The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [144]
On the morrow Salamander did as the gwerbret asked and brought pabrus and ink up to his private chamber. What Ridvar dictated was curt, though to the point. Since Ridvar couldn’t read, Salamander took the liberty of expanding the message into something more well-bred though not flowery. Ridvar put it into a silver tube, sealed it with wax and his signet ring, then handed it back to his temporary scribe.
“See that this gets sent straightaway,” Ridvar said. “Give it to my captain, and he’ll pick the messengers.”
“As you wish, Your Grace, but if I may make a suggestion, Lord Mirryn and his men are leaving later in the day—”
“Splendid!” Ridvar broke in. “That will save my men the journey. ”
Salamander was just gathering up his supplies when Lady Drwmigga appeared in the doorway of the bedchamber. He bowed to her, and she favored him with a smile.
“Our thanks,” she said, then shot her husband a glance.
“Indeed,” Ridvar said. “Our thanks.”
Salamander reminded himself to tell Branna that while Drwmigga did have her bovine qualities, she at least knew how to prod her husband into courtesy, which boded as well for the future of the rhan as did her obvious fertility.
When he came downstairs, Salamander saw Daralanteriel sitting at the honor table with Voran, Mirryn, and Calonderiel. Salamander stopped to mention that Ridvar wanted to send for Gerran’s wife, though he left out any mention of the apology. Mirryn readily agreed to take the message back to the Red Wolf dun.
“I’ll send a letter to Dalla at the same time,” Dar said. “She and her women can come with Solla. Here, Mirryn, take Vantalaber and five archers with you, will you? They can escort the women back and spare you the journey.”
“My thanks, Your Highness, “ Mirryn said. “I’ll do just that.” Dar turned to Salamander. “Ah, I see you’ve got pens and the like with you.”
“I don’t need to write a letter,” Salamander said in Elvish. “I can just tell her.”
“True,” Dar answered in the same, “but it’s for the sake of appearances, or do you want everyone in the Red Wolf dun wondering why Dalla’s leaving?”
“Right enough.” Salamander sat down with a sigh. “I’ll write it out now.”
Once he’d handed the messages over to Mirryn, Salamander went looking for Neb. He found him up in Gerran’s chamber with something of a crowd. In the curve of the wall near the window, Canna and her children sat on some worn, thin cushions placed on a tattered bit of carpet. The younger daughter looked up when Salamander came in and smiled at him. She was too young, Salamander supposed, to understand the full import of what had happened to her family. The elder lass stared straight out at nothing. Canna herself seemed too exhausted to notice his arrival. The baby slept in his mother’s arms, so soundly that Salamander assumed Canna or another woman in the dun had been able to nurse him at last.
Nicedd, Clae, and the Horsekin prisoner Sharak were all sitting on the floor at the foot of the narrow bed while Gerran perched on a high stool. Neb was examining the raw wound. On the bed nearby lay clean bandages, folded from rags, while at his feet lay filthy ones. Although Salamander knew nothing of the healer’s craft, he did notice that no smell of contagion hung in the air.
“How fares our Falcon’s wing?” Salamander said. “You look a good bit better this morn, Gerro.”
“I feel better,” Gerran said. “Now that I’ve survived what Neb did to me.”
“I’ll admit that it was a bit rough,” Neb said. “But it looks to me like the mead washed out the corrupted humors. That was the most important thing.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by that,” Gerran said.
“Have you ever watched someone make cheese?” Neb said. “You fill a bowl with fresh sweet milk, then stir in some rennet. In a few hours, the whole bowl is sour and curdled. Well, the dirt in your wound turned some of your blood into a substance much like rennet. If the curdling had spread—”
“Never mind,” Gerran said. “I understand now. No need for the details.”
“Very well. Now I’m going to bandage it up again. Do your best