The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [23]
“It gladdens my heart to see your grace,” Samyc said. “Even though you have every right to despise me for my dishonor.”
“Suicide brings little honor, my lord,” Cadryc said. “Now get up and stop brooding about it.”
Startled, Samyc scrambled to his feet and glanced over his shoulder. In the doorway of the broch, a young woman, so great with child that she’d slung her kirtle over one shoulder rather than wrapping it round her middle, stood watching the confusion in the ward. Gerran was surprised that Lord Samyc’s lady hadn’t delivered under the stress of the raid. She needed the help of a servant girl to curtsy to the tieryn.
“Have I done a wrong thing, Your Grace?” she said. “Have I truly ruined my husband’s whole life by refusing to let him die?”
“Oh, horse—oh, nonsense,” Cadryc said. “He’ll get over his sulk in time.”
Since Lord Samyc had no room to shelter everyone, Lord Pedrys and Tieryn Cadryc stayed in the broch while Gerran led the warbands down to the riverbank to camp. On the off chance that the raiders would try a night strike, Gerran posted guards. When the gerthddyn offered to stand a watch, Gerran’s first impulse was to turn him down, but then he remembered Salamander’s formidable eyesight. Gerran gave him the last watch and decided to stand it with him.
Some while before dawn, they walked down to the river together. Flecked with starlight, the water flowed broad and silent. Off to the west the rolling meadowlands lay dark. Somewhere out there the Horsekin were camping with their miserable booty.
“On the morrow, Captain,” Salamander said, “do we ride after the raiders?”
“I hope so,” Gerran said. “We doubtless don’t have a candle’s chance of warming hell, but it would gladden my heart to get those women and children back. Better a free widow than an enslaved one.”
“True spoken. You know, there’s somewhat odd about this raid, isn’t there? At least thirty fighting men and their heavy horses—that’s not an easy lot to feed on a long journey. And they’ve traveled all this way to glean a handful of slaves from a couple of poor villages?”
“Huh. I’d not thought of it that way before. I suppose they brought a good number of men because they knew we’d stop them if we could.”
“Mayhap. But why run the risk at all? Now, far to the south, down on the seacoast, there are unscrupulous merchants who’ll buy slaves at a good price, transport them in secret, and sell them in Bardek. But that’s a wretchedly long way away, and how could the Horsekin move a small herd of slaves unnoticed? They’d have to ride through Pyrdon and Eldidd, where every lord would turn out to stop them, or else travel through the Westfolk lands. The Westfolk archers would kill the lot of them on sight. They hate slavery almost as much as they hate the Horsekin.”
“So they would. I’ve got a lot of respect for their bowmen. Your father’s folk, are they? Or your mother’s?”
Salamander tipped his head back and laughed. “My father’s,” he said at last. “You’ve got good eyes, Captain.”
“So do you, and that’s what gave you away. But here—” Gerran thought for a moment. “The Horsekin have plenty of human slaves already, from what I’ve heard, and they let them breed, to keep the supply fresh, like. They don’t need to raid. You’re right. Why are they risking so much for so little?”
“It’s a question that strikes me as most recondite, but at the same time pivotal, portentous, momentous, and just plain important. Tell me somewhat. These raids, they started when farmers began to settle the Melyn river valley, right?”
“A bit later than that. When the farms reached the river.”
“Oho! I’m beginning to get an idea, Captain, but let me brood on it awhile more, because I might be wrong.”
At dawn, Gerran joined the noble-born for a council of war over breakfast in Samyc’s great hall. The three lords wanted to track the raiders down, but they ran up against