‘Just that – don’t argue,’ Cadryc snapped. ‘And don’t sulk, either.’
Mirryn spun on his heel and stalked off, heading back outside. Cadryc muttered a few insults under his breath. Gerran decided a distraction was in order and turned to the gerthddyn.
‘Little did I dream our paths would cross so soon.’ Salamander gave him a fatuous smile. ‘An honour to see you, captain.’
‘Spare me the horseshit,’ Gerran said. ‘Did you see this raid or only find a burned village or suchlike?’
‘Ah, what a soul of courtesy you are.’ Salamander rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Actually, I found refugees, who escaped by blind luck.’
When Salamander pointed, Gerran noticed for the first time a tattered dirty lad and an equally ragged little boy, kneeling by the corner of the massive stone hearth. Dirt clotted in hair that was most likely mousy brown, and they shared a certain look about their deep-set blue eyes that marked them for close kin. Skinny as a stick, the older lad was, with fine, small hands, but the younger, though half-starved from the look of him, had broad hands and shoulders that promised strong bones and height one day.
‘They lost everything in the raid,’ Salamander said. ‘Kin, house, the lot.’ He pointed. ‘Their names are Neb and Clae.’
‘We’ll give them a place here.’ Tieryn Cadryc beckoned to a page. ‘Go find my wife and ask her to join us.’
When the page trotted off, Neb, the older lad, watched him go with dead eyes.
‘How many of them were there?’ Gerran asked him. ‘The raiders, I mean.’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Neb said. ‘We were a good distance away, up by the waterfall, so we could see down into the valley. We saw the village burning, and our farm, and then a lot of people just running around.’
‘Cursed lucky thing you were gone.’
The lad nodded, staring at him, too tired to speak, most likely.
‘The raiding party won’t be travelling fast, not with prisoners to drag along,’ Cadryc broke in. ‘I’ve sent a message to Lord Pedrys, telling him to meet us on the road with every man he can muster. I’d summon the other vassals as well, but they live too cursed far east, and we’ve got to make speed.’
‘Your grace?’ Gerran said. ‘Wasn’t there a lord near this village?’
‘There was. What I want to know is this: is there still?’
Neb watched the captain and the tieryn walk away, talking of their plans, both of them tall men, but red-haired Gerran was as lean as the balding tieryn was stout. Neither would be a good man to cross, Neb decided, nor Lord Mirryn, either. Salamander left his perch on the table and joined the two boys.
‘Well, there,’ the gerthddyn said. ‘Your uncle will be avenged, and perhaps they’ll even manage to rescue your aunt.’
‘If they do,’ Clae said, ‘we won’t have to go back to her, will we?’
‘You won’t. Judging from what you told me on our journey here she doesn’t seem to be a paragon of the female virtues, unlike the tieryn’s good wife.’ Salamander glanced over his shoulder. ‘Who, I might add, is arriving at this very moment.’
Salamander stepped aside and bowed just as the lady hurried up, a stout little woman, her dark hair streaked with grey. She wore a pair of dresses of fine-woven blue linen, caught in at the waist by a plaid kirtle in yellow, white and green. Two pages trailed after her, a skinny pale boy with a head of golden curls and a brown-haired lad a few years older.
‘My lady, this is Neb and Clae,’ Salamander said. ‘Lads, this is the honourable Lady Galla, wife to Tieryn Cadryc.’
Since he was already kneeling, Neb ducked his head in respect and elbowed Clae to make him do the same.
‘You may rise, lads,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard your terrible story from young Coryn, here.’ She gestured at the older, brown-haired page. ‘Now don’t you worry, we’ll find a place for you in the dun. The cook and the grooms can always use an extra pair of hands.’
‘My thanks, my lady,’ Neb said. ‘We’ll be glad to work for our keep, but we might not be staying –’
‘My lady?’ Salamander broke in. ‘Luck has brought you someone more valuable than a mere kitchen lad. Our Neb can read and write.’
‘Luck indeed!’ Lady Galla smiled brilliantly. ‘My husband’s had need of a scribe for ever so long, him and half the noble-born in Arcodd, of course, but what scribe would be wanting to travel all the way out here, anyway, if he could find a better place down in Deverry? Well and good, young Neb, we’ll see how well you form your letters, but first you need to eat from the look of you, and a bath wouldn’t hurt either.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’ Clae looked up with wide eyes. ‘We’ve been so hungry for so long.’
‘Food first, then. Coryn, take them to the cook house and tell Cook I said to feed them well. Then do what you can about getting them clean. Clothes – well, I’ll see what I can find.’
The food turned out to be generous scraps of roast pork, bread with butter, and some dried apples to chew on for a sweet. The cook let them sit in the straw by the door while she went back to work at her high table, cracking dried oats with a stone roller in a big stone quern. Coryn helped himself to a handful of apples and sat down with them. He seemed a pleasant sort, chatting to the brothers as they wolfed down the meal.
‘I do like our lady,’ Coryn said. ‘She’s ever so kind and cheerful. And our lord’s noble and honourable, too. But watch your step around Gerran. He’s a touchy sort of man, the Falcon, and he’ll slap you daft if you cross him.’
‘The Falcon?’ Neb said with his mouth full. ‘What –’
‘Oh, everyone calls him that. He’s got a falcon device stamped on his gear and suchlike.’
‘Is it his clan mark?’
‘It’s not, because he’s not noble-born.’ Coryn frowned in thought. ‘I don’t know why he carries it, and he probably shouldn’t, ’cause he’s a commoner.’
The cook turned their way and shoved her sweaty dark hair back from her face with a crooked little finger. ‘The mark’s just a fancy of Gerran’s,’ she said. ‘After all, he was an orphan, and it’s a comfort, like, to pretend he’s got a family.’
‘Still,’ Coryn said, ‘it’s giving himself airs.’
‘Oh, get along with you!’ The cook rolled her eyes. ‘It comes to him natural, like. He was raised in the dun like Lord Mirryn’s brother, wasn’t he now?’
‘Why?’ Clae said with his mouth half-full.
The cook glared narrow-eyed.
‘Say please,’ Neb muttered.
‘Please, good dame,’ Clae said. ‘Why?’
‘That’s
