‘Jill, what do you mean?’ Dwaen said. ‘How do you know?’
She shook her head, on the verge of trembling. ‘I don’t know how I know, Your Grace, but I do know. We can ride south all we want, but we won’t find her.’
In the event, Jill was proved right, but they did take a prize of sorts. The gwerbret left Tieryn Dwaen and Lord Cadlew behind to keep order at the dun, then rode out with Lord Beryn and a token escort from his personal warband. Rhodry went with them to bring back a report for the tieryn. In the blue twilight they trotted fast down a dirt road and headed for the forest preserve where Beryn had his hunting lodge. By the time they reached the forest edge night had fallen, forcing Beryn to slow the line of march. Their only road was a winding track between old oaks.
‘I trust his lordship knows the trail,’ Coryc shouted.
‘Like a gamekeeper,’ Beryn called back. ‘It’s not far now.’
In a bit a faint glow appeared in the darkness ahead. Cursing under his breath, Beryn broke into a jog and headed straight for it. Rhodry kicked his tired horse and caught up just as they burst out into a clearing, wherein stood a long wooden building, half-house, half-shed. The glow came from its unshuttered windows, a pleasant firelight burning against the night’s chill. Out in front three men were yelling at each other as they frantically tried to saddle their horses; they’d been warned by the unmistakable clatter of riders coming their way. Screaming a warcry, Beryn drew his sword with a flourish and charged. Sword in hand, Rhodry followed, but at the sight of the gwerbret and his men pouring into the clearing, the three fell to their knees and cried surrender.
‘Where’s Mallona?’ Beryn yelled. ‘Where’s my wife?’
‘Not here, my lord. I swear it! We were waiting for Bavydd to bring her.’
The lords and their men dismounted and surrounded their prey.
Rhodry ducked into the house and took a good look round. Bedrolls and other gear lay strewn on the uneven wood floor; hunting spears hung on the wall by the rough hearth. Judging from the garbage strewn about, the pack had been waiting here for some days. Only one unusual thing caught his eye, a little silver chain, lying on a bench near the door. When he picked it up, he found hanging from it not a pendant or silver bauble, but a raven’s feather. Reflexively he slipped it into his pocket, then trotted back out and found the three men spilling everything they knew in the hope of a quick death, not a slow one.
Jill’s theories had been as accurate as they needed to be. Petyn had hired the fellows in a town to the south, where they were hanging round a tavern in the hope of getting work as caravan guards. He’d taken them to the hunting lodge, where Bavydd had turned up, scattering coins and bringing good provisions to buy loyalty. At first they’d had their doubts about the job, until Bavydd made it clear they weren’t really going to murder Dwaen, just make it look like they were going to.
‘But then he told us to take that lady on the road,’ one of the men burst out. ‘I didn’t like that.’ He shot his fellows a venomous glance. ‘Bastards, all of you, and Petyn was the worst.’
‘Oh, bastards, are we?’ snarled the other. ‘You were quick enough to take that fat merchant’s coin, lad.’
‘That’s enough,’ Coryc said. ‘What did the merchant tell you to do to the lady after you’d taken her?’
‘Whatever we wanted to,’ the lad said. ‘I didn’t like that, Your Grace, I swear it. We were to bring her here, have our sport with her, and talk like we were Beryn’s men. Then we were supposed to put her back on her horse and let her go.’
‘It’s a cursed good thing Tieryn Dwaen isn’t here right now,’ Coryc remarked, to no one in particular.
All three of the captured men were staring at Rhodry.
‘Oh, I recognize you well enough.’ Rhodry turned to the gwerbret. ‘These are the lads, all right, who killed Dwaen’s rider, the one who was escorting Ylaena and her serving woman.’
‘Very well, silver dagger. They’ll pay for that, too. My lord Beryn? Let’s get our three rats on their horses and get back to your dun.’
Before they rode out, Beryn found a torch in the lodge and lit it at the hearth, then had one of the gwerbret’s men put out the fire. Everyone followed the bobbing point of light from the torch at the head of the line as they picked their way back through the forest and across the meadow. By the time they reached the dun, it was close to midnight.
Beryn’s great hall, such as it was, was crammed with men, sitting on straw, standing and leaning against the wall, while frantic servants rushed back and forth with ale and bread. The noble-born found what stools and benches they could and moved them round the battered-planks-over-trestles that served Beryn as a table of honour. Beryn sat slouched in the only chair, one foot braced against the table, and drank steadily, looking across the room with eyes so dark it was doubtful that he was seeing the farther wall.
‘Now, here,’ Coryc said at last. ‘It’ll be futile to take tired men on tired horses out on the south road tomorrow. I want to see your lady brought to justice as much as you do, but by the hells, we don’t even know if she went straight south. If she keeps her wits about her, she’ll ride a roundabout road to throw us off the track.’
Beryn grunted and stared into his tankard of ale.
‘Wits are the one thing she’s never lacked,’ Dwaen put in. ‘I wonder if we’ll ever get her back.’
‘I’ll send messengers to Cerrmor tomorrow,’ Coryc said. ‘The gwerbret there will relay them to the city council, and out of courtesy to him, they’ll find her.’
‘If she’s even going to Cerrmor,’ Jill muttered.
The noble-born ignored her and went on squabbling for some time, until Dwaen found his common sense.
‘Now here, Your Grace, we’ve got a pair of silver daggers, and they’re famous for tracking men who need to be tracked. Why not a woman?’
‘True spoken.’ Coryc turned to Rhodry. ‘I’ll put a bounty on her. There’ll be fifty silver pieces for you if you bring her back to my justice.’
‘His grace is most generous,’ Rhodry said. ‘But there’s somewhat about being a bounty hunter that rubs me wrong.’
‘Don’t be a dolt, Rhodry,’ Jill snapped. ‘That’s enough coin to buy you a remount if you lose your horse in a scrap someday.’
‘True enough. Well and good, Your Grace, we’ll take your hire – if, of course, Tieryn Dwaen will release me.’
‘Gladly. I don’t suppose my life’s in danger any more.’
Beryn got up, the tankard in his hand.
‘Not from me. That rotten young cub of mine was too much like his mother, anyway.’
Beryn hurled the tankard against the wall, then ran from the room. They heard the door slam behind him.
‘The poor old bastard,’ Cadlew remarked with a sigh. ‘I’m blasted glad now I never screwed his wife.’
‘You’re the very soul of honour,’ Dwaen said. ‘But you should be glad for more reasons than one. If she’d got tired of you, she might have served you some cursed strange mead.’ All the men laughed in a small spasm of nerves.
Noble-born and commoners alike, the men found themselves what places they could to sleep that night. A little hunting out in the ward brought Rhodry and Jill a storage shed, festooned with the few remaining strings of last year’s onions, with enough room near the door for them to spread out their blankets. Exhausted as he was, Rhodry sat awake, watching the dapples of candlelight on the rough walls.
‘What’s wrong?’ Jill said.
‘I just keep thinking of poor old Bavydd.