The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [15]
That night Neb and Clae shared a comfortable bed in a wedge-shaped room high up in the broch tower. They also had a wobbly table and two stools, a carved wooden chest to store whatever possessions they might someday have, and a brass charcoal brazier for the winter to come. The curved arc of the stone outer wall sported a narrow window, covered by a wooden shutter. In Arcodd at that time, these furnishings all added up to a nicely appointed chamber, suitable for an honored servitor to the noble-born.
Although Clae fell asleep immediately, Neb lay awake for a little while and considered this sudden truth: he was indeed a tieryn’s servitor now, the head of what was left of their family and a man who could provide for that family, as well. He only wished that Uncle Brwn’s death hadn’t been the price. If they rescue Mauva, he thought, I’ll see if I can get her a place in the kitchen. Brwn would like that, knowing I’d taken care of her.
When he fell asleep, he dreamed of Lady Branna, or rather, of a beautiful lass that his dream labeled Lady Branna. He could see her clearly, it seemed, in the great hall of some rough, poor dun. She sat in a carved chair near a smoky hearth, her feet up on a little stool to keep them from the damp straw covering the floor. A little gray gnome crouched by her chair. In the dream some man he couldn’t see announced, “the most beautiful lass in all Deverry.” Neb moved closer, smiling at her. She looked up, saw him, and smiled in return.
“My prince, is it you?”
Her voice sounded so real that he woke, half sitting up in bed. In the darkness Clae muttered to himself and turned over, sighing. Neb lay down again, and this time when he slept, he dreamed of nothing at all.
Gerran woke well before dawn. Since he’d laid out his clothing the night before, he could dress by the faint starlight coming through the window. Even though he would have preferred sleeping out in the barracks with the other common-born riders, Tieryn Cadryc had insisted on giving him a chamber in the broch tower. Gerran was just buckling on his sword belt when he saw a crack of light beneath his door. Someone knocked.
“Gerro?” Mirryn said.
“I’m awake, truly.” Gerran swung the door open. “I wondered if you’d be up and about.”
Mirryn gave him a sour smile. He carried a pierced tin candle lantern inside, then put it down on top of the wooden chest that held the few things Gerran owned. Neither of them spoke until Gerran had shut the door again.
“I know it aches your heart,” Gerran said. “But I can understand why your father’s making you stay behind.”
“Oh, so can I, but it doesn’t lessen the ache any.” Mirryn leaned against the curve of the wall. “The men are going to start thinking I’m a coward.”
“Oh, here, of course they won’t! They heard your father give the order.”
Mirryn cocked his head and considered him for a moment. “It’s an odd thing, the way you say that. Your father. He’s yours, too, a foster father truly, but—”
“I’m not noble-born, and that makes all the difference in the world. It was an honorable fancy of the tieryn to treat me like one of his own when I was a lad, but I’m grown now.”
“You’re still my brother in my eyes.”
“And you in mine.” Gerran hesitated, then merely shrugged. “I’m grateful for that, but—”
“But in the eyes of everyone else,” Mirryn said, “you’re not?”
“Just that. Which is why your father will risk my life but not yours.”
“I know that, and I suppose everyone else does, too, but ye gods, Gerro! What’s going to happen when I inherit the rhan? If I’ve never ridden to war, who’s going to honor me?”
“It’s too cursed bad the gods saw fit to give you naught but sisters.”
Mirryn laughed with a shake of his head. “I’ve never known anyone who could parry questions like you can.” He glanced out of the window. “Sky’s getting gray.”
“I’d best get down to the stables. It’s not truly my place, but if I’m given the chance, maybe I can have a few words with his grace.”
“Talk some sense into him.” Mirryn looked away with a sigh. “I might