Bristling Wood (47 page)

Utterly confused, Jill hooked her thumbs in her sword belt and arranged a cruel smile in an attempt to play for time, but Salamander seemed to understand. He strolled over from the window and stared into the taverner’s eyes, while the man gasped for breath out of sheer anxiety.

“I might enjoy killing you,” the gerthddyn said in an offhand way. “But perhaps there’s no need.”

“But I told! I let out Briddyn’s name. Never did I realize that you were testing me.”

When Salamander chuckled, an unpleasant sort of laugh, Jill suddenly understood: the tavernman thought they were Hawks.

“Naught of the sort,” she broke in. “The Brotherhood is just that, a band of brothers. Have you even known brothers who weren’t all rivals in their hearts? Have you ever met an elder brother who willingly shared his sweetmeats with a younger? If you did, you knew a rare and holy man in the making.”

Color ebbed back into the tavernman’s face.

“I see. So you truly do want this Rhodry . . . ”

“For reasons of our own, dog!” Salamander kicked him in the stomach hard enough to make him grunt. “But you didn’t tell him everything you knew, did you? Tell me now, or I’ll ensorcel you and make you jump off a pier and drown yourself.”

Wiping his mouth repeatedly on the back of his hand, he nodded his agreement, then swallowed heavily and finally spoke.

“They are taking him to Slaith. I don’t know why. But I heard Briddyn mention somewhat about Slaith to his two companions.”

Although the name meant nothing to Jill, Salamander grunted in surprised recognition.

“I should have guessed that,” he said. “Well and good, dog. Slink back to your kennel. But if you mention us to anyone . . . ”

“Never! I swear it on the gods of both our peoples!”

Trembling, sweating in great drops, he scrambled to his feet and shamelessly ran for the door. As Jill shut it after him, she heard him pounding down the corridor.

“Slaith, is it?” Salamander said in a grim voice. “A bad omen, little pigeon, a wretched bad omen indeed.”

“Where is it? I’ve never heard of it.”

“I’m not surprised, seeing as few ever have. But I must say, you’ve certainly put the fear of demonhood into that fellow’s craven heart. What am I traveling with, a poisonous snake?”

“Let’s hope so. They always say that vipers are immune to venom themselves.” She paused, struck by a sudden thought. “But I wonder if that fellow sees Hawks everywhere because he fell foul of them once. Those scars . . . ”

“Oh, not that. I forget you don’t know much about Bardek. He was no doubt a knife fighter. It’s a sport there, you see. You have the knife in one hand, and around the other arm is this padded sleeve you use like a shield. The man who scores the first cut wins. The rich folk there have their favorites, and they shower them with gifts and suchlike. That’s doubtless how our friend got the coin for his tavern, but seeing as it’s in the Bilge, he must not have been truly successful, or—”

“Oh ye gods, I don’t give a pig’s fart! Do you have to babble on about everything?”

“Well, actually, I do, because it relieves my feelings and makes me sound like a fool, which is exactly what I want our enemies to think me. Who’ll take a fool and a viper seriously?”

“Done, then. You babble, and I’ll hiss.”

“And it’s time I did some babbling down in the harbor. We want to book a passage to Dun Mannanan. It’s faster than riding the whole way, and we can buy horses there for the final journey.”

“But where are we going?”

“Slaith, of course. Ah, my pretty little turtledove, a most peculiar surprise lies in store for you.”

Since sending one lone prisoner on remand to Aberwyn was low in the royal priorities, Perryn rotted in the king’s jail for several days, each one more tedious than the last. With nothing to do but sleep and plait bits of straw into little patterns, he was almost glad when Madoc came one morning and announced that he’d be leaving that very afternoon.

“There’s a galley going down to Cerrmor with dispatches, and they have room for a horse thief. From there I’m farming you out on a merchant vessel. I wouldn’t advise trying to escape. The master of the ship is a formidable man.”

“Oh, er, ah, I wouldn’t worry about that. I can’t swim.”

“Good. Now, when you get to Aberwyn, you be honest with my uncle, and he’ll see what he can do about saving your neck.”

“I suppose I should thank you, but somehow I can’t find it in my heart.”

Much to his surprise, Madoc laughed at that with genuine good humor, then took his leave.

