The Gold Falcon (47 page)

“You’d win that wager easily,” the gwerbret said. “Very well.” He gestured at Lord Blethry. “My Lord Equerry, get messengers on their way to Lin Serr. Better yet, go with them. We don’t want the Mountain Folk to feel slighted because I’ve sent only common-born riders.”

“Just so, Your Grace,” Blethry said. “I’ll do so gladly.”

“And give my regards to your kin on your way there.” Ridvar smiled, as if he’d just realized he’d been brusque with his servitor. “As for my vassals,” he turned serious again, “we’ll wait till we’ve heard from Dun Deverry to begin the muster.”

“You can count on my archers, Your Grace,” Calonderiel said. “I can easily raise five hundred of them.”

“And swordsmen,” Prince Daralanteriel put in. “Fewer of those, but all good men.”

“You have my sincere thanks, Your Highness, and so do you, banadar,” Ridvar said. “I also have hopes that my new wife’s father will aid us.”

“No doubt he will,” Prince Voran said. “Ultimately this matter concerns every lord in the western provinces. I’ll send messengers off to our king tomorrow. They have a fair bit farther to travel than yours will, so they’d best leave straightaway. I think I may safely say that his highness will lend his support. And of course, my men and I will accompany you when you ride west.”

“That’s most generous, my prince,” Ridvar said, but his voice turned tense. “My humble thanks.”

“More than generous, Your Grace,” Oth broke in, “princely, indeed!” He turned toward Voran. “You have our deepest thanks, Your Highness.”

Voran nodded and smiled with a wry twist of his mouth, as if he knew perfectly well how much Ridvar resented the offer.
He probably does know,
Salamander thought.
He doesn’t miss much, I’ll wager, froggy grin or not.

Calonderiel stepped forward to rejoin the conversation. “I suggest that we deal with Honelg immediately. He’s like a dagger aimed at your back.”

Ridvar considered him but said nothing. Blethry cleared his throat. “I think he’s right, Your Grace,” the equerry said, “for what that’s worth.”

“I’ll consider it,” Ridvar said. “The man is my vassal.” He put just a touch of stress on the “my.” “If I remember Honelg’s dun properly, we might need the Mountain Folk’s help to breach his walls.”

Calonderiel glanced at Salamander and gave him an encouraging nod.

“It’s well fortified, all right,” Salamander said. “The banadar has a point, Your Grace, because Honelg has a great many points on his side—iron ones, attached to arrows.”

“And—” Cal hesitated, glancing at Daralanteriel, who shook his head ever so slightly. “As my lords decide, then.”

“You have my thanks, banadar,” Ridvar said. “As you do, too, gerthddyn. You risked your life to bring us the truth. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

The gwerbret’s thanks were apparently the only reward he considered Salamander deserved, but Councillor Oth thought otherwise. When Ridvar gave Salamander leave to go, Oth followed him out and pressed a small sack of coins into his hand.

“A token of our gratitude,” Oth said, “and good silver, too. Please forgive my lord, gerthddyn. I fear me that he so hates being proved wrong that he’s forgotten all his generosity.”

“My thanks to you,” Salamander said with a little bow. “As for your lord, it’s a hard thing to rule men twice your age and more. I can understand his stubbornness.”

“Good.” Oth paused, his eyes suddenly wide. “Oh, ye gods! I just remembered—a few days ago Cadryc sent messengers off to Honelg’s dun. I hope to every god that he hasn’t had them killed.”

“Would Honelg be that dishonorable?”

“I have no idea. Who knows what a madman will do?”

“True spoken, alas.” Salamander was remembering Honelg standing between his gates, sword at the ready to cut him down if need be. “But, equally truly, he has no reason to kill them. Not yet, anyway. Although I just had an ugly thought. There must be other Alshandra worshippers in Cengarn. Do you think we should keep our news about Honelg quiet?”

“Ugly it may be, but a good thought nonetheless. It would doubtless be for the best. I’ll speak to the gwerbret about it the first chance I get.”

