The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [200]
“I doubt that. He’s nicely safe and married off by now, I imagine, to Jill—the woman who was pretending to be my slavegirl.”
“Only pretending?”
“Only pretending. She was Rhodry’s betrothed the whole time.”
“Fascinating! It was kind of you to come tell me—that Rhodry safe, I mean.” She had a sip of wine. “Were you passing this way on business?”
“No. I came specifically to see you.”
“Very very kind, then.”
“Kind? Perhaps, but to myself. It would be a cruel man indeed who’d deny himself the pleasure of seeing you again after having met you. All winter long I’ve thought about the lovely Alaena and this room, filled with your presence like some rare perfume.”
She smiled again, but delicately, while he sipped his wine and merely watched her. He’s the same rank as the brother of an archon, really, she thought to herself—a very important man. And what if he really were a sorcerer? She remembered, then, how frightened she’d been by seeing him perform his marvels, and how exciting that fear had been.
“Will you dine with me tonight, Evan? I’ve never shared a meal with a wizard before.”
“I should be honored. I’ve never shared anything with a woman as beautiful as you.”
When he raised his goblet, she clinked hers against it, and for a moment their fingers touched.
Two
After he slipped away from the gwerbret and his men in Abernaudd, Perryn rode north, keeping away from the main roads and sticking to country lanes and patches of fallow country. At first traveling was difficult. Although he was used to being out on the road, often for weeks at a time, he had none of his usual gear with him, no woodsman’s axe, no kettle, no fishing lines and rabbit snares. His pitifully small cache of coppers dwindled faster and faster as he bought meager provisions at one farm or another. Since he didn’t even have a flint and steel to light a fire, he slept cold under hedgerows or covered with leaves in copses. With Nevyn’s strictures about stealing fresh in his mind, he resisted all the small temptations that Wyrd put in his way: chickens loose from their pen with no farmer in sight, meat pies left cooling on untended windowsills, axes carelessly left in woodpiles. Finally his newfound piety was rewarded when he reached Elrydd and found a caravan, heading north into Pyrdon, that needed a man who was good with horses. From then on he was decently fed and a good bit warmer.
While they worked their way north, Perryn tried to avoid thinking of his future, but when they left Eldidd behind and headed toward Loc Drw, the question became unavoidable. With a soul-numbing weariness he realized that there really was nowhere to go but back to his Cousin Nedd and Uncle Benoic. At first they would rage at him, but they’d take him in. For months, of course, maybe even for years, he would be the butt of hideous family jokes and humiliating references, trotted out as an example of stupidity and dishonor—but that would be nothing new. He could live with it, as he had before.
At Dun Drwloc the caravan disbanded, and the master paid over Perryn’s wages, a generous four silvers’ worth of coppers, enough money in that coin-shy area to replace his gear and provision him for the long ride to Cerrgonney. By talking with the local merchant guild, which had a map of sorts, Perryn figured out that if he rode northeast through the province of Arcodd, he had about three hundred and fifty miles to go to reach his uncle’s town of Pren Cludan. The locals, however, suggested that he take a longer route by heading straight east to the Aver Trebyc, which would lead him to the Belaver, which he could then follow straight north to Cerrgonney.
“You could get lost if you just head north, lad,” the merchants all said with grave nods of their heads. “The roads aren’t too good, and there’s long stretches of naught but forest. The Arcodd men call their blasted wilderness a province, but there’s only two proper towns in the whole thing, and them far apart at that.”
Perryn didn’t bother to tell them that Arcodd sounded like paradise