The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [42]
A pleasant voice hailed her from below. Salamander came climbing up the rickety wood ladder to join her on the wall. She started to make some mundane greeting, then stopped, shocked into silence. Wildfolk swarmed around him—crystalline sylphs, winged sprites, pale warty gnomes.
“Good morrow,” Salamander said. “Is somewhat the matter?”
“Not at all, not at all. My apologies. You took me by surprise, is all.”
“Then I should apologize to you. I just thought I’d keep you company, if that’s acceptable.”
“It is, but I’d best get back to my duties. My aunt will be looking for me.”
“Perhaps later, then?”
“Perhaps.” She hesitated, but the gerthddyn was certainly amusing, and good-looking as well. “I might have a moment later.”
She swung herself onto the catwalk, then climbed down the ladder a little faster than was strictly safe. She could only wonder why she’d found it so frightening, that the Wildfolk followed Salamander around. It seemed to her that the world had turned suddenly strange. From the moment I met Neb, she thought. That’s when it all started. She felt that she should know what Neb’s arrival in her life meant, that she was looking at the back of a tapestry and seeing a tangle of color and thread hiding the true pattern. If she could only turn the cloth over and see the front, she would know the answer. If.
As Branna walked across the ward, she saw two dusty horsemen riding in. When they dismounted, she saw that their shields carried the sun blazon of Cengarn. Messengers, she thought. With a cold feeling around her heart, she hurried into the great hall. Behind her came a small mob of servants and riders, as anxious to hear the news as she was.
Nearly a fortnight after the tieryn had sent his letter, messengers from the gwerbret had finally arrived with the answer. Neb followed them in, hurried across the great hall, and knelt on one knee beside the tieryn’s chair at the head of the honor table. A messenger knelt on the other side and proffered the silver tube. Cadryc took it, glanced at the seal, and handed it to Neb.
“Read it as loudly as you can,” Cadryc said. “We might as well all hear the news at once.”
Neb got up and turned toward the crowd in the great hall. “To his grace, Tieryn Cadryc of the Red Wolf, I send greetings. I have no intention of appealing to the high king for aid in the matter you put before me. You were appointed to guard the border. The high king was not.” Neb glanced the tieryn’s way. “It’s signed—”
“We know who sent the cursed thing!” Cadryc had gone red in the face. He took a deep breath and paused to look over the great hall, crammed with every rider and servant in the dun, or so it seemed. Lord Mirryn worked his way through the mob and reached his father’s side. At the sight of him the tieryn smiled and turned calm.
“Well, the gwerbret may not want to appeal to the king,” Cadryc said, “but I see naught wrong with my appealing to the gwerbret. I’ll take fifteen men for an honor escort. As soon as the taxes and suchlike are all taken care of, I’ll ride to Cengarn.”
“Father?” Lord Mirryn laid a hand on his father’s arm. “I want to go with you.”
“What? And leave the dun unguarded?” Cadryc said. “There’s Horsekin prowling around, lad, and—”
“They’ve never raided this far east.”
“We’ll not argue about it in front of the whole great hall.” Cadryc’s voice turned into a growl.
Mirryn tossed his head, started to snarl, then smoothed his expression into bland indifference. “As you wish, Father,” he said. “But I’d like a word alone with you later, if I may.”