"Kerr, Katharine - Westlands 02 - A Time Of War v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

‘His servant told me. And here’s the oddest thing of all. They speak the same tongue as Deverry men do. I’ve never been so surprised in my life, Jill. The lad just spoke right up, and I could understand him. Not easily at first, mind. His way of speaking’s a fair bit different, all flat and watery, like, and he uses a lot of words that I’d say were very old. The kind of thing you find in my esteemed ancestor’s books - words that haven’t been spoken round here in two hundred years.’
‘No doubt they haven’t, and no doubt he was as surprised as you were. If I’m guessing a-right, his forefathers were escaped bondsmen. The bondfolk came from many different tribes, you see, before our ancestors conquered the lot. And each of those, or so the lore runs, had its own language, a hundred of them all told, or so the priests say.’ She tapped the book before her with reed-slender fingers. The only tongue that they all had in common was the language of their old masters, and they were forced to use it to survive.’
‘I’ll wager it griped their souls. It would have mine.’
‘No doubt.’ She smiled briefly, then glanced at the book. ‘It must be a strange place, the Rhiddaer. I haven’t been able to learn much about it, which is why this pair of prisoners is so important. But there’s no high king, and no lords nor gwerbrets, either, to keep order or form alliances — not that I can truly blame the people for wanting to leave all that behind forever. The high king’s justice never did apply to them, did it? But as for the lad and the bard, I hate to do this, but I’d say leave them where they are for a while, at least, until they’re scared enough to consider talking to me and the townsfolk find somewhat else to gossip about.’
‘Done, then.’
‘Tell me, was your ride quiet enough?’
‘It was. No signs of trouble, no sign of more of those raiders, but we might have ridden right past them, and they past us, with no one being the wiser. It’s wild country out that way.’
‘It’s wild country all round here. That’s the problem with Cengarn, isn’t it? Ye gods, we’re isolated! Tell me somewhat, Rhoddo. How many men do you think Cadmar could field, if things came to some sort of war?’
‘Not all that many. Let me think. Matyc’s his only vassal to the north, and then Gwinardd is his richest vassal, which should tell you somewhat about this place, when you look at the kind of gear his men have. There’s a lot of small lords round here, with say, five, ten men sworn to them. But anyway, our gwerbret has alliances further east, of course, but Arcodd province isn’t exactly a rich and settled place itself. Say five hundred men easily, another five hundred if all his nearby allies sent their treaty-bond due. And of course, the common-born are all free farmers, out this way. They’ll fight for their own, and they could field what? Say another thousand men, half-armed and half-trained, but brave and determined.’
‘And if the entire province were threatened, the High King would march, wouldn’t he?’
‘Of course, but it would take months to mobilize and get an army out here.’ All at once the implications of all these questions sank in. ‘Jill! What are you saying? Do you really think we’re in that kind of danger?’
‘I don’t know. I hope not. But all my life I’ve expected the worst and planned for it, and you know what? I’ve never been disappointed yet.’
Rhodry tried to laugh, then gave it up as a bad job.
‘I honestly don’t think we’ve seen the last of this trouble,,’ Jill went on. ‘But how big the danger is? Well, I have no idea. As soon as I find out anything, I’ll tell you and the gwerbret both.’
‘Fair enough, and speaking of his grace, I’d best find him and tell him I’ve brought his men back.’
‘Just so. And give him my thanks, will you?’ She turned another page in the book. ‘I’ll come down the great hall in a bit.’
The great hall of Gwerbret Cadmar occupied the entire ground floor of the main broch. On one side, by a back door, stood enough trestle tables and backless benches for a warband of well over a hundred men; at the hearth, near the table of honour itself, furnished with actual chairs were five tables more for guests and servitors. On the floor lay a carpet of fresh braided rushes. The walls and the enormous hearth were made of a pale tan stone, all beautifully worked and carved, while huge panels of interlacement edged the windows and were set into the walls alternately with roundels of spirals and fantastic animals. An entire stone dragon embraced the honour hearth, its head resting on its paws, which were planted on the floor, its winged back forming the mantel, and its long tail curling down the other side. Even the riders’ hearth on the far side of the hall was heavily decorated with interlacing and dragons’ heads, When Rhodry walked in, he found the hall mostly empty, except for a couple of servant lasses over by the warband’s hearth, and a page, polishing tankards up at the table of honour. When Rhodry hailed the page, the boy ignored him.
‘You, Allonry! I know your father’s a great lord, but you’re here to run errands for anyone who asks.’
