The Spirit Stone. Katharine Kerr
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used to be good at slinging them at crows and squirrels.’
They shared a laugh, and she felt the fear leave her.
‘After all,’ Branna said, ‘you are my husband now. I get to worry. You’re supposed to be touched by my devotion.’
‘That’s true spoken, and my apologies.’ Neb made a sweeping bow. ‘May I express my complete and total devotion to you?’
‘You may. How about the passion that burns within you?’
‘That, too. Quite a lot of that, actually. Do you regard me with great esteem?’
‘I do, and with affection to match it.’
‘Well and good, then. Give me a bit of time, and I’ll compose some englynion in your honour.’
‘That’d be lovely, but what is this? I’m supposed to sit at my window with the scroll in my lap and long for your return? Huh. I’m going with you.’
‘What? You can’t do that!’
‘Why not? I’ll be your assistant. I can gather rushes for pens and all that. It’s not like anyone would be asking me to swing a sword, is it?’ Branna thought for a moment. ‘And I can tear up rags for bandages and help Dalla.’
‘Your uncle won’t let you come.’
‘Then we shan’t tell him until it’s too late.’ She laid a hand on his arm and smiled up at him. ‘Don’t you want me there?’
‘Of course I do. I mean – gods, I never should have admitted that.’
‘True spoken. You shouldn’t have, but you did, and so let’s plan my escape.’
‘What about your aunt?’
‘She’s got Adranna and the children, and Solla now, too. She won’t be lonely any longer.’
‘There are times when I can see that being married to you is going to be like living in one of Salamander’s tales. And I’m thankful to every god there is.’ Neb raised her hand and kissed her fingers.
Someone knocked in urgent rhythm on the door. Neb ran to open it and reveal Salamander, who strode in without waiting to be asked. The gerthddyn frowned and looked Branna over with stern grey eyes.
‘What is this?’ Salamander said. ‘I’ve just had an omen warning about you, my fine lady. You’re not planning on doing anything stupid like following the army, are you?’
‘What makes you think I’d do such a thing?’
‘Your general temperament, mostly, as well as the way you blushed scarlet just now.’
‘I hate you.’
‘Ah, so I’m right.’
‘I cannot let Neb go off to war while I stay here, I just can’t.’
‘What?’ Salamander turned to Neb. ‘You’re riding with the army?’
‘I’m the tieryn’s scribe,’ Neb said. ‘He wants me there.’
‘That is profoundly short-sighted, risky, and altogether foolish of his grace, but since he’s a Deverry lord, I’m not surprised in the least. Isn’t Ridvar bringing a scribe?’
‘He is,’ Neb said, ‘but Cadryc can’t possibly ask for the use of him. Have you forgotten his grandson, Matto? Ridvar did want him killed.’
Salamander said something in Elvish that sounded immensely foul, though Branna had no idea of what it meant. ‘Well, I can read and write.’ Salamander switched back to Deverrian. ‘I’m not much for scribing, Neb, but if you packed me up some inks and pens, I could do a passable job, and Dar’s scribe will be riding with us as well.’
‘But it’s my duty to –’
‘Hang duty! Neb, you and Branna both are far too valuable to risk your lives in a dangerous venture like the one we have in hand. Don’t you understand? Your dweomer is the hope of the border.’
Branna turned away, saw the books lying on the bed, and turned back again. Her heart was pounding as badly as if she’d run a long way.
‘I see.’ Neb, however, sounded perfectly calm. ‘What I can’t see is how to explain that to the tieryn.’
‘Imph,’ Salamander said. ‘No more can I, but it has to be done. I’ll consult with Gerran.’
‘Does he know?’ Branna turned back. ‘Gerro, I mean.’
‘He does, if you mean about dweomer and Neb having it,’ Salamander said. ‘And he suspects it about you. He doesn’t know the bit about the hope of the border and all that. Think! Even if we wipe Zakh Gral off the face of the earth, this is only the first skirmish in a long war. Do you think the Horsekin are going to go meekly back to their own lands and stay there if they lose?’
‘I see your point,’ Neb said. ‘The more dweomermasters we can muster, the better.’
‘It’s the best weapon we have against them,’ Salamander said. ‘We’ve got some days before Voran and Ridvar arrive. I’m bound to come up with a good tale for the tieryn’s ears before then.’ He paused for a sunny grin. ‘I’m good at tales.’
Whenever the tieryn left the great hall, Gerran went back to his old place at one of the warband’s tables. He had the only chair, and he liked to lean it back on its rear legs to allow him to put his feet up on one of the benches. He was just starting on his first tankard of ale for the day when Salamander came trotting down the stone staircase. The gerthddyn hailed him and hurried over.
‘I need your advice on somewhat,’ Salamander said. ‘May I join you?’
‘By all means. Fetch yourself some drink.’
Salamander found a tankard and filled it from the barrel over by the servants’ hearth, then sat down on the bench not occupied by Gerran’s boots.
‘It concerns Neb the scribe,’ Salamander said. ‘He tells me he’ll be riding with the army. He shouldn’t. He needs to be here in the dun. The fortguard can’t keep watch against certain kinds of danger, but he can, if you take my meaning.’
‘I do.’ Gerran had a long swallow of ale. ‘Not that I like thinking about it.’
‘I realize that.’ Salamander paused for a nervous glance around, but none of the servants were in earshot. ‘I can take his place, if our good tieryn will let him stay behind. But I need a tale that will convince Cadryc, some clever ploy, some magnificent obfuscation, a lie, in short, since I can’t tell him the truth.’
‘There’s no need to pile up horseshit.’ Gerran set his tankard down. ‘You’re not inventing a tale for the marketplace.’
‘Well, what else can I do?’
‘Leave it to me. I’ll go speak to his grace right now.’
Gerran found Tieryn Cadryc out in the stables, where he and the head groom were making an important decision: which horses the warband would take to Zakh Gral. Gerran waited for a lull in their talk.
‘Your grace?’ Gerran said. ‘A private word with you?’
‘Of course.’ Cadryc nodded at the groom. ‘I’ll be back straightaway.’
They walked across the kitchen garden and out to the curve of the dun wall, where no one could overhear.
‘What’s all this, Gerro?’ Cadryc said.
‘Your grace, do you trust me?’
‘What? Of course I do!’
‘And do you trust my judgment? You don’t think me daft or suchlike, do you?’
‘Of course not! Gerro –’
‘Then