A Time of Omens (47 page)

“Weil, sort of. I mean, I wouldn’t
know
, but you hear all those things—”

“Some of them are true. I know it, you see. I know it deep in my heart, and it’s a harsh and bitter knowing in its way.” He gave her a lopsided grin that made him look like a lad of twenty. “Do you think I’m mad?”

“Not truly, but a bit daft—I can’t deny that.”

“You’re a practical sort of lass, and you’ll need to be.” He finished the ale in his tankard, then refilled it from the flagon with an unsteady hand. “There’s only been one woman in my whole life that I’ve loved as much as I love the lady Death, but she loved the dweomer more than me. It’s enough to drive any man daft, that. Be that as it may, she told me a prophecy once. Run where you will, Rhodry, said she, but the dweomer will catch you in the end. Or somewhat like that. It was years ago now, and I don’t quite remember her exact words. But I do remember how I felt while she was speaking, that she was telling me the truth and naught more, and somehow I knew that when the time came and my Wyrd sprang upon me, I’d feel its claws sink
deep, and I’d know that my lady Death was getting ready to accept me at last for the true lover I’ve been, all these long years. And while you were telling me your tale, I felt those claws bite. Soon I’ll lie with her at last, though it’s a cold and narrow bed we’ll share, my lady and me.”

Nedd was asleep in the straw with the dogs. In the hearth the fire was dying down, throwing a cloak of shadows over Rhodry’s face. With a wrench of will Carra got up and went to the hearth to put on more wood. She felt so cold at heart that she wanted the heat as much as the light. As the fire blazed up, she heard him moving behind her and turned just as he knelt in the straw at her feet.

“Will you take me into your service, my lady?”

“What? Of course I will. I mean, I don’t have a lot of choice, do I? Since you know Dar and all.”

“A very practical lass.” He grinned at her and rose, dusting off the knees of his filthy brigga as if it would make a difference. “Good. Nedd! Wake up! Escort your lady to her elegant chambers, will you? And make sure you stand a good guard tonight, because I feel trouble riding for all of us with an army at its back.”

Drunk as he was, he made her a graceful bow, then wove his way out of the tavern room. Nedd got up, signaling to the dogs to join him.

“What do you think of that silver dagger, Nedd? Do you like him?”

Nedd nodded his head yes.

“Even though he’s half-mad?”

Nedd pursed his lips and thought. Finally he shrugged the question away and went to open the door for her with a clumsy imitation of Rhodry’s bow. As she followed him out to the stables, Carra was both thinking that she’d never wanted to be a queen and wishing that she felt more like one.

Early on the morrow Yraen woke them by the simple expedient of standing under the hayloft and yelling. As they all walked back to the tavern for breakfast, he announced that he was riding north with them.

“Against my better judgment, I might add. First we take on this cursed little silversmith, and now our Rhodry starts babbling about Wyrd and dweomer and prophecies and the gods only know what else! He’s mad, if you ask me, as daft
as a bard, and he drinks harder than any man I’ve ever seen, and that’s a fair bit, if you take my meaning, not that he shows his drink the way an ordinary man would, but anyway, I know blasted well I should be riding back east and finding some other hire, but when he gets to talking—” He shook his head like a baffled bear. “So I’m coming along, for all that he warned me I’ll probably die if I do. I must be as daft as he is.”

In the morning light Carra had the chance for a good look at him. He was a handsome man, Yraen, at least in the abstract, with regular features and a mane of thick golden hair to match his mustaches, but his ice-blue eyes were as cold and hard as the iron of the joke that stood him for a name. The dogs and Nedd watched him with a cold suspicion of their own.

“Have you known Rhodry long?” Carra said.

“We’ve ridden together this four years now.”

“You know, neither of you seem like the sort of men who usually turn into silver daggers.”

“I suppose you mean that well.” Yraen was scowling, but in an oddly abstract way. “Look, my lady, no offense and all that, but asking a silver dagger questions isn’t such a pleasant thing—for both sides, if you take my meaning.”

Since she did, Carra held her tongue against a rising tide of curiosity. Inside the tavern room Rhodry was sitting cross-legged on the floor under a window, shaving with a long steel razor and a bit of mirror propped against the wall.

“Be done straightaway,” Rhodry said. “Yraen, get the lady some bread and milk, will you? The innkeep’s drunk in his kitchen again, and she’s got to keep up her strength and all that.”

