“At least you love me, don’t you?” Perryn whispered. “But a horse is a wretchedly easy thing to please.”
Finally he was ready to set out, with his gray saddled and his pack horse and the two new colts on lead ropes. He mounted, then merely sat in the saddle for a long time and stared at the place that would hold his last memories of Jill. Where to go next? The question seemed insuperable. At last, when the gray was beginning to dance in irritable restlessness under him, he turned back northwest. Not far away was the town of Leryn, where he knew a dishonest trader who would take the colts and ask no questions. All that day he rode slowly, and the tears came and went of their own accord.
Rhodry might have taken a barge passage immediately if it hadn’t been for the gray gnome, who came to him early on the same morning that Salamander caught up with Jill. The little creature was ecstatic, dancing around and grinning so broadly that it exposed all its long pointed teeth.
“Well, little brother, I take it you know that Jill’s left Perryn.”
The gnome nodded, then pointed to the southeast.
“Is that where Jill is?”
The gnome shook its head no, then pantomimed Perryn’s graceless walk.
“Oho! How far away is our dear Lord Perryn?”
The gnome shrugged and waved its hands as if to say not very far at all. Rhodry debated for a long while. On the one hand, he wanted to be after Jill; on the other, his desire for revenge was like a lust. Finally the vengeance won.
“Well and good, little brother. I’ll saddle up my horse, and you lead me to him.”
The gnome grinned and jigged, pointing always off to the south and east.
It was late in the afternoon when Rhodry came to a scrappy little village, a huddle of houses at the top of a hill without even a proper wall around it. Although there was no tavern, the blacksmith’s wife kept a few barrels of ale in her kitchen for thirsty travelers, but she refused to have a silver dagger in her house. She did, however, let him buy a tankard and drink it out in the muddy yard, where chickens scratched near a small sty that held a pair of half-grown pigs. The woman, a stout sort with wispy gray hair, set her hands on her hips and glared at him the whole time as if she thought he would steal the tankard. When he was done, Rhodry handed it back with an exaggerated bow.
“My thanks, fair lady. I don’t suppose you get many travelers through here.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m looking for a friend of mine, that’s all, a tall, skinny fellow with red hair and—”
“You’d best go over to the baker’s then. A fellow like that bought a tankard from me not half an hour ago, and he said he needed to buy bread.”
“Oh, indeed? He didn’t have a lass with him, did he?”
“He didn’t, just a couple of extra horses. Too many horses, if you ask me. Didn’t like the look of him, I didn’t.”
Following her directions, Rhodry hurried along the twisting street. When he reached the house with the big beehive clay ovens in the front yard he saw Perryn’s dapple gray, his pack horse, and a pair of colts tied up nearby. He laughed aloud, just a quick snatch of a berserker’s chuckle, and thanked Great Bel in his heart. As he tied up his horse, he could see Perryn through the open door, handing over some coppers to a fellow in a cloth apron. Rhodry strode in. His hands full of loaves, Perryn turned and yelped, a satisfying gulp of pure terror.
“You bastard,” Rhodry snarled. “Where’s my wife?”
“Oh, er, ah, well, I don’t know.”
His face pale, the baker began edging for the door. Rhodry ignored him and went for Perryn. He grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the stone wall so hard that Perryn dropped the bread. Rhodry kicked it out of the way and slammed him again.
“Where’s Jill?”
“I don’t know.” Perryn was gasping for breath. “She left me. I swear it. She left me on the road.”
“I know that, dolt! Where?”
When Perryn smirked at him, Rhodry hit him in the stomach. He doubled over, choking, but Rhodry straightened him up and hit him again.
“Where did she leave you?”
Half blind from tears in his eyes, Perryn raised his head. Rhodry slapped him across the face.
“I know you’re going to kill me,” Perryn gasped. “Not going to tell you one rotten thing.”
Rhodry saw no reason to admit that he’d sworn a vow to leave him alive. He grabbed him by the shoulders, hauled him forward, and slammed into the stone again.
“Where is she? If you tell me, you live.”
