The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [128]
‘Horza? He’s a marvel when it comes to making things, truly.’
One of the dwarven carters was leaning over, hands on knees, and frowning at the cart’s left rear wheel. He muttered a few foul words, then knelt on one knee and began pulling something free of the strakes.
‘A lot of the wheels have tangled stuff on them,’ Branna said. ‘I noticed it earlier, when your men were lining the carts up.’
‘It’s the long grass,’ Kov said. ‘There’s one big problem with this new device. The strake edge can cut dry grass, and if it does, it gathers it up and spins it right round the wheel. It’ll be a cursed nuisance when we’re travelling over the grasslands. ’
The look on Branna’s face surprised him—a sudden wondering, then a grin. Without a word to him she trotted over to the cart and watched the servant pulling the long stalks free. The action of the strake and its nailheads had twisted them into a messy sort of rope. Puzzled, Kov followed her.
‘Uh, is somewhat the matter, my lady?’ he said.
‘Not in the least!’ Branna looked up, and her grin turned even broader. ‘Here, good envoy. Surely your men have brought a lot of extra wheels along, haven’t they? Do you think I might have one of them? I don’t have any coin to pay you with, but I do have a bit of jewellery you might fancy.’
‘My dear lady! It would be an honour to present you with one as a gift, but um er, might I ask why?’
‘I’ve got an idea, that’s all. I wonder if one of those wheels or somewhat like it would spin wool as well as it tangles grass.’
Kov had never felt so bewildered in his life, but his master Garin’s long training in courtesy saved him. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Here, let me find you one. I think our head carter’s just over there.’
Once Branna had her straked wheel, she thanked him profusely, then carried it up to the dun. He heard her calling for Horza as she ran through the gates. I don’t know why I’m so surprised, he thought. Our women do love their contrivances, too. After all, he reminded himself, it was just such a womanly love of devices that had led to the secret carried in those wrapped and rune-marked crates.
No one, however, could spare much time to wonder about mountain secrets. That very afternoon Prince Voran called a council of war. Since Cadryc had no proper chamber of justice—he judged local crimes and disputes right in his great hall—the prince, the gwerbret, Brel, and Kov met in the prince’s bedchamber, a smallish shabby room in Kov’s eyes but obviously the best in the dun. Servants had set up chairs near the window; a low table sported a map of Deverry that Ridvar had brought with him from Cengarn. Kov was expecting that Cadryc would be invited to sit in on the council out of courtesy’s sake, him being the lord of the dun, but he never appeared.
In the curve of the wall sat a young brown-haired scribe—Neb, Kov thought his name might be, though he’d not heard it clearly—and an oddly handsome fellow with hair as pale as moonlight and slightly pointed ears. At first Kov thought this Westfolk half-breed an apprentice scribe, since Neb was showing him how to write upon waxed tablets with a stylus, but he turned out to be a fair bit more important than that.
‘Cadvridoc Brel, Envoy,’ Prince Voran said, ‘this is Salamander the gerthddyn, the man who discovered the existence of Zakh Gral.’ He abruptly frowned. ‘Here, lad, you must have some better name than Salamander.’
Salamander handed his pair of tablets to the scribe, then rose to a kneel. ‘I do, your highness,’ he said, ‘Evan of Drwloc.’
‘Much better! Very well, Goodman Evan,’ the prince continued. ‘I had you brought here to tell us about the terrain around Zakh Gral once again. Neb, I’m hoping to you can take what he tells us and make some sort of picture of it on the back of this map.’
‘I’ll do my best, your highness.’ Neb glanced at Evan. ‘You talk, and I’ll make a sketch on the wax tablet. Then you tell me if it’s correct before I do it in ink.’
‘Good idea,’ the prince said. ‘Proceed.’
By the time that the gerthddyn had finished