The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [38]
The warband had gathered around one table and was wagering furiously on a game of carnoic between Daumyr, one of the tieryn’s riders, and Salamander, the gerthddyn who’d spent the winter at the tieryn’s table. Gerran dipped himself a tankard of ale from an open barrel near the honor hearth and wandered over to watch. He was planning on sitting in his usual chair at the head of the table nearest the servants’ hearth, but he found it already occupied by Lord Mirryn.
“And what are you doing here?” Gerran said.
“I could ask the same of you, my lord.” Mirryn paused for a grin in his general direction. “You’ve got a higher rank than me now, married as you are, and here your wife’s with child already. I figure that from now on, I’m the captain of my father’s warband and little more.”
“If Solla has a son, I’ll gloat then and not before.” Gerran felt his usual pang of cold fear at the mention of Solla’s pregnancy. What if she dies? He shoved the thought away with a toss of his head. “But anyway, it doesn’t matter if you or I or the Lord of Hell call you the captain. What counts is what your father thinks of the matter.”
Not long after they learned exactly that, when Cadryc strode into the great hall. He pulled off his yellow-and-red plaid cloak, tossed it over the back of his chair at the head of the honor table, then stood looking around him with a puzzled frown. When he spotted Mirryn, he walked across to join them. Mirryn got up and turned to face his father. The men gathered around the carnoic game fell silent; those who’d been standing hurriedly knelt. Cadryc waved his hand in their direction to allow them to stand up again, then turned his attention to his son.
“Well, Mirro,” Cadryc said, “what are you doing over here?”
“The Falcon’s going to have a dun of his own soon enough,” Mirryn said. “So I’m the captain of your warband now.”
“Ah.” Cadryc paused for a long moment. “So you are. Carry on with your game, men.” He turned and walked away, leaving Mirryn openmouthed but speechless behind him.
The men of the warband looked as stunned as their new captain. They said nothing, but they kept glancing at one another. And what will they think of him? Gerran wondered. He’s never ridden to war. Their carefully arranged faces revealed nothing. Mirryn sat down to a profound silence.
“That was easy enough,” Gerran said.
Mirryn nodded and picked up his tankard from the table. The conversation and the wagering resumed, slowly at first, then erupted into cheers from Daumyr’s supporters when his next move won the game.
“Ai!” Salamander said. “I am vanquished, well and truly conquered, routed, and driven from the field!”
“I take it that means you don’t want another game,” Daumyr said.
“Quite right. You’ve beaten me thrice, and my vanity won’t take another blow.” Salamander got up with a grin. “I think I’ll drown my sorrows in some of our lord’s ale.”
Daumyr turned on the bench and made a sketchy bob that might have signified a bow to the two lords.
“Here, Captain,” Daumyr said to Mirryn, “care to give me a game, my lord?”
“I do, indeed,” Mirryn said. “Bring the board up here, will you?” Good man, Daumyr! Gerran thought. He decided that he didn’t dare risk acting as if he thought Mirryn needed his backing on his new authority. He went to the honor table and sat down at Cadryc’s left. The tieryn was obviously trying to suppress a grin at the effect he’d just had on his son. Gerran waited until a servant lass had brought Cadryc ale and left again. Carrying his own tankard, Salamander joined them.
“I don’t know if you want my opinion, Your Grace,” Gerran said, “but you made the right choice for your new captain.”
“Good. It gladdens my heart that you agree.” Cadryc frowned into his tankard. “No doubt the lad will