“I don’t know, by the gods!”
Rhodry was about to hit him in the stomach a second time when he heard noises behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the white-faced baker, flanked by the blacksmith carrying an iron bar and two other men with threshing flails at the ready.
“Now what’s all this, silver dagger? You can’t ride in and just murder someone.”
“I’m not going to murder anyone. This whoreson piss-pot little bastard stole my wife away, and now he won’t tell me where she is.”
The four villagers considered, glancing at one another and at the sword at Rhodry’s side. Even though the four of them would have had more than a good chance against one man, no matter how skilled with a sword, it seemed they were the prudent sort.
“Ah well,” the blacksmith said. “Then it’s no affair of ours, if he’s been meddling with your woman.”
“Just get him out of my house,” the baker moaned.
“Gladly. Rats don’t belong in a granary.”
Rhodry twisted Perryn’s right arm behind his back and shoved him out of the bakery. When his victim struggled, Rhodry swung him sideways and knocked him against the wall of the next house so hard that he screamed.
“Where’s Jill?”
“I don’t know, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”
Rhodry hit him in the stomach so hard he vomited, falling to his knees. When he was done, Rhodry hauled him up, twisted his arm again, and then marched him round the bakery to a big stone shed. He threw him face forward against the wall, peeled him off and turned him round, then shoved him back again. By then Perryn could barely stand up.
“For the last time, where is she?”
Gasping, Perryn wiped feebly at the blood pouring from his nose and from a cut over his eye. Rhodry unbuckled his sword belt and let it drop.
“Come on, coward! Draw on me, if you dare.”
Perryn merely gasped and sniveled. Rhodry’s stomach tightened in sheer contempt.
“You base-born little half-gelded swine!”
Rhodry jumped him, grabbed him with one hand, and began hitting him as hard as he could with the other. The pleasure of beating Perryn filled his entire mind, just as when a sheet of flame races through the forest and sweeps everything before it. Suddenly he remembered the holy vow he’d sworn to Benoic. He let Perryn go and leaned him back against the wall. Fortunately, the lord was still breathing. He looked at Rhodry for a moment with glazed eyes, one of which was already swelling shut, tried to speak, gasped, then crumpled, sliding slowly down the wall to the ground. Rhodry gave him one last kick and turned to find the four villagers, standing as solemnly as judges, and three small boys, wide-eyed with excitement. Nearby was the gray gnome, clapping its hands and grinning while it did a little victory dance. Rhodry retrieved his sword belt and buckled it on while he caught his breath.
“There. I didn’t murder him, did I now?”
They all shook their heads in agreement.
“I thought silver daggers didn’t have wives,” said one of the boys.
“I did. Let me tell you somewhat. If ever you find another silver dagger with a wife, then you keep your blasted little paws off her.”
The lads looked at Perryn, then nodded again. When Rhodry walked toward them, they all parted to give him plenty of room and fell in behind him like an honor guard while he fetched his horse. He mounted and rode out, heading northwest to return t
o the river. His hands were bloody, bruised, and aching, but he’d never enjoyed a pain more in his life. As soon as he was out of sight of the village, the gnome appeared on his saddle peak.
“That was a splendid bit of fun, wasn’t it, little brother?”
With an evil grin the gnome nodded a yes.
“Now, am I going the right way? Is Jill heading for the river?”
Again, it nodded yes.
“Is she going to Cerrmor?”
It waggled its hands and shrugged its shoulders to show that it didn’t truly know. It occurred to Rhodry that place names would mean nothing at all to the Wildfolk.
“Well, if she’s on the river, I’ll catch her up, sure enough. My thanks, little brother. You’d best get back to Jill and keep an eye on her.”
Out of compassion on the one hand and a sense of having seen justice done on the other, the blacksmith and the baker picked Perryn up and carried him into the baker’s cow shed, where they laid him down on a heap of straw. Perryn could barely see them out of his swollen eyes. His chest ached so badly that he was sure Rhodry had broken a couple of his ribs, and his lower lip was split and bleeding. The baker’s wife brought out a bowl of water, gave him a drink, then washed his face for him.