Despite Oth’s fears, the Red Wolf messengers returned that very afternoon, some hours before the evening meal. The noble-born guests and as many of their captains and men who could crowd into the great hall had taken their places at the tables early, partly to honor the gwerbret’s new wife but mostly to get a good start on the drinking to come. Salamander had talked himself into a seat at Tieryn Cadryc’s table, where he had a good view of the gwerbret and the princes, seated together at the table of honor along with Lady Drwmigga, Calonderiel, and Dallandra, who had condescended to put on a blue linen dress—one of Branna’s, judging from the fancy embroidered spirals down the sleeves.

Serving lasses were rushing around, filling tankards with ale and goblets with mead, when two dusty, road-stained men, one tall and beefy, the other skinny and short, appeared in the doorway. They stood hesitating, afraid to come forward, until Branna pointed them out to Tieryn Cadryc. He stood up and waved until he’d caught their attention.

“Oh, good!” Lady Galla said to Salamander. “Warryc and Daumyr have come back.”

The messengers worked their way through the crowd and knelt in front of Cadryc. When Daumyr handed the tieryn a silver message tube, Neb shoved his chair back, ready to answer the tieryn’s summons to read it.

“What?” Cadryc was examining the lump of wax at the end of the tube. “This is my seal.”

“It is, Your Grace,” Warryc said. “We couldn’t deliver the letter to Lord Honelg. We only saw him from a distance, like. We got to his village, and everything seemed well and good there, but when we got to the dun, we found the gates shut against us.”

“And?” Cadryc’s voice went tense.

“Lord Honelg was up on the catwalk, Your Grace. So he leans over and shouts down that there’s fever in his dun, a bad lot of it, and that we’d best get ourselves away before we catch it too.”

Galla caught her breath with a gasp.

“My lady?” Daumyr said. “I’d not trouble your heart over it too badly. Honelg looked as fit as fit, and when we rode back to the village, we asked them why they’d not warned us about the fever.”

“They hemmed and hawed,” Warryc took over again. “But all they could say was that no one had told them. Could Honelg’s people be that ill and no word get out? Wouldn’t his servants all come from that village? I don’t believe in that fever, Your Grace.”

“And no more do I,” Cadryc said. “You’ve done well, lads. Go get yourselves somewhat to eat and drink.”

The two riders scrambled up, bowed, and trotted away to follow their lord’s welcome order. When Salamander caught Neb’s attention, the scribe merely shrugged to show puzzlement and slid his chair back into place. Galla turned to Cadryc and laid a hand on his arm.

“What is all this?” she said. “Why would Honelg lie?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea, my love.” Cadryc paused, frowning in thought. “I begin to think you were right about that marriage.”

“Oh, do you?” Galla snapped. “It’s a bit late now to see reason.”

Salamander suddenly remembered Honelg’s lady and the way she’d looked mysteriously familiar.
Oh, ye gods,
Salamander thought.
Adranna’s their daughter!

Apparently Gwerbret Ridvar had noticed the messengers’ arrival and heard what they’d had to say. He stood up and strode over, with Oth following after. When they reached the table, Salamander heard Oth say, “but, Your Grace, not here!” Ridvar ignored him.

“My lady,” Ridvar said. “I’m afraid I have some evil news for you.”

The talk and chatter at the tables nearby suddenly died. Salamander could hear the various noble lords shushing their neighbors.

“Indeed, Your Grace?” Galla said.

“Indeed. I received word today that Lord Honelg has turned traitor.”

Galla stared at him, her mouth slack with surprise. The shushing and resulting silence spread across the great hall. Everyone that Salamander could see was leaning toward the gwerbret and straining to hear.

“Your Grace!” Lord Oth kept his voice low. “I thought we’d agreed that silence—”

“You thought it best. I never agreed.” Ridvar turned his head and favored Oth with a cold stare that made the councillor step back a pace. The movement, however, seemed to make Ridvar realize how insulting he’d just been. “And how can I call a council of war,” Ridvar said, “without telling my lords the cause and occasion for it?” All at once he smiled. “Do you truly think we could have kept it secret in the middle of this mob?”

