‘And that must gripe the very soul of your god,’ Travaberiel put in. ‘To say naught of all your priestly souls.’
‘Just that. All that ancient lore, shut away from us! It also makes the laws very—’ Rhys waggled a hand in the air. ‘Very flexible, let us say. If the priests want a bit of land or some coin for a temple building.’
‘Ye gods!’ Cavan said. ‘Are you saying they take bribes?’
‘We don’t know if they take bribes. How can we if we don’t know the actual laws? They can say anything they like when it comes to most disputes.’
All three of them had a long thoughtful swallow of ale.
‘I’ve walked into the middle of a holy brawl, you mean,’ Cavan said.
‘And taken a side before you even knew it. We’re going to need to smuggle you out of town some way or the other,’ Rhys said. ‘Do you have a hire somewhere?’
‘Naught. I came to Aberwyn because I heard of a feud brewing up on the border twixt your gwerbret and the Bear clan. Work for my blade, I thought.’
Across the table, Trav set down his tankard and leaned closer. ‘That situation’s a fair bit nastier than you might think. You might want to look in some other direction.’
‘Indeed?’ Cavan said. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d tell me more.’
‘I don’t know much more, is the difficulty.’ Trav frowned at his tankard. ‘But last I heard, it might involve some of my people as well as the village your two lords are squabbling over. You don’t want to end up spitted like a chicken.’
‘I see. My thanks for the warning. Huh, that explains why the word went out. That the lords involved would want silver daggers. They’ll put us right in front so the archers can take aim at us, not their sworn men.’
Travaberiel winced.
‘Just my luck!’ Cavan said. ‘To hear about trouble that turns out to be twice trouble.’
The silence hung for a moment between them.
‘You’re a lucky man in one way, though.’ Rhys apparently had decided to lighten the mood. ‘Gaining Alyssa’s favor like that. None of the other lads have had so much as a kind look from her.’
Cavan allowed himself a grin and had a long drink of ale.
‘I—’ Rhys paused and turned on the bench. ‘What is it, lad?
A servant trotted over and made him a sketchy bow. ‘A message from your betrothed. She needs to speak with you and your guest.’
‘Well and good, then. We’ll go out directly.’ He glanced Cavan’s way. ‘The lasses can’t come in here, and we can’t go into their hall, either, except on certain festival days.’
Mavva was waiting for them on the lawn not far from the door into Wmm’s hall. With her stood a blonde young woman who wore her red surcoat over a brown dress of Bardekian silk. As the two men approached, the blonde lass raised a reading-glass and peered at Cavan through it.
‘That’s Lady Dovina,’ Rhys murmured. ‘The gwerbret’s daughter.’
‘My lady.’ Cavan bowed to her.
When she extended her hand, he caught it and brushed his lips across the back of it in a courtesy kiss.
‘Hah!’ Dovina said. ‘You are noble-born. I wondered about that.’
Cavan winced and cursed himself. Quite without thinking he’d given himself away. Rhys shot him a startled glance.
‘Don’t worry,’ Dovina went on. ‘Whatever you did to earn that dagger is none of my affair. In fact, your birth eases my mind a fair bit. Alyssa needs an escort to Haen Marn. We’re going to hire you to escort her. But I expect you to treat her as delicately as you’d treat the queen herself. If you do, there’s a good bit of silver in the hire for you.’
‘Splendid idea!’ Rhys put in. ‘If we can get the pair of you out of the town gates safely.’
‘During Cradoc’s funeral.’ Dovina took a folded bit of pabrus out of her kirtle and handed it to Rhys. ‘Father just sent me this message. Tomorrow our teacher’s body comes back to us. The Bardic Guild will be joining Lady Rhodda Hall for a grand procession out to the sacred grove.’ Dovina frowned as she thought something through. ‘We’ll have to get a horse for Alyssa. The pair of them can ride in the procession and then just keep riding when the procession turns aside to go into the grove.’
‘Excellent!’ Rhys said. ‘We can get together provisions and the like from the collegia. And saddlebags. Alyssa can tell anyone who asks that they’re carrying offerings for the grave.’
‘Good idea!’ Dovina gave him an approving smile. ‘Now listen closely, Cavan. Only Alyssa can draw the coin that will pay your hire. The money will be waiting at Haen Marn itself. If you give her the least bit of trouble, you won’t get paid.’
‘Here!’ Cavan snapped. ‘I’ve not agreed yet.’
‘Do you want to stay in town and hang?’ Dovina smiled brightly at him. ‘Sooner or later, Father will puzzle out where you’re hiding and get the court to force Wmm’s men to hand you over. He is the court, you know. Which means he gets to pass the sentence, too.’
Cavan sighed and rubbed his neck with one hand.
‘Ah, you understand me,’ Dovina went on. ‘Well?’
‘My thanks, my lady. I’ll take your hire gladly.’
And, he reminded himself, the hire offered compensations. Although he had every intention of treating Alyssa as honorably as he’d treat the queen, even queens were known to take a fancy to a man now and then. No doubt a common-born lass would care less for her delicate honor than a high-born woman. Never would he give Alyssa ‘trouble’, as her ladyship had termed it, but it would hardly be trouble if she were willing. The memory of that kiss in the market square made him smile, until he realized that Dovina was watching him with her lips set tight, as if she knew what he was thinking.
‘I’m going to tell Alyssa that you’re noble-born,’ Dovina said. ‘That way she’ll know better than to believe a honeyed word you say.’
With that she turned and marched off back to the women’s hive. Cavan bowed out of habit, but he would rather have snarled. As he walked back to Wmm’s with Rhys, he noticed Travaberiel standing in the doorway, watching them with a polite little smile. Smile or not, Cavan felt his suspicions catch fire. What was this fellow, a spy? People always said you couldn’t trust the Westfolk if their interests crossed yours. They’re not truly human, he reminded himself. Let’s just stay on guard.
Yet what if Travaberiel had dwimmer? The ancient magic – dweomer, they called it in the old days; so many people said it was only an old wives’ tale, a silly superstition, or maybe at most a debased witchery. Cavan, however, had seen and felt things that had convinced him it was real and true, perhaps the only truth that mattered. Or was it just that he so badly wanted the dwimmer to be real? He could never be sure, but one thing he did know. The wanting was real enough.
The first difficulty in making their escape, Alyssa soon realized, lay in hiding the preparations from Lady Tay. Fortunately, Malyc Penvardd, who was allowed into the women’s great hall because of his advanced age, arrived to dine with Lady Tay and plan Cradoc’s funeral. An average-looking fellow, neither tall nor short, with gray hair that barely covered his head, he had a face as wrinkled as the sea. Yet he strode into the collegium grounds as vigorously as