The trip downriver was fast and smooth, the galley reaching Cerrmor just as Jill and Salamander were leaving it. While they were handing him over to the gwerbret’s men, Perryn felt her presence, then lost the track almost immediately. He was hustled up to Gwerbret Ladoic’s dun, where he spent a miserable night in a tiny cell turned cold and damp by the thick Cerrmor fog. In the morning, two of the gwerbret’s riders came for him, tied his hands behind his back, and marched him lockstep down to the harbor while his every joint ached and complained. Down at the end of a long pier was a big Bardek merchantman, lateen-rigged and riding low in the water. Waiting at the gangplank was one of the biggest men Perryn had ever seen.

Close to seven feet tall, he had enormously muscled arms and shoulders, and his skin was so dark that it seemed pitch-black with bluish highlights. His presence, too, was as formidable as Madoc had called him; in fact, the cold, calm look in his eyes reminded Perryn of the equerry.

“This is the royal prisoner?” His voice was so dark and deep that it seemed to rumble across the pier like a rolled barrel.

“He is, Master Elaeno,” said one of the guards. “Not much to look at, is he?”

“Well, if Lord Madoc wants to buy a passage to Aberwyn for a stoat, I shan’t argue. Let’s have him aboard.”

Elaeno grabbed Perryn’s shirt with one massive hand and lifted him a few feet off the ground.

“You give me any trouble, and I’ll have you flogged. Understand?”

Perryn squeaked out an answer that passed for “I do.” Elaeno lifted him right up over the side and dumped him onto the deck, then signaled to a pair of sailors as dark and huge as he was.

“Put him down in the hold, but see that he’s properly fed and gets clean water on the trip.”

Although it was decent of the ship’s master to be concerned about feeding his prisoner, it was also a waste of time. As soon as the ship left the harbor and hit the open sea, Perryn’s stomach decided to turn itself inside out. As the seasickness washed over him in rhythmic waves, he lay on his straw pallet, moaned, and wished he were dead. Every now and then one of the sailors would come see how he fared, but for the entire thirty-hour journey, the answer was always the same. He would look at them with rheumy eyes and beg them to hang him and have done with it. When the ship finally made port in Aberwyn, they had to carry him off.

Lying on the pier was like reaching paradise. Perryn clung to the rough, dirty wood with both arms and considered kissing it as the nippy sea air cleared his head of the last of the nausea. By the time men came down from the gwerbret’s dun with a cart, Perryn felt almost cheerful. Even being shut in another cell couldn’t spoil his good humor. The straw may have been dirty, but it covered a floor of real dirt on solid land.

Yet his good mood evaporated when he realized that he was cold and getting colder. The day was gray with high fog, and a brisk wind blew in the barred window. He had no blanket, not even a cloak. Although he huddled into a corner and spread some straw over his legs, he was shivering uncontrollably in a few minutes. By the time he heard someone coming to his door, about half an hour later, he was sneezing as well. The door swung back to reveal an old man, tall, white-haired, and dressed in plain gray brigga and a shirt embroidered with red lions at the yokes. Just as the fellow started to speak, Perryn had a fit of cramps, or so he thought of it. He felt as if a number of invisible cats had leapt upon him and were clawing at him, so deeply and painfully that he yelped and squirmed.

“Stop that!” the old man said. “All of you—stop that right now!”

When Perryn obediently went still, the pains stopped, leaving to wonder why the old man had addressed him as “all of you.”

“My apologies, lad. My name is Nevyn, and I’m Madoc’s uncle.”

“Are you a sorcerer, too?”

“I am, and you’d best do exactly what I say, or . . . or I’ll turn into a frog! Now come along. I can see by looking at you that you’re very ill, and I have the regent’s permission to keep you in a chamber under guard rather than out here.”

Perryn sneezed, wiped his nose on his sleeve, then got up, brushing away the straw and wondering what it would be like to hop through a marsh all his life. When he happened to catch Nevyn’s eye, the old man’s glance struck through his very soul, pinning him to some invisible wall while the dweomerman rummaged through his mind at leisure. At last Nevyn released him with a toss of his head.

“You’re a puzzle and a half, truly. I can see why Madoc sent you along to me. You’re also close to death. Do you realize that?”

“It’s just a chill, my lord. I must’ve gotten it on that beastly ship.”

“I don’t mean the chill. Well, come along.”

