Didnt mean to startle you, he said with a sly grin.
Here, I never saw you come in!
You werent looking my way, thats all. I didnt turn myself invisible, although Ill admit to having a bit of a jest on you.
And I took the bait, sure enough. The tieryn wants you to come sit with her.
At the honor table? What a blasted nuisance. Its a good thing I put on a clean shirt.
Cullyn laughed. Usually Nevyn dressed like a farmer in shabby brown clothes, but today hed actually put on a white shirt with Lovyans red lion blazon at the yokes and a pair of patched but respectable gray brigga. Still, he looked like a shabby townsman or maybe a minor servitor, anything but what he was, the most powerful master of the dweomer in the entire kingdom.
Before you go, Cullyn said, have you had any, well, news of my Jill?
News? Why dont you say the word scrying right out? Youll have to get used to sorcery sooner or later, Captain. Here, come along.
They made their way over to the servants hearth, where an entire hog crackled, roasting on a spit so large that it took two kitchen boys to turn it. For a moment Nevyn stared intently into the flames.
I see Jill and her Rhodry looking in good spirits, he said at last. Theyre walking through a town on a nice sunny day, going up to a shop of some sort. Wait! I know the place. Its Otho the Silversmiths in Dun Mannannan, but he doesnt seem to be in at the moment.
I dont suppose you can tell if shes with child.
Shes not showing the baby if she is. I can understand your concern.
Well, its bound to happen, sooner or later. I just hope she has the wit to ride home when it does.
Shes never lacked for wit.
Although Cullyn agreed, worry ate at him. Jill was, after all, his only child.
I just hope they have enough coin for the winter, the captain remarked.
Well, we gave them plenty between us, if Rhodry doesnt drink it all away, anyway.
I just hope they have enough coin for the winter, the captain remarked.
Well, we gave them plenty between us, if Rhodry doesnt drink it all away, anyway.
Oh, Jill wont let him do that. My lass is as tight as an old farmwife with every cursed copper. He allowed himself a brief smile. She knows the long road well.
Because the mattress was full of bedbugs, Rhodry Maelwaedd, formerly heir to Dun Gwerbyn, sat on the floor of the tiny innchamber. Nearby Jill sat in the light from the one tiny window. She was dressed in a pair of dirty blue brigga and a lads plain linen overshirt, and her golden hair was cropped short like a lads, too, but she was so beautiful, with her wide blue eyes, delicate features, and soft mouth, that he loved simply looking at her. Frowning in concentration, she was mending a rip in his only shirt.
Ah, by the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell! she snarled. Thisll just have to do. I hate sewing.
You have my humble thanks for lowering yourself enough to mend my clothes.
With another snarl she threw the shirt into his face. Laughing, he shook it out, once-white linen stained with sweat and rust, as well, from his mail. On the yokes were embroidered the blazons of the red lion, all that he had left of his old life. But a month earlier his brother, Gwerbret Rhys of Aberwyn, had sent him into exile, far away from kin and clan both. He pulled the shirt on, then buckled his sword belt over it. At the left hung his sword, a beautiful blade of the best steel with the hand guard worked in the form of a dragon, and at the right, the silver dagger that branded him as a dishonored man. It was the badge of a band of mercenaries who wandered the roads either singly or in pairs and fought only for coin, not loyalty or honor. In his case it branded him as something even stranger, which was why theyd come to Dun Mannannan.
Do you think that silversmith will be in by now? he said.
No doubt. Otho wouldnt leave his shop for long.
Together they went out into the unwalled town, a straggling collection of round thatched houses and shops along a river. On the grassy bank fishing boats lay bleaching, from the look of their cracked keels and gaping planks barely seaworthy.
I dont see how these people make a living from the sea, Rhodry remarked. Look at that mast. Its all held together with wound rope and tar.
When he started to walk over for a better look, Jill grabbed his arm and hauled him back. Two local men, hard-eyed and dressed in filthy rags, were watching.
It doesnt pay to go poking your nose into other peoples business, lad, one of them called out.
Especially not scum like you, silver dagger, said the other.
They both spat on the ground and laughed. Rhodry tried to shake his arm free of Jills grasp, but she hung on grimly.
You cant, Rhoddo, she whispered. Theyre not but peasants. Theyre too far below you to fight with.
With a toss of his head he turned away. Arm in arm they walked on down the winding street.
About those boats? Jill said. Theyre not as shabby as they look. They keep them that way on purpose, to hide, like. Theres more than one kind of cargo that comes in under the mackerel.
