The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [6]
“What’s all this?” he said. “Come over here, you two! You look half starved and scared to death. What’s happened?”
“Raiders,” Neb stammered. “Horsekin burned my uncle’s farm and the village. Me and my brother got away.”
“By the gods! You’re safe now—I swear it. You’ve got naught to fear from me.”
The yellow gnome grinned, leaped into the air, and vanished. As the two boys walked over, the stranger knelt again at the fire, where an iron griddle balanced on rocks. Clae sat down nearby with a grunt of exhaustion, his eyes fixed on the soda bread, but Neb stood for a moment, looking round him. Scattered by the fire were saddlebags and pack panniers stuffed with gear and provisions.
“I’m Neb and this is Clae,” Neb said. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Well, you may call me Salamander,” the stranger said. “My real name is so long that no one can ever say it properly. As to what I’m doing, I’m having dinner. Come join me.”
Shamelessly, Neb and Clae wolfed down chunks of warm bread. Salamander rummaged through saddlebags of fine pale leather, found some cheese wrapped in clean cloth, and cut them slices with a dagger. While they ate the cheese, he bustled around, getting out a small sack of flour, a silver spoon, a little wood box of the precious soda, and a waterskin. He knelt down to mix up another batch of bread, kneading it in an iron pot, then slapped it into a thin cake right on the griddle with his oddly long and slender fingers.
“Now, you two had best settle your stomachs before you eat anything more,” he said. “You’ll only get sick if you eat too much after starving.”
“True spoken,” Neb said. “Oh ye gods, my thanks. May the gods give you every happiness in life for this.”
“Nicely spoken, lad.” Salamander looked up, glancing his way.
His eyes were gray, a common color in this part of the country, and a perfectly ordinary shape, but all at once Neb couldn’t look away from them. I know him, he thought. I’ve met him—I couldn’t have met him. Salamander tilted his head to one side and returned the stare, then sat back on his heels, his smile gone. Neb could have sworn that Salamander recognized him as well. The silence held until Salamander looked away.
“Tell me about the raid,” he said abruptly. “Where are you from?”
“The last farm on the Great West Road,” Neb said, “but we’ve not lived there long. When our mam died, we had to go live with our uncle. Before that we lived in Trev Hael. My da was a scribe, but he died, too. Before Mam, I mean.”
“Last year, was it? I heard that there was some sort of powerful illness in your town. An inflammation of the bowels, is what I heard, with fever.”
“It was, and a terrible bad fever, too. I had a touch of it, but Da died of it, and our little sister did, too. Mam wore herself out, I think, nursing them, and then this spring, when it was so damp and chill—” Neb felt tears welling in his voice.
“You don’t need to say more,” Salamander said. “That’s a sad thing all round. How old are you, lad? Do you know?”
“I do. Da always kept count. I’m sixteen, and my brother is eight.”
“Sixteen, is it? Huh.” Salamander seemed to be counting something out in his mind. “I’m surprised your father didn’t marry you off years ago.”
“It wasn’t for want of trying. He and the town matchmaker just never seemed to find the right lass.”
“Ah, I see.” Salamander pointed and smiled. “Look, your brother’s asleep.”
Clae had curled up right on the ground, and indeed he was asleep, openmouthed and limp.
“Just as well,” Neb said. “He’ll not have to listen to the tale this way.”
Neb told the story of their last day on the farm and their escape as clearly as he could. When he rambled to a stop, Salamander said nothing for a long moment. He looked sad, and so deeply weary that Neb wondered how he could ever have thought him young.
“What made you go look at the waterfall?” Salamander asked.
“Oh, just a whim.”
The yellow gnome materialized, gave Neb a sour look, then climbed into his lap like a cat. Salamander