Scowling, the lad slouched over, a willowy lad of about ten summers, red-haired and freckled.
‘Where’s his grace?’ Rhodry said.
‘Out in the stables with the equerry.’
‘Will lie be there long?’ - ‘I wouldn’t know. Go ask him yourself, silver dagger.’
Rhodry restrained himself with difficulty from slapping the boy across the face. Although he himself had served as a page in a gwer-bret’s dun, he couldn’t remember having been this arrogant. He’d been terrified, mostly, of making a wrong step and disgracing himself, but young Allonry seemed to have no such worries.
‘I will, then,’ Rhodry said. ‘But I wouldn’t strut like this around Lord Matyc and his ilk, if I were you.’
The boy ducked his head and looked away. Rhodry turned to go, but the gwerbret himself made the point moot by coming in, trailed by the equerry and the chamberlain. Even though he limped badly on a twisted right leg, Gwerbret Cadmar was an imposing man, standing well over six feet tall, broad in the shoulders, broad in the hands. His slate-grey hair and moustaches bristled; his face was weather-beaten and dark; his eyes gleamed a startling blue under heavy brows. As he made his way over to the table of honour, the page bowed, and Rhodry knelt.
‘Get up, silver dagger, no need to stand on ceremony.’ The gwerbret favoured him with a brief smile. ‘You’re back, are you? I’ve heard that you brought prisoners. I take it Jill was right, then, and there were spies prowling round my borders.’
‘Well, Your Grace, we found a couple of prowlers, sure enough, but I doubt me if they’re truly spies. One’s but a lad, you see, and the other’s blind.’
The equerry and chamberlain exchanged startled looks, and Cadmar himself grunted in surprise.
‘Cursed strange, then. Why were they riding in my lands?’
‘I have no idea, Your Grace. I do know that Jill has great hopes of getting information out of them.’
‘No doubt she’d like me to leave the matter in her hands?’
‘If his grace agrees, of course.’
‘Well, most likely I will.’ The gwerbret turned to the page. ‘Alli, run up to Jill’s chambers and ask her, and politely, mind, but ask her to come down for a word with me.’
Although the boy bowed and ran off fast, he was obviously smarting at the vertical hike ahead of him. Cadmar glanced at the chamberlain.
‘Think he’ll learn courtesy one of these fine days?’
‘I can only hope so, Your Grace,’ the old man sighed. ‘I’m doing my best to teach the wretched little snot.’
Cadmar laughed, then remembered Rhodry and turned to him with a quick wave of one hand.
‘You may go, silver dagger. No need for you to be standing round here.’
‘My thanks, Your Grace.’
Rhodry went out to the barracks, those structures built into the walls that had so puzzled Jahdo, and drew himself water at the stable well for a cold bath. Once he was shaved and reasonably clean, he went back to the great hall to keep an eye on things. He got himself some ale, dipping his own tankard to avoid giving a servant lass the chance to snub him, then found himself a seat at a table on the far side of the hall, where he could watch the noble-born from a proper distance. A few at a time, the honour-bound men in the various warbands quartered at the dun came drifting in, chivvying the lasses and settling down at one table or another to wait for the evening meal. Unlike the servants and the noble-born, most of the men had a friendly greeting for Rhodry or a jest to share. They’d seen him fight, after all, and judged his worth on that.
The hall filled up fast. For the war against the raiding party captained by Meer’s brother, Cadmar had called in two of his closest vassals, Lord Matyc and Lord Gwinardd, and as their oaths of realty demanded, they’d brought twenty-five men apiece with them to add to Cadmar’s oath-sworn riders. One of the latter, a young brown-haired lad named Draudd, sat himself down beside Rhodry.
‘Where’s Yraen?’
‘Don’t know, but he’d better be cleaning himself up,’ Rhodry said. ‘I thought he’d be in by now. Why?’
‘Just asking, wondering if he’s up for a game of carnoic or suchlike.’ Draudd yawned profoundly. ‘He plays cursed well. Here, Rhodry, some of the men have a wager on, like, that Yraen’s noble-born.’
‘Do they now? I hope they don’t go asking him outright and hope to live to collect it. Prying into a silver dagger’s past is bad for a man’s health.’
Draudd snorted into his ale.
‘I’m not having a jest on you,’ Rhodry spoke quietly, levelly. Tell them to lay off.’
Draudd looked up sharply, his good cheer gone.
‘And another thing,’ Rhodry went on. ‘Am I included in this little game?’
Draudd turned beet-red in silent confession. Rhodry grabbed him by a twist of shirt that nearly choked him and hauled him face to face.