The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [2]
Brwn slammed the tankard down and lurched to his feet. “You miserly barren slut! You should thank the gods for sending you my nephews.”
Mauva squealed and charged, waving her fists in the air. Uncle Brwn grabbed her by the wrists and held on until she stopped squirming. He pushed her back, then set his thick and callused hands on his hips, but before he could speak, she shoved her face up under his, and they were off again, screaming at each other, sometimes with curses, more often with meaningless grunts and squeals. Neb knelt down by the hearth, found a thin splint of wood, and flipped the oatcakes over before they burned.
“Get somewhat to carry these,” he hissed at Clae.
Clae glanced around the kitchen. On the sideboard stood an old flat basket; he grabbed it and held it up. Neb nodded, and Clae brought the basket over. Neb flipped the cooked cakes into the basket—three apiece. Little enough, but they would have to do. His screeching kin might quiet down before he could cook another batch. He stood up, grabbed the basket from Clae, and slipped out the back door. Clae followed, and together they slogged across the muddy farmyard and dodged around the dungheap. Skinny chickens came clucking, heads high and hopeful.
“Forgive me,” Neb said. “There’s barely enough for us.”
A packed earth wall surrounded house, barn, and farmyard. They hurried through the gate and trotted around the outside of the wall, where an apple tree stood to offer them some shade. They sat down, grabbed the still-warm cakes, and gobbled them before Mauva could come and take them back. Above them little apples bobbed among the leaves, still too green, no matter how hungry they were. Clae swallowed the last bit of cake and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“Neb?” he said. “I wish Mam hadn’t died.”
“So do I, but wishing won’t bring her back.”
“I know. Why does Uncle Brwn put up with Mauva?”
“Because she lets him drink all the ale he wants. Are you still hungry?”
“I am.” Clae sounded on the edge of tears.
“Down by the river we can find berries.”
“If she finds us gone, she’ll make Uncle beat us.”
“I’ll think of some way to get out of it. If we get back late enough, they’ll both be drunk.”
Brwn’s farm, the last steading on the Great West Road, lay a mile beyond the last village. No one saw the boys as they hurried across the west field and jumped over the half-finished stone wall into wild meadow. It was a lovely warm afternoon, and the slanted light lay as thick as honey on the green rolling pasture land. Tinged with yellow clay, the river Melyn churned and bubbled over boulders. All along its grassy banks stood mounds of redberry canes, heavy with fruit, sweet from a long hot day. The boys gorged themselves, drank river water, and stuffed in a few more handfuls of berries. Clae would have eaten still more, but Neb stopped him.
“You don’t want the runs, do you?”
“I don’t, truly, but oh, it’s so good not to be hungry.”
They sat down in the warm grass and watched the river gleam like gold in the afternoon light, gliding along south to join the great rivers of the kingdom of Deverry—or so they’d always been told. They’d spent their entire lives here in Arcodd province. Off to the east stretched half-settled farmland; to the west and north, wild country. Far away south from their rough frontier lay the rich fields of the center of the kingdom and the fabled city of Dun Deverry, where the high king lived in a reputedly splendid palace.
When Neb turned to the north, he could see, about half a mile away, the smooth rise of pale tan cliff that separated this valley from the high plateau beyond. The river tumbled down in a spray of white laced with rainbows. Above, the primeval forest, all tangled pines and scruffy underbrush, stood poised at the cliff edge like a green flood, ready to pour over the valley.
“Neb?” Clae said. “Can we go look at the waterfall? Can we go up to the top?”
“I don’t think so. We don’t want to be caught up there in the dark.”
“I guess not. Well, maybe Aunt Mauva will be drunk soon.”
Materializing as silently