The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [85]
Lord Blethry seated the prince, the banadar, and the two lords at the table of honor, which stood in front of the enormous dragon hearth. He gave Salamander a scowl when the gerthddyn sat down with them, then trotted off to assign tables on the riders’ side of the hall to the men of the escorts. Lady Drwmigga and her women arranged themselves at the table next to the table of honor but engrossed themselves in conversation to give the men their privacy. Servant lasses appeared and brought mead in silver goblets.
“Where’s Neb?” Salamander said abruptly.
Gerran looked over the warbands, just settling themselves among a flurry of servants. “Huh!” He stood up for a better view. “No sign of him.”
Salamander cursed under his breath in Elvish and got up, grabbing his goblet. He downed a mouthful of mead, then carried the goblet with him when he hurried over to the other side of the hall. Gerran sat down again, but he turned in his chair to watch the gerthddyn, moving among the men and asking questions in between sips of mead. Finally Salamander handed his goblet to a servant and ran out of the great hall.
“What in the icy hells is that all about?” Calonderiel leaned across the table.
“He’s looking for Neb,” Gerran said.
“Oh.” Cal shrugged the problem away. “Well, no doubt he’ll find him.”
Gerran thought of going after Salamander to help him search, then remembered that the gerthddyn doubtless had his own ways of finding someone.
A small procession was coming down the staircase. Two guards in tabards decorated with the golden sun blazon of Cengarn led the way, followed by Gwerbret Ridvar and a shaved-bald priest of Bel. Bringing up the rear were two roughly-dressed men, one of them sullen and scowling, the other triumphant, bearing a wicker cage full of squawking chickens.
“I take it that justice has been done,” Prince Dar said, grinning.
“So it seems, Your Highness,” Gerran said. “And the lwdd paid.”
The guards ushered the farmers out, then more courteously escorted the priest. Ridvar paused at the door to bid the priest farewell. He’d grown taller over the winter, Gerran noticed, and his upper lip sported a dark shadow, the beginnings of a moustache. With a last word to the guards, Ridvar came over and bowed to Prince Dar.
“My apologies for not being here to greet you, Your Highness.” He glanced around the table. “Banadar, it gladdens my heart to see you again. My lords, welcome to my hall.”
Nicely put, Gerran thought. “My thanks, Your Grace,” he said aloud. “I’ve come to bring you the last scot due from the Red Wolf.”
“Then my thanks to you.” Ridvar sat down at the head of the honor table. “You can give it to Lord Oth when he joins us.” He turned to the prince. “Well, Your Highness, I hope you’ve fared well over the winter.”
“I have indeed, Your Grace, and the same to you,” Dar said. “But alas, I fear I’m the bringer of evil news. The Horsekin are pushing into the wilderness north of your borders. The silver wyrm spotted them and flew to tell me.”
Ridvar went icy still for a moment, then swore. “I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said at last. “How far away are they?”
“A good distance, thank all the gods. I doubt me if they’ll stay far away.”
“I doubt it, too. It’s a good thing, then, that Prince Voran’s on his way. One of his men rode in this morning with the news that he and his retinue will be here on the morrow.” Ridvar’s voice turned sour. “Have you heard about his highness’ new title and appointment?”
“I have,” Dar said. “I don’t know much about Cerrgonney affairs, but I gather the province is a troubled one.”
“Well, Cerrgonney is, truly.” Ridvar clamped his lips as if he were sucking back words. He cleared his throat. “Now, about these Horsekin. What precisely did the dragon see?”
Since Calonderiel had already given him the substance of the dragon’s report, Gerran only half listened to their talk. That Neb had gone missing troubled him. Finally he murmured an excuse and left the table. He stopped at the riders’ side