The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [126]
“You might hold out your arm like this.” Solla crooked hers at the elbow.
“Oh. My thanks.”
When he offered her his arm, she took it, and together they walked out into the ward.
Since her father had yet to arrive, Branna had an idle afternoon ahead of her and went to look for Neb. She found him seated at a table near the servants’ hearth, writing on a scrap of parchment while some young lord, a man she didn’t recognize, hovered nearby. Neb finished writing, sprinkled the note with sand, then shook it clean and handed it to the lordling, who gave him some coins in return.
“My thanks, my lord,” Neb said.
The lordling hurried off. Neb jingled the coppers in his hand.
“Not bad for a few moments’ work,” Neb announced, then slipped the coppers into the pouch that hung inside his shirt. “Not a lot of people can write out here, or so it seems.”
“Was that a love note?” Branna said.
“It wasn’t, but a promise to pay off a gambling debt. Huh! Love’s always on a lass’s mind.”
“As if it weren’t on yours. I was thinking. Shall we ride out to see the sights?”
“Splendid idea! We can have a bit of a talk that way. For that matter, I’ve heard that the cliff’s rather spectacular on the west side, so we’ve got a good excuse.”
A page fetched their horses for them in return for one of Neb’s coppers. They rode out from the south gate and then turned west, letting their palfreys amble slowly along in the warmth of the sunny day. All round the dun the summer grass stretched green and soft, a marked contrast to the dour gray stone of the town and the cliff both. Not far from the gate a narrow stream trickled out from under the walls.
“That must be from the well on top of the hill,” Branna said.
“Probably,” Neb said. “The townsfolk must dump their leavings in the run-off. It’s more than a bit foul smelling.” He turned in the saddle to point to the south. “Now, just down there it joins up with the bigger stream. Let’s cross there at the ford. I don’t want the horses splashing through this filth.”
Branna let him lead the way. She could see a stream running roughly north to south, the ford glinting in the sun. That ford, she thought. There’s just somewhat about a ford, somewhat ominous. As they rode up to it, she saw a line of white stones marking out the shallow water, pale against the sandy bottom. She caught her breath with a gasp. She knew this ford. She had seen this place at some important crux, some terrible point in—not in her life. She’d never been here before. How could it seem so familiar, so dreadful, and yet remind her of danger and security both at once? How could it give her a feeling that she was utterly helpless and yet utterly in command, both at once?
“Are you all right?” Neb said sharply.
“I’m not.”
Branna twitched the reins to make her palfrey halt. When she leaned forward in her saddle to get a better look at the ford, she felt that she was looking out of someone else’s eyes.
“It’s that other lass,” she whispered. “She died here.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Oh, don’t ask!”
Branna dismounted, dropped the horse’s reins, then walked to the river’s edge. She was aware of Neb doing the same, but the water captured her entire attention. It swarmed with Wildfolk, sleek silver undines rising up as thick as foam, holding out their little hands to her in welcome. Sprites appeared to hover around her and Neb. They bobbed and dipped in the air like flashes of light from a hundred silver mirrors. Neb caught his breath with an audible gasp.
“This place,” he said, “it’s brimming with dweomer.”
“Overflowing its banks, I’d say. Remember that other lass, the one who seems to be inside my mind or suchlike? She died here. I don’t know how I know, but I do, and if she’s dead, she must be a ghost. She must be trying to possess me.”
Neb threw one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “We don’t know that,” he said. “She may just have some sort of message or somewhat that’s keeping her from her rest.”
“They do say that’s all that ghosts want, someone to ease a trouble for them.