The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [134]
As the prince walked past each honor table, he would pause long enough to receive the bows and curtsies of those occupying it and to murmur a few words of acknowledgment. But at Tieryn Cadryc’s table he stopped to greet Cadryc by name, giving Branna the chance to see that his eyes were gray and his face strikingly ordinary just as her aunt had warned. The mustaches couldn’t quite hide a wide mouth with thin lips that made his smile tend toward the froglike. He had rather large ears, as well. Cadryc made a courteous remark or two with a calm that must have been hard-won, considering that a prince had singled him out, and introduced Gerran as his foster son. When the prince nodded his way, Gerran blushed scarlet.
Behind Voran stood Gwerbret Ridvar, his smile a bit fixed and grim, who nodded to the tieryn as well. When Voran led his little parade on past, Lord Oth peeled out of line and hunkered down between Galla and Cadryc. Everyone at the table regained their seats and leaned toward him to listen.
“The prince has been apprised of the possible danger from a Horsekin fort,” Oth murmured, then raised his voice to a normal level. “Tieryn Cadryc, I hope you’ve been given decent accommodations.”
“Splendid on all counts!” Cadryc pledged him with his goblet.
“Very nice, indeed,” Galla said. “It’s very kind of you to ask, and you with everything you’ve got to do.”
“I’m beginning to see the end of this horse race, my lady.” Oth stood up with a sharp little sigh. “Once the Prince of the Westfolk arrives, he’ll be the last royal personage, but I have no idea of how large a retinue he’s bringing with him. And Lady Drwmigga’s father should arrive soon as well.”
“I’m surprised he’s not here already,” Cadryc said.
“He’s having to adjudicate a feud in malover. The situation could turn dangerous, or so the messenger told us, so he didn’t dare put off the two lords involved any longer.”
“Ye gods,” Cadryc said. “That could take weeks.”
“True spoken.” Oth groaned under his breath. “But he made it clear we’re to proceed whether he arrives or not. It’s not like his son is the one marrying, after all. And, of course, if he does arrive, he’ll be traveling with the escort fitting to his gwerbretal rank. That probably means every tieryn who’s ever sworn fealty to the Eagle clan as well as an honor guard for each and the gwerbret’s own riders. Ye gods, I hope we can squeeze everyone into the dun! We have a pair of pavilions for tourneys. I’m going to have to set those up in the meadow outside the walls for Cengarn’s own riders. I hate to turn them out of their beds, but the guest lords might see the pavilions as slighting their men.”
“Oh, well, here,” Cadryc said. “I certainly wouldn’t take it that way. Gerro, come to think of it, you could set up a rope pen of sorts, and put our horses out on the grass.”
“Splendid idea, my lord,” Gerran put in. “I don’t want them tied standing on cobbles or hard dirt, but tethered on grass is a different matter.”
Lord Oth smiled in profound relief.
“And the Westfolk will bring their own tents,” Galla said. “They really do dislike sleeping inside proper walls. They can pitch them on the commons.”
“Well, alas, not on the commons,” Oth said. “Its use belongs to the townsfolk by right of royal charter, and his grace doesn’t dare breach that. But at least they won’t need chambers. They might prefer the meadow, come to think of it. Once Prince Daralanteriel gets himself here, we can have the great feast and the tourney, and that, thank every god in the sky, will be that.”
Oth trotted off again to catch up with the prince and the gwerbret. Gerran left as well to tell the warband that they were moving camp, as he put it. Galla turned to Branna and winked.
“Now, if you and Neb would still like to go off somewhere,” Galla said, “I’ll forgive you.”
“My thanks, my lady,” Neb said. “My heart