With a growl like a dog, however, Nedd insisted on being the one to wait upon his lady.

“I’ve been thinking,” Yraen said abruptly. “If the point of this daft adventure is finding our lady her man, why don’t we just ride straight west?”

“You’re forgetting Otho.”

“True enough, and that’s my point. I want to forget Otho. Can’t we give him his coin back?”

“We still couldn’t just ride west. The grasslands are huge, and there aren’t any roads, and we could wander out
there for months till we starved to death.” Still a bit damp, Rhodry joined them at table just as Nedd and the bleary innkeep appeared with bread and bacon. “Cadmar of Cengarn buys horses from the Westfolk, and so we’re bound to find some of the People there—well, they’ll show up sooner or later, anyway. And then we can pass the message along, that Dar’s wife is waiting for him under the gwerbret’s protection.”

“Sounds too easy. You’re hiding somewhat, Rhodry.”

“I’m not. I’ve got no idea, none at all, of what might happen.”

“Then what’s all this babbling about Wyrd and dweomer?”

Rhodry shrugged, tearing bread with his long and graceful fingers.

“If I knew more, I’d tell you more.” He looked up with a sunny and inappropriate grin hovering round his mouth. “But that’s why I warned you earlier. Leave Otho if you want—leave us all. Ride east, and don’t give me or mine another thought.”

Yraen merely snarled and speared a chunk of bacon with an expensive-looking table dagger. At that point Carra heard someone swearing and cursing at the innkeep. The dogs laid back long ears and swung their heads toward the sound as the voice rose into a veritable litany of oaths, a bard’s memory chain of venom, a lexicon of filth. Rhodry jumped up and yelled.

“Hold your tongue! There’s a lady present.”

Snorting inarticulately under his breath a man came stumping into the room. He was only about five feet tall, but built as thickly and strongly as a miniature blacksmith, though his walk was stiff and slow. Since his hair and long beard were snow-white, it might have been mere age that was stiffening him, but from Rhodry’s talk of the night before Carra suspected that his heavy leather jerkin hid sewn jewels. He was also wearing a short sword at one hip and a long knife at the other.

“Don’t you yell at me, you misbegotten silver dagger,” Otho said, but levelly enough. “The day I take orders from a cursed elf is the day I curl my toes to heaven and gasp my last. I…”

He saw Carra and stopped, his mouth slacking, his eyes misting with tears.

“My lady,” he whispered. “Oh! My lady.”

He knelt before her and grabbed her hand to kiss it like a courtier. Carra sat stunned while Rhodry and Yraen goggled. All at once Otho blushed scarlet, jumped to his feet, and made a noisy show of blowing his nose on a bit of old rag.

“Uh, well now,” Otho snapped. “Don’t know what came over me, like, lass. My apologies. Thought you were someone else, just for a minute there. Humph. Well. Forgive me, will you? Just going outside.”

He rushed out before anyone could say a word, leaving all of them stunned and silent for a good couple of minutes. Finally Yraen sighed with an explosive puff of breath.

“All right, Rhodry lad. Dweomer it is, and Wyrd, too, for all I know about it. I’m not arguing with you anymore.”

After Rhodry settled up with the innkeep, they rode out, heading straight north on the hard-packed dirt road that would, or so the villagers promised, eventually lead them to Cengarn and Gwerbret Cadmar. The road here ran through farms, stretching pale gold with the ripening crop of winter wheat, but to the north, like a smudge of storm clouds, hung a dark line of hills and forests. All morning the line swelled, and the land rose steadily toward it, till by the time they stopped to rest the horses and eat their midday meal, they could see waves and billows of land and trees at the horizon.

“How are you faring, lass?” Otho asked as he helped her dismount. “Our Rhodry tells me you’re with child.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine. You don’t need to hover over me, you know. I’m not very far along at all.”

“If you say so. I just wish we had a woman of the People with us, someone who knew about these female matters.”

“I’m doing splendidly.”

Yet, when Carra sat down in a soft patch of grass, she was surprised at how good it felt to be out of the saddle and still. She’d learned to ride at three, clinging to her brother’s pony, spent half her life riding, but now she found herself tired after a morning in the saddle. She decided that she hated being pregnant, married or not. Thunder and Lightning flopped down on either side of her with
vast canine sighs. When Nedd hurried off to fetch her water and food, Otho sat down as if on guard.

