The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [75]
Outside Gwerbret Blaen’s great hall the dark sky let down thick ropes of snow, swaying in the wind. Inside, a thousand candles winked light off silver goblets and jeweled table daggers, the two enormous hearths roared with flame, and laughter and talk whistled round the enormous room like the wind outside. Nearly a hundred lords and ladies feasted at tables set as close to the gwerbret’s as room would allow, while on the far side of the hall their escorts and Blaen’s own warband dined on the same fine fare. It was the shortest day of the year, and while it was no true holiday, not like Samaen or Beltane, Blaen always held a grand feast in the sun’s honor, simply because his father always had. He in turn had gotten the idea from his wife, Graeca, Lovyan’s sister; as lasses the women had lived on the Eldidd border, where men had picked up a number of strange customs from the people they called the Westfolk.
Every now and then he looked over to his right, where his wife headed up a table of her own. Since by then Canyffa’s pregnancy was showing noticeably, he worried about her overtiring herself, but she was chatting with her guests and laughing like a lass, very much at her ease and apparently surprised at how well everything was going, just as if she hadn’t spent frantic days planning every detail of the feast with the chamberlain, steward, and head cook. To make sure that the drink was as good as the meat, Canyffa had hired a temporary servitor, too, Twdilla the alemaker. Two days before the feast, the snow had suddenly stopped, much to everyone’s surprise, and Twdilla and her husband had triumphantly driven their wagonload of barrels into town.
At the moment, over in the curve of the wall by the riders’ hearth, Twdilla presided over several of those by-now nicely settled barrels, dipping out tankard after tankard full for the serving lasses to pass around. Since Blaen very badly wanted a word with her, he mentally cursed the finely woven web of noble privilege that kept him over on his side of the great hall, but curse or not, he was forced to wait. After the honeycake and the last of the year’s apples were served, the bard played, presenting his newly composed declamation in Blaen’s honor while the guests were still overfed into quiet, then switching to the well-known tale of King Bran’s founding of the Holy City when they began to chatter, and finally giving up poetry altogether as the talk rose high. With a wave of his arm, he brought in another harper, a horn player, and an apprentice with a small, squishy goat-skin drum. When they began playing, servants and noble-born alike rushed to shove the tables back against the wall to clear the space for dancing.
In this confusion Blaen could finally slip away from his guests and find the ale mistress. She was supervising a group of pages as they brought in another barrel on a wheeled handcart.
“Don’t joggle it so, lads!” she was saying. “It’s barely had time to calm down after its trip here. Careful, careful now!”
Blaen had to wait until the full barrel was standing safely near its empty fellows, and Veddyn had appeared to open it and take his wife’s post for a little while. Together the gwerbret and the dweomermaster walked down the back corridor that curved round the great hall until they found a private if draughty niche. Although Twdilla had grabbed her shabby old cloak as they left, Blaen merely shivered and ignored the cold by force of will.
“Is there any news, good dame?”
“None from Bardek, and there won’t be any till spring, Your Grace. But Nevyn says that things are … well, restless in Eldidd.”
“No doubt. Ye gods, I wish I knew if Rhodry were alive!”
“Your Grace, I believe with all my heart that Nevyn would know if Rhodry were dead. So, for that matter, does Nevyn.” She gave him a reassuring, if half-toothless, smile. “The question is, will he stay that way when our Jill brings him home in the spring? We may know Rhodry’s alive, but most of Eldidd’s got him buried already. The men who want his rhan are spending a lot of coin and calling