The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [82]
“Gerro,” Branna said, “Solla told me yesterday that she hoped you’d ask for her inheritance when you’re in Cengarn.”
“I’ll be doing just that,” Gerran said. “We need every coin we can get for that new dun.”
“True spoken.” Branna was looking away with a slight frown. “Solla probably told you this already, but she mentioned that Ridvar told her once that she didn’t have any such inheritance due. She thought he was just teasing, because he laughed when he said it, but I wonder.”
“She didn’t mention that to me. Huh! I wonder if the little bastard just doesn’t want to let go of the coin.”
“That was my thought, too. Although—” She hesitated again. “Oh, I’m probably just going daft, but be careful what you say to Lord Oth about it.”
“What?”
“Maybe it won’t matter.” Branna smiled brightly. “But Oth— oh, never mind!”
“But I do mind. What do you mean?”
“It’s just one of my feelings. I’m a little daft, is all.”
“Daft? Huh! Here, Prince Voran’s been appointed justiciar. What if I take the matter to him?”
“That would be far better.” For a moment she seemed to be about to say more, then turned and trotted away before he could call her back.
With so many men and horses, servants and carts, the ride to Cengarn took two days. Whenever the road came to a bend, Gerran would turn in the saddle to look back at the end of the line out of sheer habit. Not so long ago, keeping track of the supply carts would have been his responsibility, not Mirryn’s. Salamander and Neb were also riding among the servants. At times Gerran noticed Neb riding with his head tipped back as he studied the perfectly clear and sunny sky. Finally, on the second day, with Cengarn not more than five miles away, Gerran’s curiosity won its battle with his attempt to mind his own affairs. He dropped back in the line of march to ride next to the prince’s scribe and the gerthddyn.
“What are you looking for?” Gerran asked Neb. “Another dragon?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me to see one,” Neb said, “but it’s not that.” He hesitated briefly. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Gerro. Everything seems safe enough.”
Gerran considered probing further, but Neb was looking straight ahead with the sour expression of a man who’s got nothing more to say. Salamander rolled his eyes in mock disgust.
“He’s looking for that raven,” Salamander said, “the one I told you about last summer, the one who stole the crystal from me.”
Neb slewed around in his saddle and started to speak, but Salamander held up one hand for silence.
“There is no use,” Salamander went on, “in keeping secrets from a man who already knows them.”
Neb returned to staring at the road ahead. Gerran made the gerthddyn a half-bow from the saddle, then turned his horse out of line and trotted up to take his position behind the prince.
"Oh for the love of all the gods,” Salamander said, "there’s also no use in sulking.”
Neb glanced his way with a scowl, then replaced it with an expression that revealed no emotion whatsoever. Salamander waited, letting his roan gelding amble along on a slack rein. Around them the countryside burgeoned with spring grass in the meadows and sprouting grain in the fields. They passed white cows with rusty-red ears, grazing busily in a long meadow, while in the distance stood a farmhouse circled by a low packed-mud wall. The sound of barking dogs drifted out to the road.
“Well,” Neb said suddenly. “I don’t see why you’d tell Gerran about dweomer matters.”
“Why not?” Salamander said. “Some of them he needs to know. When it comes to mazrakir, another pair of eyes on watch is always a good thing.”
“I suppose so. Still, I don’t see why he gets to know things I don’t. You never told me that Laz Moj stole that crystal when he was in raven form.”
“My apologies. I thought I had. There were a fair number of things on my mind, you know, what with the war and all just over.