“Didn’t like the look of that silver dagger, I didn’t. Here, did you really take his wife?”
Perryn mumbled out a sound that passed for “I did.”
“Huh. I don’t see why any lass would take you over him, but then, lasses is flighty sometimes. Ah well, you can stay here for a day or two, lad, if you’ll give me a couple of coppers for horse feed.”
Perryn nodded a yes, then fainted.
Irritated to the point of rage, Nevyn sat in his chamber and glared at Salamander’s image as it danced over the glowing coals in the charcoal brazier. The gerthddyn seemed honestly bewildered.
“But I couldn’t leave Jill with that lout—”
“Of course not, you dolt! That isn’t the point. The point is this Perryn himself. You’ve left behind a gravely ill man—”
“Who repeatedly raped my brother’s woman.”
“I know that, and I’m furious about it, but what I’m trying to tell you is that he’s deathly ill.”
“And if he dies, what loss will it be?”
“Hold your tongue, you chattering elf!”
Salamander’s image shrank back and turned pale. Nevyn took a deep breath and controlled himself.
“Now listen, Ebañy. If Perryn continues on this way, he’s going to pour out his life force until there’s precious little left. Then he’ll get some illness—most likely a consumption of the lungs—and die, just as you’ve guessed. But in the meantime, he’ll also be harming other women because he can’t help himself. He’s like a man with a plague, spreading foul humors and contagion over the countryside even though he doesn’t wish another soul harm. Now do you see?”
“I do at that, and my apologies.” Salamander did look sincerely chastened. “But what could I have done? Ensorceled him? Roped him like one of his horses and dragged him along with us? Jill can’t bear the sight of him, and in her state—”
“Well, true enough. Let me think … the nearest dweomerworker is Liddyn of Cantrae. He can possibly find our Perryn and corral him. Truly, your first concern has to be Jill. Form a link with her aura and then—slowly, mind you—draw off some of that excess magnetism. The process should take some days, because you’ll have to absorb it yourself. Or, here, expend it. Do some of your wretched little tricks with it. It might amuse her.”
“I doubt me if any show of dweomer will do more than terrify her now.”
“Maybe so. Ah ye gods! What a nasty mess you’ve dropped in our laps!”
“So they have. Here, one more strange thing about Perryn. When I first saw him, I opened up my sight and looked into his soul. I was thinking perhaps that he was some man linked to Jill by his Wyrd or suchlike.”
“Was he?”
“I couldn’t tell you that. I couldn’t read his soul.” All at once Salamander looked rueful. “Truly, I must have let my rage, wrath, and righteousness override my reason. I kept seeing him as some kind of half-human monster, not as a man at all.”
“Valandario’s been telling you and I have been telling you that dweomer demands that a man keep his feelings under control. Do you see now what we mean? Ye gods!”
“You have my true and humble apologies, O master. Here, since I’ve seen Perryn, I can scry him out whenever you or Liddyn need my aid.”
“And doubtless we will. He’s got to be caught.
“True enough. I wasn’t thinking. It was just seeing our Jill so … well, so broken and so shamed. It ached my heart.”
“It aches mine, too.” Nevyn realized then that part of his anger at Salamander was only a spillover from his rage at what had happened. “I only wish I could come join you. If you’re riding south, maybe I will. It depends on how things go here.”
“Where are you, by the by?”
Nevyn managed a laugh.
“My turn for the apologies. I’m in the gwerbret’s dun in Aberwyn.”
“Ye gods! I’m surprised Rhys will let you cross his threshold.”
“Oh, he bears me no particular ill will. Lady Lovyan asked me to come with her and pretend to be a legal councillor. She’s going to try one last time to get Rhys to recall Rhodry.”
“No doubt the hells will melt first.”
“No doubt. On the other hand, Rhys loves Aberwyn, and he might do what’s best for her in the end.”
When Salamander looked profoundly skeptical, Nevyn sighed in agreement. Being stubborn was a crucial part of a noble-born man’s honor, and Rhys, like all Maelwaedds, would never betray his.
