The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [60]
“Have them fill it in,” Peddyc said. “We’d best be on the road.”
“Done, my lord. And may the gods bless you. Lady Bevyan was always so kind to me and mine.”
“That was her way, truly.” Peddyc turned to Lilli. “If you get tired in the saddle, lass, we’ll tie you on so you can sleep, but we’re riding as fast and straight as we can.”
“Very well, Father.” But Lilli hesitated, lingering by the grave—it was too horrible to just leave Bevyan like this without so much as a priest’s blessing. Finally Anasyn caught her by the arm and half-dragged her away.
“Don’t you think it aches my heart, too?” Anasyn said. “But she’ll have our vengeance to wrap her round, and that’ll be better than a silk shroud.”
Since their horses had been well rested, Tieryn Peddyc and his party reached Hendyr late on the second day after leaving Lord Camlyn’s dun. By the time they saw the familiar tower rising on the horizon, Lilli understood Peddyc’s remarks about exhaustion—she ached in every muscle. She had travelled back and forth to Hendyr so often that she knew all the small landmarks—the tall aspens nodding beside the road, Old Mori’s farm, the view of the main broch from the final bend in the road. This time, however, Bevva wouldn’t be waiting at the gates, nor would Lilli run up the stairs to the women’s hall to find her.
When the warband clattered into the great ward, servants came running in a confusion of barking dogs.
“My lord, my lord!” Voryc, the chamberlain, cried out. “Is all lost, then?”
“Not truly.” Peddyc leaned down from his saddle to clasp his outstretched hand. “Only my heart and the light of my life’s been lost. The kingdom still stands.”
Voryc stared up at him.
“Lady Bevyan’s dead,” Peddyc said. “Murdered upon the roads by the Boar clan.”
Voryc threw back his head and howled grief. When Lilli looked around, she saw all the servants weeping, too loudly, too coarsely, for their grief to have been feigned to please an overlord. She herself felt spent of all tears. When Anasyn helped her down from her saddle, he whispered one word to her: vengeance.
Dinner that night was a scratched together and cold meal. At their tables the weary warband ate in silence; at the head of the honor table, Peddyc had nothing to say either, and Lilli and Anasyn followed his lead. But once the food was cleared away and ale poured all round, Peddyc told Voryc to call every servant into the great hall, whether cook or page or pig boy. They crowded in, standing among the tables where the warband sat.
Peddyc leapt onto the table of honor and raised his arms for silence.
“Listen, all of you,” he said. “I’ve somewhat to tell you. Some of you already know the truth of my wife’s death, how it was Lady Merodda of the Boar who had her murdered upon the roads.”
Not an oath, not a word—the men, the retainers, the very servants, all stared at him and waited, though here and there a few nodded, as if to say they’d suspected somewhat like that.
“My lady Lillorigga!” Peddyc called out. “Stand up and tell the tale again.”
The servants listened to her tale with an attention more rapt than the king’s best bard had ever received, while the warband listened again and as grimly as they’d taken the news the first time.
“And I beg you to forgive me,” she finished up. “Oh please, forgive me? I didn’t realize what she was planning until it was too late.”
At that she heard a few murmurs, saw a few kind nods or a grimace of pain as the men looked at her with pity in their eyes. When Peddyc raised his right arm, everyone turned toward him.
“Tomorrow at dawn I’m riding south,” he said, as calmly as if he remarked upon the warmth of the evening. “To join with the True King in Cerrmor. Who rides with me?”
His warband roared, they flung fists into the air, they cheered him while the tieryn threw back his head and howled, laughing like a berserker. At last the shouting died