The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [58]
“It would be most inconvenient for me to ask the high king for an army.”
Gerran wondered why he’d ever hoped for anything different. The king’s aid brought obligations with it. Even so, given the situation, which threatened the survival of his rhan, the gwerbret’s stubbornness did surprise him. Ridvar took another measured sip of mead.
“If Lord Samyc has the extra men,” Ridvar said, “they can patrol his borders. Then the villagers will have plenty of warning if there’s another raid, and they can get to safety.”
“Leaving their farms and livestock and crops for the cursed raiders.” Cadryc leaned forward. “If the Horsekin steal or burn the crops and the cows, who’s going to feed us all?”
“Even if we have an army, there’s no guarantee we can catch the raiders. We don’t even know where they come from, do we?”
“Then maybe it’s time we blasted well found out.”
“Tieryn Cadryc, you forget yourself.” Ridvar tossed his head, his eyes flaring temper.
Red-faced with rage, Cadryc stared him full in the face. Councillor Oth leaned forward, and Lord Blethry half-rose from his chair, ready to intervene. Gerran sighed, seeing the matter turn to the question of who could be more stubborn. He risked laying a warning hand on Cadryc’s arm. Cadryc recovered himself and made a half-bow to the gwerbret.
“So I do,” Cadryc said. “My apologies.”
“Granted. My thanks for your advice, Captain.”
Lord Blethry sat back down with a small sigh of relief.
“Your Grace?” Salamander stepped forward, bowed, and knelt at the gwerbret’s side. “May I have your leave to speak to this point?”
Startled, Ridvar slewed around in his chair to look at the gerthddyn, who smiled blandly up at him.
“I’m a traveling man, Your Grace,” Salamander said. “I hear all sorts of strange rumors and tidbits of news. Has Your Grace ever wondered why the Horsekin would ride so far for so few slaves and so little booty? I’ve gathered a few pieces of information that point to their having an armed camp or the like off to the west, one that they’d rather we didn’t find. If that’s true, it’s no wonder that they want to make sure no one decides to farm out their way.”
Councillor Oth caught his breath in a little gasp.
“Indeed,” Ridvar said. He turned in his chair to give the gerthddyn his full attention. “Do you have any proof of this?”
“Not yet, Your Grace.”
“I’m not about to ask the high king for an army on the strength of a gerthddyn’s word.”
“Fair enough, Your Grace. I did hear it from the Westfolk.”
Ridvar hesitated, visibly annoyed. Everyone knew that the Westfolk never lied and only rarely exaggerated. “That gives it more weight.” Ridvar sounded annoyed as well. “But it’s still hearsay.”
“True, Your Grace, but what if I bring you better proof than that?”
Ridvar crossed his arms over his chest and looked the gerthddyn over for a long cold moment. Councillor Oth leaned forward and murmured a few words in Ridvar’s ear, but the lad never acknowledged them.
“Your Grace, there’s an old saying.” Apparently Cadryc could stand the silence no longer. “When the shepherds go missing, the wolves shit wool.”
The lad set his lips together and considered the tieryn with narrow eyes. The hall had fallen utterly silent as everyone, warrior and servant alike, strained to hear. Finally Ridvar allowed himself a small smile.
“The point’s well taken,” Ridvar said. “I’ll make you a bargain. If anyone, even our gerthddyn here, can bring me proof that the Horsekin have a permanent camp or suchlike out to the west, then I’ll petition the high king.”
“And do I have your word on that?” Cadryc said. “Your Grace?”
“You do.” The gwerbret’s eyes narrowed again, and he hesitated, but only briefly. “I’ll swear it to you.”
“You have my thanks, Your Grace. My heartfelt thanks.”
Salamander seemed inclined to speak up again, but Gerran laid a hand on his shoulder and silenced him. He and the gerthddyn rose, bowed to the noble-born, then went back to the riders’ side of the hall. As they regained their seats, Gerran glanced back to the table of honor, where Ridvar