The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [105]
“And that means the lore’s gone forever.”
“Perhaps. We might be able to rediscover it, if we’re lucky, one day. But Nevyn told Aderyn something once, that the loss was the bitter price of secrecy. That phrase has stuck with me now for what is it? Almost two hundred years.”
“The bitter price of secrecy.” Dallandra nodded her agreement. “It’s a very good phrase indeed. And now the Horsekin want to wipe out what lore we do have left.”
“Yes. Well, it’s on the knees of the gods, like the war itself. Let’s assume that Ebañy’s successful, that he finds this fortress or whatever it turns out to be. What, then? Do we ride to Cengarn and ask its child ruler for help?”
“Just that, but afterward, I’ll be traveling south,” Dallandra said. “I very much want to visit Tieryn Cadryc of the Red Wolf. Let me tell you why.”
As the summer days slipped past, Neb found himself keeping an odd sort of watch over the dun. As children, he and the other boys in Trev Hael had played with slings and stones; Neb had had something of a reputation for his keen eye. He made himself a sling from some scrap leather he found in the stables and took to carrying it and a handful of pebbles in his brigga pockets in case the mysterious raven returned. It may have acted like a normal bird, but its size gave it away. When it had hovered over the dun, it had looked as large as a normal raven if that bird had been only some hundred yards up. But at that distance, Neb should have been able to see some details of its head and feathers, while this particular raven had only been a black shape against the sky.
Neb still had his doubts about it being some sort of sorcerer, but no matter what it was, he felt deep in his soul that something so unnatural meant naught but ill. Branna had her fear of that mysterious “other lass,” and he had his suspicions of the raven. Ye gods! Neb thought. What’s happening to us? The world seemed suddenly larger and stranger than they’d ever dreamed. He longed to bring the raven down, but as if it knew he watched, it stayed away.
Not long after the tourney, news of a second excitement arrived at Tieryn Cadryc’s dun. Everyone was eating dinner in the great hall when Neb heard a horn calling outside, a cascade of three sour notes.
“The gatekeeper.” Gerran rose from his chair at the warband’s head table. “Pages! Go see what he wants.”
Little Lord Ynedd ignored him, but Coryn and Clae both jumped up and ran outside. Across the hall by the honor hearth, Tieryn Cadryc got up and waited standing, staring at the door. In a few moments Clae and Coryn came rushing in from the ward, so eager to get to the tieryn’s side that they tripped over a tan hound, who yelped and scuttled away. No one laughed; everyone fell silent to listen.
“Your Grace,” Coryn said, panting a little, “Messengers from Cengarn.”
Clae ushered in a pair of road-weary men, wearing dust-stained tabards embroidered with the blazing sun of Cengarn over their clothes. When the messengers knelt at the tieryn’s side, one proffered a silver message tube. Neb got up and swung himself free of the bench.
“Scribe!” Cadryc called out.
“I’m on my way, Your Grace.”
Neb trotted over to the honor table and took the silver tube, then pulled the letter free to scan it.
“I hope our gwerbret’s seen reason about those raiders,” Cadryc said.
“Alas, he hasn’t, my lord,” Neb said. “Not in this message, anyway. It’s announcing his betrothal and coming marriage.”
“Well, that’s somewhat to the good. Read it out, lad.”
The message was long, flowery, and full of courtesies, but the gist was simple. Gwerbret Ridvar had betrothed himself to Lady Drwmigga of Trev Hael. The gwerbret would be honored if Tieryn Cadryc and his people would come to the wedding.
“Oh, that’s an excellent choice!” Galla said. “She’s the daughter of Trev Hael’s gwerbret, and her mother