The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [150]
“Gerthddyn!” Ridvar said. “Do you have any idea of why Honelg would turn to this false goddess?”
“I don’t, Your Grace. I’m utterly baffled by it. Although—” Salamander found himself remembering the red-haired lass, swarmed by hungry children. “Although I can see why the farm folk up there would turn to a new goddess. The priests of Bel, the ones who rule that demesne near Honelg’s? I’ve never seen such a greedy lot, half-starving their villagers the way they do.”
“Indeed?” Ridvar said. “Well, since we’ll be riding that way, I’ll look into that as well. Calonderiel was right. We’d best deal with Honelg first.” He turned back to the crowd and raised his voice. “My lords, I’m calling a council of war. We shall meet at sundown.”
Galla shrieked, just once, then clamped her hand over her mouth as if to stifle another. She got up so fast that her chair went over with a clatter. She started to speak, then choked it back, turned, and ran for the staircase.
“My apologies, Tieryn Cadryc,” Ridvar said. “I fear me I did a wretchedly bad job of telling your lady the tidings. By the by, the gerthddyn did find that Horsekin fort.”
“Ye gods,” Cadryc said. “Worse and worse.”
“Your Grace?” Councillor Oth came forward and whispered a few words.
Ridvar wrinkled his nose at him, a sour gesture that reminded Salamander that despite his promise for the future, he was still a lad now. In a moment, though, he regained his dignity. “In fact, Tieryn Cadryc,” Ridvar said, “I owe you an apology. I should have listened when you first came forward with your suspicions.”
“None needed, Your Grace.” Cadryc sounded exhausted. “I see no need to ever mention it again, eh?”
“Done, then.” Ridvar favored him with a gracious nod. “And you have my thanks.”
As soon as she heard Lady Galla scream, Branna leaped up from her seat, then followed her fleeing aunt up the winding staircase. She caught up with her in the corridor at the top, where Galla was leaning against the wall and shaking like the victim of a fever.
“Goddess help!” Branna said. “This is truly loathsome.”
“It is that.” Galla’s voice shook as well. “My poor lass! The children!”
“The gwerbret’s said he’ll absolve her.”
“If she lives through the siege. There’s Honelg’s poor mother, too. She’s so frail.”
“True-spoken. He might have thought of them before he went consorting with false gods.”
Galla started to reply, then burst out sobbing. Branna threw her arms around her aunt and let her weep against her shoulder.
“Here, here,” she murmured, “let’s go to your chamber, away from all the noise and suchlike.”
Galla allowed herself to be led to the chamber. She perched upon the edge of the bed while she tried to wipe her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. Branna poured some water from the jug on the little table into a cup and had her aunt drink a few sips. Galla stared fixedly at the far wall for some while, then handed the cup back to Branna.
“Well, there’s naught left for us but to pray to the true goddess, is there?” Galla paused again, then breathed deeply and allowed herself a sigh. “And alas, I don’t know what we’re going to do now for your wedding. I’d wanted to give you a splendid feast, but the men will need the provisions for the war.”
“My dearest aunt, don’t vex yourself! We don’t need to talk about that now.”
“You may not, but I need to talk about somewhat besides our Adranna.”
“Very well, then. I truly don’t care about the ceremonies of the thing. I’ve got Neb, and that’s all I wanted.”
“How generous you are, dear! Unlike some menfolk we know.” Galla looked at her soggy handkerchief and threw it viciously to the floor. “I think there might be a clean one of these in that wooden chest by the window.”
Branna had just fetched the handkerchief when someone knocked on the door, and she heard Lady Solla’s soft voice calling Galla’s name. Branna hurried over and opened the door to find Solla and Dallandra, still in her borrowed dress, standing just behind her.
“How does our lady fare?” Solla said.
“Reasonably well, dear,” Galla called out. “Do come in, and, how lovely, our guest