The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [146]
“Splendid!” Salamander said. “You’ll forgive me, Lady Branna?”
“Of course.”
“I have to go fetch my evidence.” Salamander turned to Oth. “Shall I bring Prince Dar’s cadvridoc back with me?”
“Please do. I wanted to include all of our border lords. They all have a stake in this, needless to say, but his grace refused. He wants a private hearing first, but of course, he can’t say the princes nay.”
Without another word Oth and Salamander hurried off. Dallandra watched Salamander until he left the great hall at a run, then turned back to Branna.
“We can talk later,” Dallandra said. “I think we’d best stay here for the nonce.”
“True-spoken,” Neb said. “He’s found that fort, hasn’t he?”
“I’m afraid he has.”
“Which means there’s going to be a war.”
“I don’t see how we can avoid it.” Dallandra turned, glancing around at the various tables. A good many people were staring at her.
Neb seemed to have noticed the onlookers. “Let’s join Galla and Solla,” he said. “I fear me I’m being rude to them.”
“By all means,” Branna said. “My apologies, Dallandra! You must be tired from your journey. I’m forgetting all my courtesy.” She paused for a smile. “Come have somewhat to drink and refresh yourself.”
As they walked back to the table, Branna was thinking how glad she was that Neb was a scribe and not a fighting man. I’m so glad I chose him over Gerran, she thought. But then, I did the choosing a very long time ago.
Salamander had needed to hold the attention of many audiences in his life, but none quite so important as the group that assembled in Ridvar’s chamber of justice for want of privacy in the great hall. Sunlight streamed into the room in long shafts from the arrow-slits of windows, leaving the rest of the half-circle of a room in shadows. Two menservants carried in chairs, then bowed to the gwerbret.
“Nothing more,” Ridvar said. “Wait—one of you, stand outside the door and make sure that no one disturbs us.”
“I will, Your Grace,” a brown-haired fellow said.
The servants bowed themselves out and shut the heavy door firmly behind them. Gwerbret Ridvar took his usual carved chair behind a solid oak table. Behind him a banner of Cengarn hung from a ceiling beam; its cloth-of-gold sun sparkled in a shaft of real sunlight. Lord Blethry hurried forward and placed a chair at the gwerbret’s left hand for Prince Voran; Prince Daralanteriel took the one to his right. Meranaldar and Neb sat on the floor nearby, each with a set of waxed tablets in his lap and a stylus at the ready for notes. Calonderiel, Oth, and Blethry leaned against the wall. Clutching his small sack of evidence, Salamander stood before the gwerbret and the princes.
“Very well, gerthddyn,” Ridvar said. “Tell us your tale.”
“I shall be honored to do so, Your Grace,” Salamander said, “and in some detail, because the matter’s truly grave. The Horsekin are building a dun off to the west of your lands, and it’s going to be huge.”
For a moment no one moved or spoke. Even though noises filtered in from the corridor outside—laughter as guests went by, the chatter of servants—the chamber seemed suddenly isolated, as if it existed in a different world than the rest of the dun. Then Prince Voran swore under his breath, and Ridvar nodded his way. “Indeed,” Ridvar said. “Go on, gerthddyn. I take it you’ve brought us proof.”
“I have, Your Grace.” Salamander reached into the sack and pulled out the metal plate. “Note the writing on the rim, if you’d be so kind.” He set the plate down on the table in front of Ridvar and pulled out the chunk of worked stone. “This came from the fortress as well. You’ll notice how different it is from the building stone quarried around here.”
Ridvar picked up the plate, glanced at it, then passed it to Voran. In his sack Salamander still had the arrow token Rocca had given him, but as he watched the lords passing round the plate