The Gold Falcon (71 page)

“It gladdens my heart to see you,” Neb said, then kissed her.

They left Neb’s horse to Clae and arm in arm strolled into the great hall. The gwerbret, his lady, and the two princes were sitting at the table of honor, while Cadryc and Galla had settled at their usual table with Solla and Salamander. There was no sign of any of the Westfolk but Prince Daralanteriel.

“Where’s Dalla?” Branna said.

“The Westfolk are setting up camp down in the meadow,” Neb said.

“What about Gerro? I want to congratulate him.”

“I don’t know.” Neb paused, glancing around the great hall. “I saw him out in the ward when I rode in.”

“Well, let’s go join the others. He’ll turn up sooner or later. Neb, my darling, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you back.”

Branna wasn’t the only woman wondering where Gerran might be. Once they’d greeted everyone at the table and sat down together toward the end, Branna noticed Solla looking around the great hall. Every time someone came down the stairs or entered the doorway, she would sit up a little straighter and watch till she could recognize them. Finally, when the serving lasses were already pouring what ale there was, Gerran did appear in the company of Lord Oth. Solla smiled and seemed poised to stand up to greet him, but Oth and Gerran headed up the stairs without ever glancing her way. She sat back in her chair with a sigh.

“I’ll have to have a chat with our Gerran,” Branna murmured to Neb. “He needs a wife now that he’s a lord.”

“Every man needs a wife,” Neb said, smiling at her. “I learned that lesson well when I was off without you.”

Branna caught his hand and squeezed it. “We could slip away in a bit,” she said. “In all this confusion, no one will notice.”

“True-spoken, so why wait? Let’s go up to our chamber right now.”

With the wedding guests and their escorts long gone, there was room in the barracks for the Red Wolf warband. Gerran had assumed that he would sleep there as well, but his sudden elevation in rank meant that Lord Oth gave him a chamber in the broch complex itself, one of the small chambers lacking a hearth and located up a great many stairs that were the lot of unmarried noble-born males, but a chamber none the less. Gerran dropped his saddlebags on the floor and his bedroll on the swaybacked mattress, then stood looking out of his narrow window at a view of the stables while he wondered what to do next. He was afraid to go down to the great hall, he realized, and sit with the noble-born, but he supposed it would be a breach of courtesy if he went and joined the Red Wolf warband at their tables.

Eventually, Clae solved the problem by appearing with a washbasin and a pitcher of water. Since the room lacked both table and storage chest, he set them on the stone sill of the unglazed window.

“Lord Oth sent me up with these,” Clae said.

“Good,” Gerran said. “I need to wash the dust off before I go back to the great hall.”

While Gerran cleaned up, the lad set about untying the bedroll and spreading the blankets over the mattress. Gerran could remember doing the same thing for various lords when he’d been a page in this same dun. It occurred to him that as a noble lord, he was supposed to be supporting servants as well as a warband, not that he had the wherewithal to feed either.

“Here, Clae,” he said, “do you want to be my page from now on?”

“I do. I’d be ever so honored, my lord. I was going to ask you, but Neb told me it would be discourteous.”

“I suppose it would have been, not that I’d have cared. I’m not going to make much of a lord. You do realize, don’t you, that it means leaving your brother behind.”

“Neb told me that, too. I don’t care. Well, I sort of care, but not enough to refuse your service.”

“Consider it done, then.”

“My thanks, my lord. And I’ve got a message for you. Calonderiel invited you to come down to his tent. He told me to tell anyone who asked that he wants to establish friendly relations with the Gold Falcon clan, but mostly he thought you’d like to have some mead, and he’s got some.”

“Splendid! Let’s go. Maybe I can just sit with them at dinner tonight and figure out what I’m supposed to do later.”

Although Branna and Neb would have liked to have stayed alone in their chamber forever, sheer hunger drove them out and down to the great hall. If anyone had missed them during the afternoon, no one mentioned it, and they returned to their places at Cadryc’s table without so much as a smirk to greet them. Adranna had come down from the women’s hall, bringing Trenni with her, to join Solla and Galla. Both children sat as close to their mother as they could get on the narrow bench. The tieryn was telling his assembled womenfolk how the prince had maneuvered Ridvar into offering Gerran the demesne.

“I’ve never seen our Falcon so surprised,” Cadryc was saying. All at once he seemed to realize that some at the table would find the story painful. “Addi, my dear, I think me I’ll finish the tale some other time.”

“My thanks, Da.” Adranna gave him a weary smile. “I’m not yet ready to hear—” She paused for a long moment. “To hear all of it.”

“I thought not.” Cadryc had a swallow of ale from his tankard and made a sour face. “Ye gods, this has been watered right down. I suppose the wedding drank the dun dry, eh? But as I was saying, those dragons were quite a marvel. Did I tell you yet about the priest of Bel’s cows?”