Oth relaxed and laughed, one sharp bark. “True spoken, Your Grace,” he said. “There are servants swarming everywhere.”

True spoken indeed,
Salamander thought,
and I think me our Ridvar just might turn out well after all.

“Um, Your Grace?” Cadryc sounded ready to burst from frustration. “Kept what secret? What has Honelg—”

“In a moment, my lord.” Ridvar turned back to Lady Galla. “Don’t distress yourself. No one will blame your daughter for the follies of her lord.”

The eavesdroppers’ silence reached the warbands. Those men who’d been drinking slammed stoups and tankards down on their tables and swiveled round on benches and chairs. For a long moment it seemed that no one even breathed. The gwerbret turned toward the crowd.

“Hear this!” Ridvar called out. “I declare Lord Honelg a traitor. He’s a secret worshiper of the false goddess Alshandra, and he’s cast in his lot with the Horsekin.” Ridvar’s voice shook with rage. “I’ll have his head on a pike for this.”

The crowd cheered, but briefly. The whispering started, a little flood of rage and fear spreading through the great hall.

“Gerthddyn!” Ridvar said. “Do you have any idea of why Honelg would turn to this false goddess?”

“I don’t, Your Grace. I’m utterly baffled by it. Although—” Salamander found himself remembering the red-haired lass, swarmed by hungry children. “Although I can see why the farm folk up there would turn to a new goddess. The priests of Bel, the ones who rule that demesne near Honelg’s? I’ve never seen such a greedy lot, half-starving their villagers the way they do.”

“Indeed?” Ridvar said. “Well, since we’ll be riding that way, I’ll look into that as well. Calonderiel was right. We’d best deal with Honelg first.” He turned back to the crowd and raised his voice. “My lords, I’m calling a council of war. We shall meet at sundown.”

Galla shrieked, just once, then clamped her hand over her mouth as if to stifle another. She got up so fast that her chair went over with a clatter. She started to speak, then choked it back, turned, and ran for the staircase.

“My apologies, Tieryn Cadryc,” Ridvar said. “I fear me I did a wretchedly bad job of telling your lady the tidings. By the by, the gerthddyn did find that Horsekin fort.”

“Ye gods,” Cadryc said. “Worse and worse.”

“Your Grace?” Councillor Oth came forward and whispered a few words.

Ridvar wrinkled his nose at him, a sour gesture that reminded Salamander that despite his promise for the future, he was still a lad now. In a moment, though, he regained his dignity. “In fact, Tieryn Cadryc,” Ridvar said, “I owe you an apology. I should have listened when you first came forward with your suspicions.”

“None needed, Your Grace.” Cadryc sounded exhausted. “I see no need to ever mention it again, eh?”

“Done, then.” Ridvar favored him with a gracious nod. “And you have my thanks.”

As soon as she heard Lady Galla scream, Branna leaped up from her seat, then followed her fleeing aunt up the winding staircase. She caught up with her in the corridor at the top, where Galla was leaning against the wall and shaking like the victim of a fever.

“Goddess help!” Branna said. “This is truly loathsome.”

“It is that.” Galla’s voice shook as well. “My poor lass! The children!”

“The gwerbret’s said he’ll absolve her.”

“If she lives through the siege. There’s Honelg’s poor mother, too. She’s so frail.”

“True-spoken. He might have thought of them before he went consorting with false gods.”

Galla started to reply, then burst out sobbing. Branna threw her arms around her aunt and let her weep against her shoulder.

“Here, here,” she murmured, “let’s go to your chamber, away from all the noise and suchlike.”

Galla allowed herself to be led to the chamber. She perched upon the edge of the bed while she tried to wipe her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. Branna poured some water from the jug on the little table into a cup and had her aunt drink a few sips. Galla stared fixedly at the far wall for some while, then handed the cup back to Branna.

“Well, there’s naught left for us but to pray to the true goddess, is there?” Galla paused again, then breathed deeply and allowed herself a sigh. “And alas, I don’t know what we’re going to do now for your wedding. I’d wanted to give you a splendid feast, but the men will need the provisions for the war.”