Katharine Kerr - The Shadow Isle

‘Shall I bring you a cushion?’ Gerran said. ‘Or a footstool?’

‘I’m fine like this, my love,’ Solla said.

‘Are you sure? Do you need a shawl?’

‘Gerro!’ Lady Galla leaned forward in her chair and laughed. ‘She’s with child, not ill!’

‘Lady Galla’s right.’ Solla laid a soft hand on his arm. ‘We northern lasses are a tough lot.’

Gerran smiled; she’d been repeating that sentiment often in the last few months. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘I’ll send one of the pages out to sit here with you. If you need somewhat, he’ll fetch it.’

‘Penna’s right here.’ Solla sounded puzzled.

Gerran had simply not noticed her young maid, who sat on the ground right beside her mistress’s chair. Penna looked up at him with wide dark eyes that revealed no trace of any emotion under their plumed brown brows. She was a peculiar lass in his opinion, a skinny little thing with slick brown hair that she wore as short as a lad’s. Solla had given her a place in the dun, but the lady took as much care of the maid as the maid did of the lady.

‘It’s the pages’ duty to run messages,’ Gerran said. ‘Penna’s duty is to sew.’

‘Whatever you say, my love.’ Solla rolled her eyes heavenward at this precision.

Penna managed a brief smile.

Gerran went off to hunt for pages. Eventually he found Ynedd, the youngest of the three, leaning against the wall of the stable. His hands were in his pockets, and he seemed to be studying the ground between his feet. Dirt and bits of straw clung to his blond hair, cropped off but curly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Gerran said. ‘Have Clae and Coryn been tormenting you again?’

Ynedd looked up with red-rimmed eyes. A fresh purple bruise mottled his cheek.

‘I see,’ Gerran said. ‘They won’t stop until you fight back.’

‘I tried to, my lord,’ Ynedd said, ‘but there’s two of them.’

‘What? They both jumped you at once, did they?’

Ynedd mumbled something so softly that Gerran could barely hear him. He took it to mean ‘I’m not supposed to tell.’

‘Where are they, do you know?’

‘I don’t, my lord.’

‘Well, I’ll find them sooner or later, and I’ll have a bit of a chat with them. Two against one? Not among the lads I’m training!’

Ynedd managed to smile at that, a little smirk of anticipated revenge. ‘Are you going to beat them?’

‘I’m not. The grooms need help mucking out the stables, and Clae and Coryn can provide it. As for you, go join the women out in the garden. My lady might need to send me a message.’

‘Well and good, my lord.’ Ynedd grinned at him. ‘My thanks.’

The boy peeled himself from the wall and hurried off, so pleased with the order that Gerran followed for some yards, then stood watching as the womenfolk exclaimed over Ynedd’s bruise and sat him down among them. Lady Galla even gave him some sort of sweetmeat. What’s next? Gerran thought sourly. Will they be teaching him how to sew? Since he couldn’t argue with her ladyship, he turned back and went inside the broch to the great hall.

The warband had gathered around one table and was wagering furiously on a game of carnoic between Daumyr, one of the tieryn’s riders, and Salamander, the gerthddyn who’d spent the winter at the tieryn’s table. Gerran dipped himself a tankard of ale from an open barrel near the honour hearth and wandered over to watch. He was planning on sitting in his usual chair at the head of the table nearest the servants’ hearth, but he found it already occupied by Lord Mirryn.

‘And what are you doing here?’ Gerran said.

‘I could ask the same of you, my lord.’ Mirryn paused for a grin in his general direction. ‘You’ve got a higher rank than me now, married as you are, and here your wife’s with child already. I figure that from now on, I’m the captain of my father’s warband and little more.’

‘If Solla has a son, I’ll gloat then and not before.’ Gerran felt his usual pang of cold fear at the mention of Solla’s pregnancy. What if she dies? He shoved the thought away with a toss of his head. ‘But anyway, it doesn’t matter if you or I or the Lord of Hell call you the captain. What counts is what your father thinks of the matter.’

Not long after they learned exactly that, when Cadryc strode into the great hall. He pulled off his yellow and red plaid cloak, tossed it over the back of his chair at the head of the honour table, then stood looking around him with a puzzled frown. When he spotted Mirryn he walked across to join them. Mirryn got up and turned to face his father. The men gathered around the carnoic game fell silent; those who’d been standing hurriedly knelt. Cadryc waved his hand in their direction to allow them to stand up again, then turned his attention to his son.

‘Well, Mirro,’ Cadryc said, ‘what are you doing over here?’

‘The Falcon’s going to have a dun of his own soon enough,’ Mirryn said. ‘So I’m the captain of your warband now.’

‘Ah.’ Cadryc paused for a long moment. ‘So you are. Carry on with your game, men.’ He turned and walked away, leaving Mirryn open-mouthed but speechless behind him.

The men of the warband looked as stunned as their new captain. They said nothing, but they kept glancing at one another. And what will they think of him? Gerran wondered. He’s never ridden to war. Their carefully arranged faces revealed nothing. Mirryn sat down to a profound silence.

‘That was easy enough,’ Gerran said.

Mirryn nodded and picked up his tankard from the table. The conversation and the wagering resumed, slowly at first, then erupted into cheers from Daumyr’s supporters when his next move won the game.

‘Ai!’ Salamander said. ‘I am vanquished, well and truly conquered, routed, and driven from the field!’

‘I take it that means you don’t want another game,’ Daumyr said.

‘Quite right. You’ve beaten me thrice, and my vanity won’t take another blow.’ Salamander got up with a grin. ‘I think I’ll drown my sorrows in some of our lord’s ale.’

Daumyr turned on the bench and made a sketchy bob that might have signified a bow to the two lords.

‘Here, captain,’ Daumyr said to Mirryn, ‘care to give me a game, my lord?’

‘I do indeed,’ Mirryn said. ‘Bring the board up here, will you?’

Good man, Daumyr! Gerran thought. He decided that he didn’t dare risk acting as if he thought Mirryn needed his backing on his new authority. He went to the honour table and sat down at Cadryc’s left. The tieryn was obviously trying to suppress a grin at the effect he’d just had on his son. Gerran waited until a servant lass had brought Cadryc ale and left again. Carrying his own tankard, Salamander joined them.

‘I don’t know if you want my opinion, your grace,’ Gerran said, ‘but you made the right choice for your new captain.’

‘Good. It gladdens my heart that you agree.’ Cadryc frowned into his tankard. ‘No doubt the lad will have plenty of chances to prove himself, with the cursed Horsekin prowling around.’ He reached into the tankard and pulled out a bit of straw, which he tossed onto the floor before continuing. ‘I just hope it’s not too soon.’

The tieryn and the gerthddyn exchanged a significant glance.

‘Um, well, your grace,’ Gerran said, puzzled, ‘the sooner he gets a chance to draw his first blood, the better.’

‘I know that. Wasn’t what I meant.’ Cadryc glared at his ale again, as if suspecting it of harbouring dark secrets.

‘If there’s more straw in that, we should send one of the lasses to tell Cook.’

‘Um? Oh, true spoken, but it should be all right.’ Cadryc took a long swallow. ‘Naught wrong with it now.’