Ye gods! You mean were staying in a den of smugglers?
Keep your voice down! Just that.
Othos shop stood on the very edge of town, just on the other side of a dirt path from a field of cabbages. Under a droop of smoke-black thatch the plank door stood shut but no longer padlocked. When Jill opened it, silver bells tinkled overhead.
Whos there? bellowed a deep voice.
Jill, Cullyn of Cerrmors daughter, and another silver dagger.
Rhodry followed her into an empty chamber, a small wedge of the round house set off by dirty wickerwork panels. In one panel hung a frayed green blanket, doing duty for a door, apparently, because Otho shoved it aside and came out. Although he stood only four and a half feet tall, he was perfectly proportioned and muscular at that, with arms like a miniature blacksmith. He had a heavy gray beard, neatly cropped, and shrewd dark eyes.
Well, Jill it is, he said. And it gladdens my heart to see you again. Wheres your father, and whos this lad?
Das in Eldidd. He won himself a place as captain of a tieryns warband.
Did he, now? Otho smiled in sincere pleasure. I always thought he was too good a man to carry the silver dagger. But what have you done? Run off with this pretty face here?
Now, here! Rhodry snarled. Cullyn gave her leave to go.
Otho snorted in profound disbelief.
Its true, Jill broke in. Da even pledged him to the silver dagger.
Indeed? The smith still looked suspicious, but he let the matter drop. What brings you to me, lad? Have some battle loot to sell?
I dont. Ive come about my silver dagger.
What have you done, nicked it or suchlike? I dont see how any man could bruise that metal.
He wants the dweomer taken off it, Jill said. Can you do that, Otho? Remove the spell on the blade?
The smith turned, openmouthed in surprise.
I know cursed well its got one on it, she went on. Rhoddo, take it out and show him.
Reluctantly Rhodry drew the dagger from its worn sheath. It was a lovely thing, that blade, as silky as silver, but harder than steel, some alloy that only a few smiths knew how to blend. On it was graved the device of a striking falcon (Cullyns old mark, because the dagger had once belonged to him), but in Rhodrys hand the device was almost invisible in a blaze and flare of dweomer-light, running like water from the blade.
Elven blood in your veins, is there? Otho snapped. And a good bit of it, too.
Well, theres some. Rhodry made the admission unwillingly. I hail from the west, you see, and that old proverb about there being elven blood in Eldidd veins is true enough.
When Otho grabbed the dagger, the light dimmed to a faint glow.
Im not letting you in my workshop, he announced. You people all steal. Cant even help it, I suppose; its probably the way you were raised.
By every god in the Otherlands, Im not a thief! I was born and raised a Maelwaedd, and its not my wretched fault that theres wild blood somewhere in my clans quarterings.
Hah! Im still not letting you into my workshop. He turned and pointedly spoke only to Jill. Its a hard thing youre asking, lass. I dont have true dweomer. The dagger spell is the only one I can weave, and I dont even understand what Im doing. Its just somewhat that we pass down from father to son, those of us who know it at all, that is.
I was afraid of that, she said with a sigh. But weve got to do somewhat about it. He cant use it at table when it turns dweomer every time he draws it.
Otho considered, chewing on his lower lip.
Well, if this were an ordinary dagger, Id just trade you a new one without the spell, but since it was Cullyns and all, Ill try to unweave the dweomer. Maybe working it all backward will do it. But its going to cost you dear. Theres a risk in meddling with things like this.
After a couple of minutes of brisk haggling, Jill handed him five silver pieces, about half of the smiths asking price.
Come back at sunset, Otho said. Well see if Ive been successful or not.
Rhodry spent the afternoon looking for a hire. Although it was too close to winter weather for warfare, he did find a merchant who was taking a load of goods back to Cerrmor. For all their dishonor, silver daggers were in much demand as caravan guards, because they belonged to a band with a reputation that kept them more honest than most. Not just any man could become a silver dagger. A fighting man who was desperate enough to take the blade had to first find another silver dagger, ride with him awhile, and prove himself before he was allowed to meet one of the rare smiths who served the band. Only then could he truly ride the long road, as the daggers referred to their lives.
And if Otho could blunt the spell, Rhodry would no longer have to keep his blade sheathed for fear of revealing his peculiar bloodlines. He hurried Jill through her dinner and hustled her along to the silversmiths shop a little before sunset. Othos beard was a good bit shorter, and he no longer had any eyebrows at all.
I should have known better than to do a favor for a miserable elf, he announced.