“If I’m truly a queen now,” she said, “the dogs must be my men at arms, and Nedd my equerry. Do you want to be my high councillor, Otho? I wonder if I’ll get any serving women; maybe we should have taken some of his holiness’s cats along for that.”

Otho frowned in thought, pretending to take the game seriously.

“Well, Your Grace,” he said at last. “I’d rather be your chief craftsman, in charge of building your great hall, like.”

“Truly, the one we’ve got now is rather drafty.” She waved one arm round at the scenery. “Let me see, who’ll be councillor. Well, it can’t be Rhodry, because he’s daft. I know—I need a sorcerer! An aged sorcerer like in the tales. Aren’t there tales like that? About marvelous dweomermasters who turn up just when you need them?”

Otho turned a little pale. She could have sworn that he was terrified, but she couldn’t imagine why. Suddenly troubled herself, she looked up at the sky.

“Do you see that bird circling up there?” She pointed to a distant black shape. “Is it a raven?”

“Looks like it. Why?”

“I’ve been seeing it all morning, that’s all. Oh, I’m just being silly. Of course there’s lots of ravens…” She let her voice trail away, because Otho was staring up, shading his deep-pouched eyes with one hand, and within the welter of dirty beard his mouth was set and grim.

“What’s so wrong?” Rhodry strolled over, a chunk of cheese in his hand.

“Maybe naught,” Otho said. “But that’s one blasted big raven, isn’t it?”

Just as he spoke, the bird broke and flew, flapping with a harsh cry off to the west, just as if it knew it had been spotted. Otho tossed his head to shake the sun from his eyes.

“You a good hand with a hunting bow, silver dagger? You’re the one who used to ride with the Westfolk.”

“True spoken, and my heart yearns for a longbow now.”

Suddenly cold, Carra stood up just as Nedd and Yraen hurried over.

“Was there somewhat strange about that raven?” she said.

“Maybe. You’ve got sharp eyes, lass, and I think me you’re going to need them.”

“Now, wait.” Yraen sounded exasperated. “A bird’s a bird, big or not.”

“Unless it’s a sorcerer.” Rhodry grinned at him. “What would you say if I told you that some dweomermen can turn themselves into birds and fly?”

“I’d say that you were even dafter than I thought.”

“Then I won’t tell you. It’s still not too late for you to go back.”

“Will you hold your tongue about that?”

“Well and good, then, because you’ve been warned three times now, and that’s all that the laws and the gods can ask of me.”

That afternoon, when they rode on north, Carra kept a nervous watch for the raven, but she saw only normal birds of several kinds, flying about on some avian business. Every time she saw a raven or a crow, she would tell herself that Rhodry’s talk of shape-changers was his madness speaking at worst or some daft jest at best.

The land kept rising, and the road turned snaky, winding through the low places and crossing a couple of small streams. Just at sunset they topped a low rise and saw, some two or three miles ahead, a wild forest spreading out across hill and valley. Between them and the verge, as dark as shadows, stood a village huddling behind a staked palisade. Yraen muttered something foul under his breath.

“Don’t like the looks of that, Rhodry. That wall’s new built.”

“So it is. We’d best hurry before they shut us out for the night.”

In spite of the fortifications, the village was hospitable enough. Although Carra was expecting the farmers to stare at Otho or at least comment on his small stature, they acted as if he were nothing out of the ordinary at all. The blacksmith let them stable their horses in his shed, and a farm wife was glad to feed them for a few coppers and let them sleep in her hayloft for a couple more. Half the village crowded into her house to talk to the strangers, too, and warn them.

“Bandits on the roads,” said the blacksmith. “Never had bandits round here before. We sent a lad off to Gwerbret Cadmar to beg for help, and his grace sent word back that he was trying his best to wipe the scum out. Told us we’d better put up some kind of wall until he did.”

“Sounds like we might find a hire in Cengarn,” Rhodry said. “He might need extra men.”

“Most like.” The blacksmith paused, looking Carra over. “What are you doing on the roads, lass?”

Carra opened her mouth to blurt the truth, but Rhodry got in first.

“She rides with me,” he snarled, and quite believably. “Anything wrong with that?”

“Since I’m not her father, I don’t have a word to say about it, lad. Now let’s not have any trouble, like.”