The Gold Falcon (40 page)

As he watched, Gerran realized that first, her hazel eyes were indeed beautiful, and second, that they had dark smudges under them. Her flawless skin was more than a little pale.
She’s been working too hard,
he thought,
and all for that ingrate’s wedding.
When he bowed to her, she tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear before she spoke.

“Good morrow, Captain,” Solla said.

“And a good morrow to you, my lady,” Gerran said. “I’ve heard that you’ll be riding back with us.”

“I will, indeed. I’ll be staying for some while.” Solla pushed out a brave little smile.

“Only for a while?”

“Well, mayhap my brother might consider finding a marriage for me once he’s less distracted.” The smile wavered, but she managed to keep it. “I’m quite pleased that Galla’s willing to shelter me in the meanwhile.”

“I’m getting above myself, no doubt, but I’m pleased as well. Forgive me if I’ve offended you.”

“Offended me?” The smile turned genuine. “Why would that offend me?”

She started to say more, then blushed. Gerran realized that no one had ever looked at him before with the intensity she was displaying, all wide eyes and soft smile, a gentle flattery that warmed his blood like mead.
Ye gods
, he thought.
That cursed scribe was right!

“I’ve been told that I fret too much about my birth,” Gerran went on. “It’s far below yours.”

“I’ve always seen you as Tieryn Cadryc’s foster son. I don’t mean to dishonor your real father’s memory, but he matters not to me.”

“No insult taken, I assure you.”

She smiled again, and he was shocked to realize that suddenly he could think of things to say, as if she were an entirely different kind of female than any he’d ever encountered before.

“It’s a pleasant afternoon,” Gerran said. “I hear that there’s a garden in this dun, and that you planted roses in it.”

“So I did. Would you like to see them?”

“I would, my lady, if you’d not mind showing them to me.”

“I should like to.”

When she stood still rather than heading for the door, Gerran realized that there was something more that he was supposed to do at this point. Solla ended the awkward moment with another smile.

“You might hold out your arm like this.” Solla crooked hers at the elbow.

“Oh. My thanks.”

When he offered her his arm, she took it, and together they walked out into the ward.

Since her father had yet to arrive, Branna had an idle afternoon ahead of her and went to look for Neb. She found him seated at a table near the servants’ hearth, writing on a scrap of parchment while some young lord, a man she didn’t recognize, hovered nearby. Neb finished writing, sprinkled the note with sand, then shook it clean and handed it to the lordling, who gave him some coins in return.

“My thanks, my lord,” Neb said.

The lordling hurried off. Neb jingled the coppers in his hand.

“Not bad for a few moments’ work,” Neb announced, then slipped the coppers into the pouch that hung inside his shirt. “Not a lot of people can write out here, or so it seems.”

“Was that a love note?” Branna said.

“It wasn’t, but a promise to pay off a gambling debt. Huh! Love’s always on a lass’s mind.”

“As if it weren’t on yours. I was thinking. Shall we ride out to see the sights?”

“Splendid idea! We can have a bit of a talk that way. For that matter, I’ve heard that the cliff’s rather spectacular on the west side, so we’ve got a good excuse.”

A page fetched their horses for them in return for one of Neb’s coppers. They rode out from the south gate and then turned west, letting their palfreys amble slowly along in the warmth of the sunny day. All round the dun the summer grass stretched green and soft, a marked contrast to the dour gray stone of the town and the cliff both. Not far from the gate a narrow stream trickled out from under the walls.

“That must be from the well on top of the hill,” Branna said.

“Probably,” Neb said. “The townsfolk must dump their leavings in the run-off. It’s more than a bit foul smelling.” He turned in the saddle to point to the south. “Now, just down there it joins up with the bigger stream. Let’s cross there at the ford. I don’t want the horses splashing through this filth.”

Branna let him lead the way. She could see a stream running roughly north to south, the ford glinting in the sun.
That ford
, she thought.
There’s just somewhat about a ford, somewhat ominous.
As they rode up to it, she saw a line of white stones marking out the shallow water, pale against the sandy bottom. She caught her breath with a gasp. She knew this ford. She had seen this place at some important crux, some terrible point in—not in her life. She’d never been here before. How could it seem so familiar, so dreadful, and yet remind her of danger and security both at once? How could it give her a feeling that she was utterly helpless and yet utterly in command, both at once?

“Are you all right?” Neb said sharply.

“I’m not.”

Branna twitched the reins to make her palfrey halt. When she leaned forward in her saddle to get a better look at the ford, she felt that she was looking out of someone else’s eyes.

“It’s that other lass,” she whispered. “She died here.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Oh, don’t ask!”

Branna dismounted, dropped the horse’s reins, then walked to the river’s edge. She was aware of Neb doing the same, but the water captured her entire attention. It swarmed with Wildfolk, sleek silver undines rising up as thick as foam, holding out their little hands to her in welcome. Sprites appeared to hover around her and Neb. They bobbed and dipped in the air like flashes of light from a hundred silver mirrors. Neb caught his breath with an audible gasp.

“This place,” he said, “it’s brimming with dweomer.”

“Overflowing its banks, I’d say. Remember that other lass, the one who seems to be inside my mind or suchlike? She died here. I don’t know how I know, but I do, and if she’s dead, she must be a ghost. She must be trying to possess me.”

