The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [170]
“It was, truly. I miss it, in a way.”
“So do I. Ah well, it’s back to the humble gerthddyn’s trade for the likes of me.” He saluted her with the cup, then drank deep. “I wonder what Nevyn’s doing up there. By the Lord of Hell’s furred behind, it’s taking forever.”
“I think the worst is over. I could sort of feel things happening, but they’ve stopped.”
“Sort of? Things? Well, I probably don’t want to know more.”
“I don’t think we do, truly.”
The innkeep was lighting the oil lamps with a long splint from the hearth when Rhodry came into the common room. When he stopped just inside the door, Jill got up, thinking that he would somehow need her physical support like a man recovering from a long illness, but she hesitated, suddenly frightened, as the uncertain light from the lamps grew and flared around him. She had never seen a man in such a rage. His anger poured out like light from the burning oil in one of the lamps, hot and dangerous yet somehow pure as it burned.
“I think me he remembers what they did to him,” Salamander said with the trace of a shake in his voice. “And I don’t think he’s pleased about it.”
As Rhodry stared round the room, everyone fell silent, the men turning to look at him, then hastily looking away again, until at last he moved and released them all. He strode over to Jill, acknowledged Salamander’s presence with a nod, then snatched her half-full wine cup from the table.
“I’m making a vow, my love.” His voice was a growl. “Once I’ve been invested with Aberwyn, I’m raising a fleet and burning Slaith and every stinking pirate with it.” He raised the cup over his head. “May the gods be my witnesses! That hellhole burns to the ground!”
Then he turned and threw the cup into the hearth so hard that it shattered. Although the wine hissed on the burning coals, paradoxically enough the flames leapt up high and flared. Towering among them Jill could see the Lords of Fire, accepting the vow.
Every morning, Cullyn and Tieryn Lovyan were among the first people awake in Dun Aberwyn. Yawning and drowsy, he would usually stroll into the great hall just as she was coming down the spiral staircase. While a sleepy page brought them both bowls of spiced milk and a servant mended up the fire in the hearth, they would sit at the table of honor and discuss the official business of the dun. After she gave Cullyn his orders for the day, Lovyan would always make the same remark.
“Nevyn’s been gone a long time now, captain.”
“So he has, Your Grace,” he would answer. “But spring’s on the way, and the weather will be good sailing soon.”
“Well, true spoken. It’s all on the knees of the gods now, anyway.”
And the regent would nod with a wan sort of smile and dismiss him.
On this particular morning, since Lovyan had no pressing orders, Cullyn wandered down to the gates of the dun and stood chatting with the guards. Although the day was warm, the sky was marbled with clouds, easing in from the south—a sign of coming rain, as he remarked.
“Sure enough, captain,” said a guard. “Seems like it’s been a long winter this year, but maybe that’s just the waiting. Do you think Lord Rhodry’s still alive?”
“I do.”
“Well, I certainly hope you’re right, sir. We all do, truly. When Gwerbret Rhys was still alive, we had to hate anyone he hated, like, but now things are different.”
“Are they? I’d wondered.”
“They are. If Lord Rhodry’s gwerbret, well, we’ll all follow him to the death. If naught else, at least he’s a Maelwaedd.”
“Sure enough, and it gladdens my heart that you can see things so clear, like.”
“I—here, who’s that?”
Cullyn looked where he pointed and saw a pair of travelers coming up the hill, an old man wrapped in an ordinary cloak with the hood up and a young man wearing a short cloak and a floppy-brimmed leather hat. They were leading a pair of beautiful riding horses, both the golden color of fresh-dug river-bank clay, as well as a sturdy chestnut pulling a laden travois.