After finishing his talk with Salamander, Nevyn went to the open window and leaned on the sill to look out. From his chamber high up in the broch, he could see the gardens, a long reach of lawn lit with a hundred tiny oil lamps, where the ladies of the court were having an evening entertainment. Minstrels played, and the noble-born danced among the flickering lights. He could hear them laughing, half out of breath, as they circled round, stamping and slapping their feet in time to the harps and wooden flutes. Ah, my poor Jill, he thought, will you ever be as happy as they again?
His anger came close to choking him, a cold fury with Perryn, with Rhys, stubborn men who insisted on having what they wanted no matter what the cost to anyone else. Rhys was the worse, he decided, because his refusal to recall his brother could plunge Eldidd into open war. And then all those noble lords below would ride in a circling dance of death, this entertainment long forgotten. He pulled the shutters closed so hard that they banged like thunder in the chamber and turned away to pace back and forth. Finally he shook the mood away and turned to the brazier again.
When he thought of Rhodry the image appeared in an instant. He was standing, his back to the wall, in a crowded tavern and watching a dice game while he sipped from a tankard. At times, when Rhodry was in a particular melancholy mood, Nevyn could reach his mind and send him thoughts, but tonight he was preoccupied and oddly enough, not at all unhappy. At times he smiled to himself as if remembering a triumph. Most odd, Nevyn thought. Why isn’t he brooding over Jill?
When someone knocked on his door, he canceled the vision. Lady Lovyan came in, her plaid cloak caught at the shoulder with a ring brooch set with rubies winking in the candlelight.
“Have you had enough of the dancing, my lady?”
“More than enough, but I came to see you for another reason. A speeded courier just rode in from Dun Deverry.” She handed him a piece of parchment, tightly rolled from its long sojourn inside a message tube. “This is supposedly for my eyes alone, but I doubt if Blaen would mind you reading it.”
After the long ritual salutations, the letter itself was brief: “I am in Dun Deverry in attendance upon the king. He tells me only that he’s most interested in talking with a certain silver dagger known to you. Would the dragon roar if our liege usurped one of
his privileges? By the by, Lord Talidd seems to have found a friend in Savyl of Camynwaen. Blaen, Gwerbret Cwm Peel.”
“Humph,” Nevyn snorted. “Blaen isn’t much of a man at subterfuge.”
“Rhys would have understood that message in an instant if he’d read it.” Lovyan took the letter back and dropped it into the glowing charcoal. The smell of burning leather drifted into the room, and Nevyn hurried to open the shutters. “The news about Savyl of Camynwaen’s troubling. I do not like the idea of Talidd’s finding another gwerbret to plead his case with our liege.”
“No more do I. Ye gods, this is all getting vexed!”
“Do you think Rhys would rebel if the king overrode his decree of exile?”
“Not on his own, but he might be persuaded by men who think they have a chance at the rhan if he died childless.”
“Just so. They’d try to push him into it, anyway. On the other hand, if the king does intervene, then Rhys could stop my nagging tongue without losing any face.”
“True enough. He could bluster about the decree all he wanted in front of the other lords but accept it privately.”
“So I hope. Well, we don’t even know if the king truly plans to recall Rhodry.” She looked at the twisted sheet of parchment ash in the brazier, then picked up the poker and knocked it into dust. “Let us hope that Blaen sends us more news soon.”
Rhodry had no trouble buying passage on a barge that was making the run down to Lughcarn. His horse shared the stern with the barge mules that would pull the boat upriver again; he had a place to sleep in the bow with the four crewmen, who spoke to him as little as possible. The rest of the barge’s hundred feet were laden with rough-shaped iron ingots from the smelters of Ladotyn up in the high mountains. Although the barge rode low in the water, the river current was smooth and steady, and for three days they glided south, while Rhodry amused himself by watching the countryside go by. Once the hills were behind them, the grassy meadows and rich grain fields of Gwaentaer province spread out, green and gold in the late summer sun, flat and seemingly endless.