The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [195]
“My thanks!” Branna practically snatched it from his hand. “I was so hoping he’d send one.”
“Well, there you are. Now, about that kitchen lad. I agree that he’s very young, and the situation is very sad. Mercy becomes a noblewoman, certainly. But this is a matter for the gwerbret.”
“And not for me to meddle in?”
“Precisely.” Oth smiled, attempting to soften his words. “Now, you’re very young, after all. I suggest you discuss this matter with your aunt and take advantage of her wiser years.”
Branna found herself wishing that the dweomer really could turn people into frogs, just like in the old tales. Since it couldn’t, she forced out a smile.
“You’re in command of the dun,” she said, “and so I’ll do as you ask, of course. I wonder, though. If these Alshandra worshippers weren’t allies of the Horsekin, would their belief really be evil?”
“Of course! Don’t you see? They’re atheists, when’s all said and done. They claim that their wretched demoness is the only true god and the others are just illusions.” Oth stopped pacing and turned to face her. “If we let them spread this ugly belief, the real gods might well turn against us. And then where would we be?”
“In grave danger, truly.”
“Truly.” Oth favored her with a smile. “Now. I’ll be sending messages back to his grace on the morrow. Did you want to include a note for Neb?”
It was her reward for saying what he wanted her to, Branna supposed. For a moment she considered telling him just that, but in the end, with the force of law and command behind him, he’d win any sparring match.
“I do,” Branna said, “and my thanks. I’ll ask Lady Solla to help me write it. I’ve got lots to tell him.”
Yet, after she’d read Neb’s letter with its warnings and its talk of dark dweomer, Branna realized that she could never tell him the things that truly mattered, her remembering Arzosah’s name, her strange feeling that she’d known Oth as well, and all her insights into the dweomer of these things. Solla would have to hear them in order to write them down, and Prince Daralanteriel’s scribe could possibly read them by mistake. She ended up dictating a short note, telling Neb that she was well, that she was taking his letter to heart, and that she had interesting things to tell him when he returned. She finished by telling him how much she loved and missed him.
“It would gladden my heart to learn to write, Solla,” Branna said when they had finished the message. “Do you think you could teach me?”
“Gladly,” Solla said. “It will give us somewhat to do to make the waiting easier.”
“Are you worried about Gerran?”
“Of course.” Solla blushed scarlet. “I suppose it’s foolish of me to care so much about a man who has so little interest in me.”
“Oh, Gerran keeps his heart locked up, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got one. You just wait, this winter, when we’re all in the dun together. I’ll wager he speaks up then. He’s not blind, you know.”
Solla smiled, then let the smile fade. “If he lives,” she said. “Branna, I’m so frightened.”
“It’s in the laps of the gods now.” Branna caught Solla’s hand and squeezed it. “And we’ve got powerful allies on our side.”
“That’s certainly true.” Solla gave a nervous little laugh before she went on. “Branna, that dragon! You could have been killed.”
“Why would she have harmed me? She was carrying messages from the princes and the gwerbret. She can speak. She’s not some maggot-crazed wild bear or suchlike.”
Solla started to answer, then fell silent and began to tremble. With little clucks and comforting words, the other women in the hall came hurrying over.
“Here, here,” Galla said. “You poor child! Today’s been wretchedly strange for all of us. I think me you’re exhausted. I know I am.”
“Me, too,” Branna said. “I can go find a servant to make us some mulled wine, if you’d like that, Solla.”
Solla nodded and managed a feeble smile.
“Truly,” Drwmigga said. “I’ve never known a day like this one in all my eighteen years. Ye gods! Traitors in the dun, and they’re nasty rebellious servants at that, and then a dragon of all things!