The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [65]
“Don’t jest!” She shook her head in irritation. “Taking bird form’s a tremendous strain. Do you want to go mad again? You didn’t seem to much like it before.”
“True enough, O Mistress of Magicks Mysterious. Don’t worry. I’ll follow your orders.”
“I don’t want you to follow what I say like orders. I want you to understand why I’m saying it.”
“I do see. My apologies. I’m jesting, just as you said, and truly, I do know better.”
In the morning, Salamander left Cengarn and followed the river north. Close to town lay free farms, that is, those owned by freemen who owed loyalty directly to the gwerbrets of Cengarn with no tax-taking lords in between. Their lands, nestled between rolling hills, stretched green with pastures and burgeoning crops. Everywhere he stopped, Salamander heard stories about the dragons. A great many farmers had lost cows to them, or so they claimed with varying amounts of hard evidence. One man did show Salamander a cowhide he’d tanned. It bore the long gashes made by huge claws.
“I keep it to remember the cursed thing by,” the farmer said. “It’s not often you lose a cow to a dragon, and I thank all the gods for that! Look here, all I found was this hunk of leather, licked clean inside, and the horns and hooves. Blasted dragon had eaten everything else.”
“Was this the silver or the black?”
“The black. She carried the cow off in the twilight, so it was hard to see. The silver one would have stood out, like.”
“No doubt. My sympathies.”
“Oh, well, I was as angry as a boil-bum demon when it happened, but then I think, well, at least the dragons keep the Horsekin off, and so maybe one cow’s a cheap enough price.”
“Do you really think the dragons are driving off the Horsekin?”
“Ain’t any round here, are there?”
“True enough. My thanks for the information. I’d best get back on the road.”
When Salamander decided that he was far enough away from Cengarn, he found the gold arrow he’d bought from Warryc and tucked it into a pocket in one of his saddlebags. It might come in handy, he decided, if any of Alshandra’s followers still held true to their faith, up on the lands that Lord Matyc and his brother Lord Tren had once ruled.
On a muggy afternoon, under a sky black with storm clouds, Tieryn Cadryc led his men back to his dun. Branna was in the great hall with Lady Galla when they heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbles and the shouts of the pages and grooms as they ran out to greet the men. Branna had to stop herself from joining the general rush. She was surprised at how happy she felt merely from knowing she’d see Neb again. For decorum’s sake she waited inside—but just inside, and by the door in the servants’ and riders’ half of the great hall.
Not long after she’d taken up her post, Neb came hurrying in, loaded up with a bedroll, a basket, and some lumpy parcels wrapped in his extra shirt. Branna glanced around and saw Clae nearby.
“Take those up for your brother,” she said. “Well, if you can carry them all.”
“ ’Course I can!” Clae trotted over. “Here, Neb, hand them to me.”
“I’ll keep the basket,” Neb said. “There are things in there that cost our tieryn a good many coppers. Just take the blankets—wait, don’t tug!”
Branna solved the resulting confusion by grabbing the basket herself and letting Neb sort out the rest. Once a burdened Clae was heading for the staircase, she held out the basket. Smiling, Neb took it from her. For a brief moment their fingers touched. Mindful of her noble-born kin, standing not all that far away, Branna drew her hand back, but as they talked, exchanging ordinary pleasantries, she found that her hand kept reaching for his, almost of its own will, and that his definitely seemed to be seeking her fingers as well.
“Ah, well,” Neb said at last, “there’s your aunt coming. I’d best put the things I bought away, too. Oh, wait! I have a message for her from Lady Solla.”
Neb fished in his shirt, took out the message tube, and handed it to Branna. “If you’ll just give this to our lady?” He bowed and hurried upstairs, two steps