The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [76]
“Badly, no doubt, the weaseling bandits! What shall I do, ride to Eldidd as soon as the weather breaks?”
“It might be best, Your Grace, but then, it might also be far too early. Who knows when they’ll come back across the Southern Sea? I hate to ask you to leave your own affairs only to wait upon your cousin’s.”
“Well, if Rhodry’s inheritance were the only thing at stake, I might grumble, but it’s not. Look, if Eldidd goes up in open war, the High King will be forced to intervene. What if our liege were slain or wounded or suchlike? Or what if the war drags on for years and starts bleeding him white? I’m the King’s man first and always, good dame. Allow me to put myself and my men at your disposal.”
“We’d all be ever so grateful if you did, Your Grace.” She made him a remarkably graceful curtsey. “And Lord Madoc would be pleased if you stopped and had a bit of a chat with him, since Dun Deverry’s more or less on your way and all.”
“A bit less than more, but he’ll see me as soon as the roads are passable anyway.” Blaen paused, struck by a sudden thought. “I had hoped to be here when my lady came to her time.”
“Oh, you will be, Your Grace. The son she’s carrying will be born a few weeks early, but he’ll be healthy in spite of it, and she’ll have an easy time because he’ll be on the small side.”
“Well, splendid! I … here, how do you know … are you having a jest on me?”
“Not in the least, Your Grace. I was worried about the Lady Canyffa myself, so I asked the Wildfolk. They know these things—I don’t know how—but they do. Trust me.”
And in spite of himself, Blaen had to admit that trust her he did.
There was a different sort of feast held that day as well, all the way across the kingdom in Eldidd and right up at the northern border of Rhodry’s gwerbretrhyn in the holdings of the powerful Bear clan. Tieryn Darryl of Trenrydd was sitting down to table with two close and trusted friends, Gwarryc of Dun Gamyl, who was the younger brother of Gwerbret Savyl of Camynwaen, and Talidd of Belglaedd, and with them was a man from Bardek who’d given his name as Alyantano but who was willing to be known as Alyan here in Deverry, to make things easier all round. So important was the conversation at this dinner that Darryl’s wife Amma was entertaining the other women privately up in the women’s hall. Since Talidd’s wife had stayed at home, and Alyan claimed to have none, Amma was presiding over an intimate meal indeed, for herself, her serving women, and Vodda, Gwarryc’s wife, who was her elder sister. A sleek blonde, Vodda was one of those sleepy-eyed women who cultivate an air of sensual stupidity to cover a roiling mind. She was one of the chief organizers of the faction that was pushing her husband into making a bid for Aberwyn, but to pay her her due, her motives went far beyond some petty wish to spend its taxes on Bardek silk. Their mother, Linedd, had once led a miserable life creeping through Dun Aberwyn’s corridors and chambers as the often-ignored mistress of Gwerbret Tingyr and the overmatched rival of Lady Lovyan. Although Linedd was dead—unkind wags joked that she’d died to get away from the lord and the wife equally—the sisters remembered their days in the court very well indeed.
“Lovyan was always so kind,” Vodda remarked as the roast haunch of boar was served. “I think that was the worst thing of all, her kindness.”
“Especially after Mam died.” Amma picked up a long-bladed dagger and flipped it point upward. “Shall I carve?”
When the rest of the boar appeared at the men’s table, the chamberlain sliced up a platterful and served it round, then retired to head up his own table for the noble-born servitors some distance away. The men at Lord Darryl’s table ate grimly, barely tasting their food, as they went on talking.
“The thing is,” Darryl said. “We’ll never raise enough riders to take Aberwyn. There aren’t enough men or horses here in the north.”
“If things come to