that, the squad leader, who’d drifted on ahead, turned his horse and trotted back.
“Hold your tongues, you bastards!” It was young Owaen, and he was furious. “Who are you to mock a man for a trouble that the gods gave him?”
“Oh, listen to you, lad!”
Like a bow shot, Owaen was out of his saddle. He ran over to the guardsman and grabbed,