The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [72]
“Ah, that reminds me,” Maryn said. “I wanted to ask you somewhat. It’s about Caradoc. You know how much I value his advice. He’s seen fighting in three different kingdoms, after all.”
“And he’s been seeing it for years,” Nevyn said. “Experience is always valuable.”
“Just so, but I worry. I’d hate to see him killed, but he insists on leading his men into battle.”
“Just so.” Nevyn considered for a moment. “Have you talked to Caradoc about this?”
“I hinted, but he turned my words away. He’s a proud man and a touchy one. I wanted your advice first.”
“Then I’ll have a word with him.”
Down in the great hall, Caradoc was pulling out a bench and helping Owaen sit at one of the tables reserved for the silver daggers. The younger man’s face glistened with sweat on pale skin. No doubt his hand hurt worse than he’d ever imagined it could.
“Owaen should be lying down,” Nevyn remarked. “If my liege will excuse me, I’ll tend to it.”
“Of course.”
By the time Nevyn reached them, Owaen was sipping ale from a tankard. He kept his left hand, a club of white linen, in his lap. Caradoc stood, leaning against the table, and watched him.
“I see you had the finger removed,” Nevyn said to Owaen.
“I did, my lord.” Owaen’s voice sounded very small, like a child’s. “It went fast.”
“Indeed? You should be lying down, and don’t argue with me. It’s not a sign of weakness. I don’t want you bleeding to death. The prince needs you, and you’ve got to keep that wounded hand motionless.”
Owaen gulped ale.
“He’s right,” Caradoc snapped. “Will it take a direct order to make you do what Nevyn says?”
“It will.”
“Then I order you to go to the barracks and lie down.” Caradoc glanced around the hall. “There’s Maddyn and red-haired Trevyr. I’m now ordering you to let them help you.”
“As the captain commands, then.”
Caradoc made a snorting sound, then waved Maddyn and the other silver dagger over.
“Why do you always call him red-haired Trevyr?” Nevyn said.
“Because there used to be a black-haired Trevyr in the troop as well. He’s been dead these four years, but somehow the name stuck, like.”
Nevyn gave Maddyn a few instructions on caring for Owaen and sent them off. Both he and Caradoc stood watching them leave the hall; Owaen was weaving a little but managing to walk on his own even though Trevyr Coch kept close to him.
“Stubborn little bastard,” Caradoc remarked.
“Well, some men show themselves less mercy than they’d show an enemy.”
“Owaen never shows anyone mercy. A consistent sort of lad.”
“He’s always been that, truly.” Nevyn was thinking of the other lifetimes in which he’d known this soul. “I suspect he’ll get his wish, though, and the thing will be healed fairly well by the time he sees fighting.”
“Good, because there won’t be any keeping him out of it. He’d feel shamed.”
“Well, some men are like that, truly. They won’t stay out of a battle unless they’re nearly dead already, and all for fear of what other men will think of them.”
“True enough, but you know, all a silver dagger’s got in life is the fighting. Look at Maddyn, now. I told him to give it up, and he did, but that’s because he’s a bard. He has somewhat to live for, like, besides glory and honor. The rest of us don’t.”
All at once it occurred to Nevyn that the captain remembered the prince’s hints perfectly well. Caradoc was watching him tight-lipped, as if squelching a smile.
“I’d say you have a lot to live for,” Nevyn said. “The prince’s favor, for one thing.”
“Huh! And how can a man like me earn favor if he’s not fighting?”
“Giving wise counsel, for one thing. And offering a different voice than Oggyn’s for another.”
“Ah. Now that I hadn’t thought of.” Caradoc spat reflectively into the straw on the floor. “Can’t stand the man. No more can you, I’d say.”
“You’d be right. He does understand questions of supply. I’ll give Oggyn that. For some years he was the leader of the spearmen that Cerrmor owes the gwerbret, you see, and arming and feeding them was the hardest part of the job. So he knows how to provision