The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [90]
“My lord?” Clae said. “There’s a silver dagger down at the gates.”
“Indeed?” Gerran said. “What—”
“The gatekeeper wasn’t even going to let him in, but I told him to wait just outside for a while. We don’t have anyone in our warband, and so I thought—”
“Right you are! I’ll get dressed and go down. Tell him to keep waiting.”
The silver dagger turned out to be a tall fellow with broad shoulders and the long arms of a swordsman. Under a thatch of dirty brown hair his face was hollow-cheeked and touched with a certain paleness about the mouth. He revealed no emotion whatsoever when Gerran allowed him inside the walls for a chat. His horse, a chestnut gelding, looked well cared for, with healthy legs and hooves. As the silver dagger knelt before him, Gerran had the odd feeling he’d seen him before, but he couldn’t place where.
“What brings you out here to Arcodd?” Gerran said.
“Horsekin, my lord,” the silver dagger said. “I heard about last summer’s fighting and figured there might be a hire for me.”
“You’re right enough, but I can’t pay you much beyond your keep.”
“If we don’t see any fighting, my keep will be pay enough. If we do, you can decide what I’m worth then.”
“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
“A while.” His pale mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “I spent my last copper on oats for my mount. We ran out of those last night.”
“Well, I might have a hire for you, I might not, but I can stand you a meal at least.”
“My thanks, my lord.” This time he did smile. “May I ask your lordship’s name?”
“Gerran of the Gold Falcon. And you are?”
“Nicedd, my lord, from Pren Cludan, over in Cerrgonney.” He scrambled up and busied himself with brushing the dirt off the knees of his brigga. “I’d beg you not to ask me why I left it.”
“I don’t go prying into silver daggers’ personal affairs.” Gerran glanced around and found Clae waiting nearby. “Take this lad down to the encampment,” he said to the page, “and ask Lord Mirryn to feed him and his horse both and keep him in the warband. Who knows? We might have a hire for him eventually.”
“Done, my lord.” Clae turned to the silver dagger. “I’ll ride behind you on the way down.”
As they mounted up, Gerran noticed that the saddlebags at the saddle’s pommel had once borne a leather blazon. Nicedd had taken off the patch, but its shadow remained, dark against the faded leather of the bags themselves, the outline of a wolf. He’d once ridden for some distant relation of Tieryn Cadryc’s, then, a member of the ancient and conjoint clan of the Wolves, white and red.
Gerran returned to the great hall and the table of honor. As he was sitting down, Salamander trotted over to join him.
“Where’s Prince Dar?” Gerran said.
“Off in the stables with our host the gwerbret,” Salamander said. “I gather that discussing horses is somewhat of a ritual among the noble-born.”
“It is, truly.” Gerran glanced around. “What about our scribe?”
“He seemed much subdued this morning at breakfast. I think me he’s thought better of the various follies that he stood on the brink of committing.”
“Good. You know, I’d forgotten that Mirryn doesn’t know about Neb’s real craft.”
“I had, too. Well, he assumed we were talking about a scribal guild, so all is well.”
“Just so. Once Prince Voran gets himself here, Neb will have his testimony against Govvin to keep him busy. Has Ridvar summoned the priests yet, or do you know?”
“I generally know what there is to know.” Salamander paused for a grin. “Because the dun’s lasses generally have overheard it and then tell me. His grace has sent two summons. The first Govvin ignored. The second he answered, saying he might well come here to deliver his opinion on the matter, if the omens were favorable or some such thing. So we’re waiting for him to arrive, or perhaps it might be more accurate to say that we’re waiting to see if he arrives. ”
“It all boils down to waiting,” Gerran said.
“True spoken.