The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [149]
“And?” Cadryc’s voice went tense.
“Lord Honelg was up on the catwalk, Your Grace. So he leans over and shouts down that there’s fever in his dun, a bad lot of it, and that we’d best get ourselves away before we catch it too.”
Galla caught her breath with a gasp.
“My lady?” Daumyr said. “I’d not trouble your heart over it too badly. Honelg looked as fit as fit, and when we rode back to the village, we asked them why they’d not warned us about the fever.”
“They hemmed and hawed,” Warryc took over again. “But all they could say was that no one had told them. Could Honelg’s people be that ill and no word get out? Wouldn’t his servants all come from that village? I don’t believe in that fever, Your Grace.”
“And no more do I,” Cadryc said. “You’ve done well, lads. Go get yourselves somewhat to eat and drink.”
The two riders scrambled up, bowed, and trotted away to follow their lord’s welcome order. When Salamander caught Neb’s attention, the scribe merely shrugged to show puzzlement and slid his chair back into place. Galla turned to Cadryc and laid a hand on his arm.
“What is all this?” she said. “Why would Honelg lie?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea, my love.” Cadryc paused, frowning in thought. “I begin to think you were right about that marriage.”
“Oh, do you?” Galla snapped. “It’s a bit late now to see reason.”
Salamander suddenly remembered Honelg’s lady and the way she’d looked mysteriously familiar. Oh, ye gods, Salamander thought. Adranna’s their daughter!
Apparently Gwerbret Ridvar had noticed the messengers’ arrival and heard what they’d had to say. He stood up and strode over, with Oth following after. When they reached the table, Salamander heard Oth say, “but, Your Grace, not here!” Ridvar ignored him.
“My lady,” Ridvar said. “I’m afraid I have some evil news for you.”
The talk and chatter at the tables nearby suddenly died. Salamander could hear the various noble lords shushing their neighbors.
“Indeed, Your Grace?” Galla said.
“Indeed. I received word today that Lord Honelg has turned traitor.”
Galla stared at him, her mouth slack with surprise. The shushing and resulting silence spread across the great hall. Everyone that Salamander could see was leaning toward the gwerbret and straining to hear.
“Your Grace!” Lord Oth kept his voice low. “I thought we’d agreed that silence—”
“You thought it best. I never agreed.” Ridvar turned his head and favored Oth with a cold stare that made the councillor step back a pace. The movement, however, seemed to make Ridvar realize how insulting he’d just been. “And how can I call a council of war,” Ridvar said, “without telling my lords the cause and occasion for it?” All at once he smiled. “Do you truly think we could have kept it secret in the middle of this mob?”
Oth relaxed and laughed, one sharp bark. “True spoken, Your Grace,” he said. “There are servants swarming everywhere.”
True spoken indeed, Salamander thought, and I think me our Ridvar just might turn out well after all.
“Um, Your Grace?” Cadryc sounded ready to burst from frustration. “Kept what secret? What has Honelg—”
“In a moment, my lord.” Ridvar turned back to Lady Galla. “Don’t distress yourself. No one will blame your daughter for the follies of her lord.”
The eavesdroppers’ silence reached the warbands. Those men who’d been drinking slammed stoups and tankards down on their tables and swiveled round on benches and chairs. For a long moment it seemed that no one even breathed. The gwerbret turned toward the crowd.
“Hear this!” Ridvar called out. “I declare Lord Honelg a traitor. He’s a secret worshiper of the false goddess Alshandra, and he’s cast in his lot with the Horsekin.” Ridvar’s voice shook with rage. “I’ll have his head on a pike for this.”
The crowd cheered, but briefly. The whispering started, a little flood of rage and fear spreading through the great hall.