Neb threw one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “We don’t know that,” he said. “She may just have some sort of message or somewhat that’s keeping her from her rest.”

“They do say that’s all that ghosts want, someone to ease a trouble for them.” Branna did her best to sound brave, but she could hear her voice shake.

“And besides, she shan’t harm you. I won’t let her. Here, let’s go back to the dun. She won’t follow us there.”

“But she will! I mean—earlier, I felt her there. It was like I was looking out of her eyes, not mine. I even felt taller, somehow, like my body had changed, too.”

“I can’t make sense out of this, and no more can you, from the sound of it.”

“Of course I can’t! If I could, I wouldn’t be frightened.”

“Well, true spoken. But here, let’s go back to the dun. You can find your aunt and keep to her company. Now, either the ghost will shun a crowded place like that, in which case, you’ll be safe, or else, she’ll appear there, and others will see her, and then you’ll know that, truly, she’s a ghost.”

“Well reasoned, indeed.” Branna managed to smile. “No wonder my aunt thinks you’ll be an asset to a lord’s court.”

“Let’s hope she’s right, so I’ll be able to keep you in the luxury you deserve. Now let’s get back, shall we?”

Branna shamelessly ran back to her horse. She was mounted and ready to ride before he even reached his, but she was afraid to ride away without him. He mounted up and urged his horse up next to hers.

“I’ve had an idea,” Neb said. “There’s a temple of Bel in town. I’ll get you back, then walk down and consult with the priests.”

“Of course!” Branna said. “They should know the local lore about ghosts.”

“Just that. But it might be hard to sort out. After all, a lot of people died here during the Horsekin War.”

“But none of the women. According to the tales I’ve heard, the siege didn’t last that long.”

“I heard that, too. Well, I’ll see what the priests have to say.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. They’ll only make you wait outside the gates.”

“True-spoken. I keep forgetting that I’m an unclean female thing in their eyes.”

Once they’d ridden safely inside the gates of the gwerbret’s dun, Branna began to feel more than a little foolish. Everything seemed too busy, too normal, for ghosts to be lurking about. Servants bustled around the crowded ward, carrying firewood and supplies to the cookhouse or lugging heaps of bedding and clothes into the dun. Pages trotted back and forth on errands. A pair of joking, laughing grooms took Neb and Branna’s horses and led them off to join others tied up outside for want of room in the stables.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Neb told her.

“My thanks,” Branna said. “I’ll be down in the great hall by then.”

Up in her chamber, Branna found a pitcher of water and a basin waiting for her. She washed her face and hands, then changed her dusty riding clothes for a pair of blue dresses. To comb out her hair she sat on the windowsill and looked down into the ward. The sight of other people comforted her, as did the warm breeze and the gleaming sunlight. Ghosts seemed very far away. The gray gnome appeared and hopped up onto the broad stone sill to sit opposite her. When she told him about her reaction to the sight of the ford, he clutched his head in both hands and scowled at her.

“What’s this? Are you saying I’ve not understood her?”

He nodded his head yes.

“Well, if she’s not a ghost, then what is she?”

The gnome pointed at her.

“She can’t be me. I’m me, and she’s—well, she’s her.”

Once again it clutched its head, then with a last scowl disappeared.

There’s no understanding them sometimes
, Branna thought.
The Wildfolk!
She left the chamber and headed for the great hall. About halfway down the curving stone staircase, she hesitated, caught by her fears, until she spotted her aunt, standing by the hearth and greeting the various lords and ladies who came up to her. The sight of the one person in her childhood who’d always loved her gave her the courage to continue down the stairs and plunge into the crowd. Dodging people and dogs alike, she made her way to Galla and sat down beside her to wait for Neb to return.

The temple of Bel stood on the other side of Cengarn from the gwerbret’s dun. As Neb made his way there, he saw a row of squat clay ovens outside a solid-looking round house with new thatch—the town’s baker. He spent two of the coppers he’d earned by writing the lordling’s promissory note to buy a big round loaf, made with clean white flour and still warm.

At the brass-bound gates of the temple complex a young priest leaned against the wall, yawning in the sun. He was a neophyte from the look of him, a skinny lad, his head shaved, and dressed only in a long tunic bound at the waist with a bit of rope. Had he been formally accepted into the god’s service, a small golden sickle would have dangled from his belt, but as it was, the rope lacked any adornment. At the sight of Neb, he stood up straight and clapped his hands together.

“Are you bringing that as an offering for the god?” the lad said. From the way he was eyeing the loaf Neb could guess that the god wouldn’t get more than a slice out of it.

“I am,” Neb said, “and I need to ask one of the priests here a question. It’s about a thing that happened in the past.”

“Very well. Come in, and I’ll carry that bread for you.”

Neb handed over the loaf and followed him into the compound. In the middle of a cobbled ward stood the round temple, an imposing building made of solid oak and roofed with slate. The double doors, gleaming with bronze, stood half-open. The neophyte ducked inside with the loaf. Neb heard murmuring voices; then the lad reappeared.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “His Holiness Lallyn’s awake, and he can see you now. I’ll just take this bread off to the refectory.”