The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [86]
“Down to town, my lord,” Daumyr said. “The scribe might have gone looking for inks and suchlike.”
“That’s a good guess,” Gerran said. “Well, no doubt the gerthddyn can find him.”
Daumyr raised a quizzical eyebrow, but Gerran walked away without saying more. He sat down at the table of honor again, but as the talk and the mead flowed, he drank but little, just on the off chance that Salamander might need him.
As soon as he left the dun behind, Salamander stopped in the shelter of a narrow alley and scried for Neb. He found him easily, standing in front of a shabby tavern. Salamander took off at a dead run and reached it just as Neb was bargaining with the tavernman, a stout fellow in a greasy leather apron, for the right to sleep in his hayloft.
“This won’t be necessary,” Salamander said briskly. “Just a slight misunderstanding.”
Neb whirled around and glared at him.
“Now here.” The tavernman set massive hands on his hips. “A bargain’s a bargain.”
Neb opened his mouth to agree, but Salamander got in first.
“Are you going to argue with the gwerbret, my good man?” Salamander said. “This lad is a witness in an upcoming proceeding in Ridvar’s court.” He turned to Neb and smiled. “I take it you didn’t realize that you’d been offered shelter in the broch itself.”
“Oh, well, then!” the tavernman took a hasty step back. “Never you mind, lad. You’ve got better quarters waiting for you than my loft.”
Salamander laid a firm hand on Neb’s arm. “Come along,” he said, “I’ll take you back.” He switched to Elvish, sticking to the words Neb would know. “You made a vow. Dallandra said stay with us. You promised to do what she said.”
“Oh, well and good, then!” Neb’s voice hovered near a snarl.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
As a precaution Salamander took the reins of Neb’s horse and led it. The yellow gnome materialized, standing on the saddle. It bowed to Salamander with a gape-mouthed grin, as if saying thank you. The gnome has more sense than the man! Salamander thought with a certain sourness. Neb strode away, walking fast ahead of him toward the dun at the top of the hill, but soon the steepness of the street made him slow down. When Salamander caught up with him, he stopped walking altogether.
“We need to have a chat,” Salamander said in Deverrian. “There’s no market today, so let’s go up to the commons.”
On the grassy hilltop a few white cows with rusty-red ears stood grazing or lay down in the shade of a cluster of trees to rest and ruminate. A sleepy-looking lad with a dog and a long stick sat nearby and watched over the cows. Salamander made sure that they stopped where the lad couldn’t overhear. He slacked the bit of Neb’s horse to let it snack on the spring grass, then stood facing Neb, who looked steadily back with his mouth twisted in anger.
“Now then, let me guess,” Salamander began. “You were going to lurk in that tavern overnight, and in the morning ride out on your own. I’ll guess further. You want a different master in our craft and think you can find one.”
“Oh, curse you!” Neb snapped.
“Ah, I see that I was perspicacious, sharp-eyed, and just plain correct. You know, every now and then an unruly colt will stray from its herd. It always ends up eaten by wolves. Dweomer has its own pack of wolves, you know. They’d welcome a smart lad like you, but you wouldn’t care for what they’d do to you.”
“I know that. I’m not stupid enough to link up with them.”
“You might not recognize who they were at first, not until it was too late to get out.”
Neb crossed his arms tightly over his chest.
“Be that as it may,” Salamander continued, “there’s this little matter of the gwerbretal malover. It’s not just some tale I made up to impress that tavernman. If you run away before you give your evidence, his grace will send out messengers to his peers, branding you as a criminal. The branding could become a reality, not a mere metaphor, if they catch you.”
Neb looked sharply away. “I didn’t realize that.”
“I thought perhaps you