Aunt Galla and Solla exchanged a glance, then murmured a cheerful, “You didn’t and please do.”
Anything to keep him from talking about Honelg and the attainder!
Branna thought, but once she heard the story, she did have to admit that it was a good one. She could imagine Arzosah’s smug satisfaction at getting a good meal out of a particularly stingy priest. She joined in the general laughter, but Neb leaned close to whisper to her.

“There’s a bit more to this tale than his grace knows,” Neb said. “And it’s not funny in the least. I’ll tell you once we’re alone.”

“I wish you wouldn’t tease like that.” Branna dropped her voice as well. “Especially not here.”

Lady Galla cleared her throat. She was looking at Neb with one eyebrow raised.

“My apologies,” Neb said. “I shouldn’t have been whispering. Just lover’s drivel.”

Everyone laughed, even Adranna, and the moment passed.

“I was just wondering about the other dragon,” Branna said brightly. “Did he get any of the cows?”

“He might have,” Cadryc said, “but he didn’t stay around long enough for us to so much as thank him. They’re strange beasts, dragons, and I think me that the silver one’s the strangest of them all.”

Branna could well believe it. Ever since she’d seen the silver wyrm fly over Cengarn, an odd feeling rose from deep in her mind every time she thought of the dragons, a nagging sort of irritation, such as a person feels when she forgets the name of someone she should know perfectly well. She’d been hoping that she’d have one of her memory-dreams to explain it, but so far at least, nothing had come to her. Now that Dallandra had returned, Branna was hoping that the dweomermaster would tell her more.

After dinner, Branna found Dallandra standing near the dragon hearth and waiting for a chance to speak with Lord Oth. They sat down together on a bench in a reasonably quiet spot near the door. Branna tried to tell her how the sight of the silver dragon had affected her, but she found herself stumbling over her words. It seemed to her that she was trying to say two things at once, or that two selves were trying to speak at once—
Jill
, she thought with a cold shudder.
That’s who the other voice belongs to.

“Have you dreamed about this?” Dallandra asked at length.

“I’ve not,” Branna said, “In fact, I’ve not had any of those memory-dreams for many a night now. I hadn’t realized just how much I’ve come to depend on them.”

“The time’s come for you to begin to remember your past lives consciously. That’s why they’ve disappeared. Curse this wretched war! I shan’t be able to start your training until it’s over, one way or the other.”

“You’re not going to go west with the army, are you?”

“I am. The Westfolk need a healer along who understands them. We have our differences from Deverry men.”

“I suppose you would, truly. But about the silver wyrm—”

For the first time since she’d met Dallandra, Branna felt the dweomermaster’s mind shy away from a question. “Is somewhat wrong with my asking?” she said.

“Not wrong at all, merely difficult.” But Dallandra hesitated for a long moment. “It’s a very complicated thing.”

“Did Jill know this dragon or suchlike?”

“She knew him before he was a dragon. Surely Salamander’s told you that Rori started life as his brother.”

“He did, but I’m not sure I believed him.”

“It’s quite true. Jill died before his transformation.”

“Was he a mazrak, then? Did he get, well, stuck I suppose I mean?”

Dallandra laughed, but it was a nervous little bark, not true mirth. “He wasn’t a mazrak. He was a silver dagger, just as Salamander told you. Well, I really don’t think I can explain it to you in a way that will make sense. You really need to know more about the dweomer before I can make it clear.”

Branna had never felt more bewildered. So—she’d known the dragon in her last life, but not in dragon form, and apparently he was something very strange indeed, a man who had become another creature without working dweomer to do so. The image that presented itself to her mind was of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, the end result of some natural process.

“Very well,” Branna said. “You know best.”

“I just wish we had more time. We’re leaving at dawn on the morrow.”

“We’ll be leaving for home as soon as we can, too.”

“I heard that they’ll be mustering the full army at your dun.”

“Well, near it, I should say. We’d never fit everyone into our ward.” Branna felt suddenly uneasy. “If we get home safely, anyway. Should I stay on guard for mazrakir?”

“Did you see that raven while we were gone?”

“I didn’t, and I’m glad of it, too.”

“No doubt.” Dallandra smiled at her. “Still, I’ll remind Salamander to keep a watch for the wretched thing. I’ve been meaning to tell you. He and Arzosah will be traveling with you.”

“Now that’s a great relief. No one’s going to cause us trouble with a dragon on guard.”

“Indeed, which is why I asked her to go with you. Don’t worry about having to feed her. She prefers to hunt fresh game for herself.”

“That’s good! Does she know more about Rori?”

“She does, but you’d best not ask her. Besides, she doubtless won’t tell you even if you do. It’s a very sore subject with her. I don’t mean to put you off either.” Dallandra looked away. “If it weren’t for this wretched war, I’d have time to explain things properly.”

And yet her words left Branna with the feeling that putting her off was exactly what Dallandra had wanted to do.

Dallandra finally got her audience with Lord Oth only to find that the princes Daralanteriel and Voran had done her work for her. Oth listened to her plea for mercy upon those accused of Alshandra worship, then interrupted with a smile.