The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [73]
‘How’s the hand today?’ Loddlaen said.
‘Ye gods, you startled me!’ she said, laughing. ‘It’s a fair bit better, my thanks. I can close my fingers now without it hurting.’
‘Good. Tell me somewhat, will you? What do you think of Gwairyc?’
‘I’m not sure. At times he’s pleasant enough, and at others he frightens me. Why do you ask?’
‘He’s a cursed strange apprentice for a herbman.’
‘Well, that’s certainly true.’
‘I was wondering if you knew why he seems to hate Tirro. I went down to look at Wffyn’s goods, and I saw Gwairyc treating Tirro like a dog. Some of the women here in camp told me that he follows the lad around and yells at him for the least little thing.’
‘I saw him do that on the way out here, too, but I don’t know why. You could ask Nevyn.’
‘I’d rather not.’ Loddlaen looked away, his eyes wide with fear. ‘He might tell Gwairyc I asked.’
‘So?’
‘What if he challenged me? Gwairyc’s the kind of man I’ve always hated, a swaggering bastard of a warrior. They usually hate me, too.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ He made a sharp bark of sound that might have been a laugh. ‘But be that as it may, there’s somewhat else I wanted to ask you. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’
‘My thanks, I would.’
‘Come at sundown, then.’
Loddlaen looked as if he was about to say more, but Evan began whining in a wordless sing-song and pulling on her hand.
‘I’ve got to get him to sleep,’ Morwen said. ‘I’ll see you at sundown.’
When the time came, Devaberiel offered to take care of his son so Morwen could have a little time to herself. She took the offer, but reluctantly. Since Loddlaen’s tent stood a fair distance away from the campground proper, she enjoyed being so far from its noise, but at the same time it vexed her to be away from Evan, even though she was leaving him with his father and Nevyn as well. He’ll be perfectly safe, she kept telling herself. And he’ll have to grow up and grow away from me sooner or later.
When Morwen arrived at Loddlaen’s tent, she was surprised to find Tirro there. Morwen disliked the merchant’s apprentice, but since Loddlaen was the host, she decided that it wasn’t her place to argue about the other guest, especially as Tirro had sweetened his welcome by bringing a basket of griddle cakes with him to supplement the meal. The Westfolk seemed to eat mostly meat, along with various raw leaves, dressed with oil and herbs, and wild fruits, a diet she was finding difficult to digest. The three of them sat down on the ground cross-legged by a fire burning in a circle of stones. Loddlaen had sliced chops from a lamb slaughtered the day before. They cooked them on a flat stone slab of the sort that a Deverry woman would have used for baking bread, then laid them on top of the griddle cakes.
‘These are delicious, Tirro,’ Morwen said. ‘I miss bread ever so much.’
‘Well, we do trade with Deverry farmers for grains and flour,’ Loddlaen said. ‘But bread and porridge and the like are for the winter camps. When it’s damp and cold they fill you up.’
‘You live so differently than people do in Deverry,’ Morwen said. ‘I’m still getting used to it.’
‘No doubt. I’ve often wondered what it would be like, living there, but I’ve never quite got the courage to go try it.’
‘Well, you’d fit in better than most of your folk. You could be a herbman like Nevyn.’
‘Truly,’ Tirro joined in. ‘You don’t even look that much different, and Loddlaen sounds like a Deverry name to me. Some of the names around here would twist your tongue, they would.’
‘True enough, but Loddlaen’s just a nickname. I was named after my grandfather, Alodalaenteriel.’
‘I’m not even going to try to say that. Tirro’s not my real name, either. It’s Alastyr.’
‘Much grander,’ Morwen said. ‘Tirro suits you, though.’
Tirro glanced her way with a scowl, then smoothed the expression away.
‘So tell me, Tirro.’ Loddlaen intervened quickly. ‘Are you going to be a horse trader the rest of your life, like Wffyn?’
‘I am not.’ Tirro put ice into his voice. ‘I’m marked