As they crossed the ward, Perryn glanced up at the tall broch complex and noticed that the towers seemed to be swaying back and forth. Only then did he realize that he was burning with fever. Nevyn had to help him climb up the staircase to a small chamber in one of the half-brochs. Perryn was shocked at the old man’s strength as he hauled him through the door and lifted him bodily onto the narrow bed.

“Get those boots off, lad, while I light a fire.”

The effort was so tiring that he barely had the strength to get under the blankets. He was just drifting off to sleep when Elaeno, the shipmaster, came into the room, but tired as he was, no amount of talk could keep him awake.

“He isn’t much, is he?” Nevyn said.

“That’s what I said when I first saw him.” Elaeno shook his head in a mild bafflement. “Of course, being seasick for days never helped a man’s good looks.”

“He was badly beaten recently, too. You can see the missing tooth and the fresh scars and suchlike. Salamander tells me that our Rhodry caught him on the road.”

“I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

“So am I. Salamander had no idea why Rhodry didn’t kill him, and neither do I. Ah well, he
is
alive and our puzzle to untangle as well. Take a look at his aura.”

Cocking his head to one side, Elaeno let his eyes go slightly out of focus as he examined the area around the sleeping Perryn.

“That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” the Bardekian said at last. “The color’s all wrong, and all the inner Stars are out of balance, too. Do you truly think he’s a human being?”

“What? What else would he be?”

“I have no idea. It’s just that I’ve never seen a human with an aura like that in my life, nor an elf or dwarf either.”

“Now that’s true-spoken, and well worth a little thought. If he’s some sort of alien soul trapped in a human body, it would explain a great many things. Unfortunately, we may never find out the truth. He’s very ill.”

“Do you think you can save him?”

“I don’t know. I feel duty-bound to try, in spite of what he did to Jill. He’s suffering, after all, and besides, it strikes me that we should find out what we can about this strange being. But ye gods, all I need now is another burden.”

“I was thinking about that. We could winter over here if you need my help. I can send messages to my wife on another ship.”

Nevyn started to speak, then paused, wondering what was wrong with his voice. All at once he realized that he was very near tears. A startled Elaeno laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I’d appreciate that,” Nevyn stammered at last. “Ah ye gods, I’m so tired.”

“My lord Madoc, I hardly know what the king thinks anymore,” Blaen said. “And I’ll admit that it aches my heart. I wonder if I pressed him too hard or suchlike.”

“You might have. Our liege is a touchy man, and jealous of his strong will.” Madoc hesitated, swirling the mead around in his goblet. “On the other hand, I think Gwerbret Savyl has more to do with our liege’s coldness than your lack of tact.”

Blaen winced. Although he knew perfectly well that he was no polished courtier, he didn’t care to have it pointed out. They were sitting in Madoc’s comfortable chambers high up in one of the auxiliary brochs of the palace complex. As well as a pair of cushioned chairs, the usual table, and a large charcoal brazier, glowing at the moment against the night chill, the main room sported a wall shelf with twenty-two books on it. Blaen had counted them in amazement; never in his life had he seen so many volumes together outside of a temple of Wmm.

“Well, that was tactless of me in turn, Your Grace,” Madoc said with a self-deprecating smile. “My apologies, but this matter of cousin is beginning to vex me. He belongs in Aberwyn, but if the king won’t recall him . . . ” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“Just so. I’m afraid to request another audience. If I have annoyed our liege, I don’t want to make things worse. I must say I appreciate all you’ve done in my service. You can count on me for aid whenever you need it.”

“My thanks, but the dweomer has a great interest of its own in our Rhodry.”

“So it would seem.” Blaen had a sip of mead, then put the goblet down on the table. When he was at court he preferred to stay sober and on his guard. “I don’t suppose I can ask why.”

“Certainly. It’s no true secret. When Rhodry was a lad Nevyn received an omen about him. Eldidd’s Wyrd is Rhodry’s Wyrd, or so it ran.”

“Oh.” Blaen was too staggered to say more. “Oh.”

Madoc smiled, then got up to pace restlessly to the window and look out at the night sky, stippled with clouds in the light of a half-moon. At that moment he reminded Blaen strikingly of Nevyn, just in the warrior-straight way he stood and in the look in his eyes, as if he were seeing a much wider view than that from the physical window. The gwerbret wondered all over again if Madoc truly were the old man’s blood kin. Although he’d doubted it before, the relationship was beginning to seem plausible.