A Time of Omens. Katharine Kerr
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ye gods, the look on everyone’s face! Wait till we tell Maddo about this!’
‘Ah shit! Do we have to?’
‘I do.’ Aethan gasped out. ‘Don’t know about you. I – oh ye gods! Where’s Maryn?’
In a wave of ice-cold shame Branoic spun around and headed, all unthinking, back toward the stairway with Aethan right behind. By then, though, men and women both were rushing down, clutching pieces of clothing or struggling to get clothing on, cursing and snarling and swearing they’d find the lout Of a silver dagger who was responsible and slice his heart out. Aethan grabbed Branoic by the arm and pulled him back into a patch of shadow.
‘Go get the horses and take them round to the street,’ he hissed. ‘I’ll find the lad and try to warn the rest of our men, too.’
Keeping to the dark places Branoic scuttled to the stable and found their three mounts. His heart was pounding in terror – what if something had happened to the one True King of all Deverry, and it was all his fault? All at once he realized that their little prank was a dangerous one all round, taking Maryn into the heart of a strange town with only a couple of guards – who had then let him go off with a whore on his own. What if the lass had been in someone’s pay? He gathered the horses’ reins in one hand, threw open the stable door with the other, and started out only to run straight into Maddyn and Nevyn.
‘Where’s the prince?’ Maddyn snarled.
‘I don’t know. Aethan’s looking for him.’
With a foul oath Maddyn slugged him back-handed across the face.
‘I shouldn’t be surprised you’d do such a stupid thing, but I expected better from Aethan. And why by the name of every god is this wretched crowd milling round out here?’
Branoic tried to speak, but his voice clogged and tears filled his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to choke them back. Nevyn grabbed his arm and shook it.
‘Think, lad! Save the cursed shame for later.’
‘I-I-I …’
The horses began to stamp and toss their heads. By then Branoic’s hands were so sweaty that he could barely hang on to the reins.
‘Nevyn!’ The whisper came from directly above them. ‘Is th-th-that you?’
‘It is!’ The old man sounded as if he’d weep too, but from relief. ‘Maryn, where are you?’
‘In the hayloft. We c-c-came up here to be private, like.’
‘Then come down! Give the lass some coins – I imagine she’s more than earned them – and get down here right now!’
‘I will, sir. S-s-straightaway.’
There was a chink of silver, a giggle, and a rustle of hay; then Maryn clambered down the rope ladder and dropped lightly to the floor nearby. Nevyn threw both arms around him and hugged him.
‘My apologies,’ Maryn stammered out. ‘But I –’
‘I don’t want to hear a word more about it, but if you ever do such a stupid thing again …’ All at once Nevyn broke off with a warning glance up at the hayloft, where the lass was lingering, prudently out of the way. ‘Well, no harm done, I suppose.’ He turned to Branoic. ‘Here, lad, you don’t need to grovel and look like cold death. The prank ended well enough.’
Branoic only shrugged for an answer. He could never explain that what was eating his heart was Maddyn’s scorn. The bard himself had run over to the stable doors and was peering out the crack between them; with an oath he came trotting back.
‘Nevyn, take two of these horses and get Maryn out of here. When we rode in I saw a back gate over near those trees. Branoic, you come with me. We’ve got to find Aethan. I don’t like the look of that crowd.’
Much later it occurred to Branoic that he should have told Maddyn the truth right there and then, but at the time he was quite simply so miserable, wallowing in shame and the bard’s disgust, that he was sure that Maddyn would think him a coward if he didn’t go back. Outside they found about thirty people of both sexes milling around and talking at the top of their lungs. Quite a few people were laughing, actually – one could guess that they’d all been elsewhere when the walls started going down – and promising to spread this magnificent jest around town, much to the rage of those caught in Branoic’s unintentional trap.
‘I think that’s Aethan over by the tavern-room door,’ Maddyn whispered. ‘You’re taller – can you see?’
Branoic raised himself up on the balls of his feet and shaded his eyes against the lantern light with one hand.
‘It is.’ He started waving. ‘Good, he’s seen me.’
Unfortunately so had the burly fellow from the next cubicle. Fully dressed now and howling like a banshee he came shoving his way through the crowd.
‘You! You’re the little prick that started this whole cursed thing!’
His mouth half-open in surprise, Maddyn turned around to stare at Branoic, who felt as inarticulate as the ensorcelled prince.
‘My apologies, I didn’t mean –’
‘You were trying to watch, you bloody little debaucher! I’ll grind your head on the cobbles for this! I’ll –’
Just at that moment Aethan and another two men from the Black Sword troop reached them. Behind them Branoic could see a gaggle of silver daggers and a bunch of black swords rushing forward, too, while all the other men round started taking sides. The experienced and politic women drew back to give them plenty of room as Branoic’s victim threw a punch right at his head. Profoundly relieved that the matter wasn’t going to sword-play, Branoic punched right back and connected with the fellow’s jaw. Women screamed; the fellow went down, out cold; somewhere the old crone was shrieking for the town wardens. He could hear Maddyn shouting and Aethan howling as the rain-washed and slippery tavern yard exploded into a brawl.
In that kind of press it was hard to see who was enemy and who friend, especially as men kept slipping and falling into the mud and clambering back up to fight some more. Branoic squared off with a squint-eyed brown-haired fellow, slammed him once in the stomach and once on the jaw, nearly fell over him as he fell, dodged free and ducked a thrown tankard, paused to catch his breath on the edge of things only to have someone rush straight at him. He grabbed the fellow by one arm, swung him around, and flung him back into the heaving shouting mob, which reminded him at that moment of a bowl of yeast working and bubbling over. Just as he started back in someone grabbed him from behind. He swung around only to pull his punch barely in time: Aethan.
‘Come on, lad – they don’t even remember why they’re fighting. Hurry!’
‘I was just starting to enjoy myself!’
‘Come along and now! You won’t be enjoying yourself if the captain decides to take the skin off your back, will you?’
Without another word Branoic followed him into the shadows by the open back gate, where Maddyn was riding one horse and holding the reins of two others. Out on the riverbank he could see the rest of the silver daggers, mounted and ready to ride.
‘No one can beat a silver dagger when it comes to ducking the law,’ Aethan said, grinning. ‘Mount up, Branno. The town wardens are pounding on the front gate.’
After he mounted, Branoic turned to the bard.
‘Maddyn, I’m cursed sorry.’
‘Oh hold your tongue! We’ll sort it all out later, but I tell you, lad, I don’t want to see your ugly face till I’m a good bit calmer, like.’
As they rode back to the inn, at a nice stately trot to avoid suspicion, Branoic was thinking seriously of starving himself to death out of shame.
With all the trouble brewing out in the tavern yard, Nevyn and Maryn easily slipped out the