Part 17 (2/2)
Brad glanced at her. ”What?”
”The Dalvador Bard.”
His expression turned bleak. ”He is the only one between Avaril and the t.i.tle.”
”Why is Avaril so intent on killing Eldri's family?” Roca curled her fists in her pockets. ”Is he really such a monster?”
Brad squinted at her. ”Actually, one might argue that Avaril has more of a claim to the t.i.tle than Eldrinson.”
That gave Roca pause. She wanted to hate the man who threatened her lover, and she couldn't imagine Eldri trying to kill anyone's family. But she was hardly an unbiased observer. ”Why would Avaril have more of a claim?”
”Avaril's father was the oldest son of the man who served as the Dalvador Bard two generations ago.
Eldrinson's father was the second son.” His voice took the cadence of a storyteller. ”Many years after the Bard lost his wife, he fell in love with a younger woman. Then his oldest son betrayed him. He impregnated the woman and demanded her hand in marriage. His enraged father disinherited him, which made his second son the heir. That was how Eldrinson's father became Bard. The older son did marry the woman, but she died in childbirth, leaving him even more embittered. He taught his rage to his child-Avaril.” Brad exhaled. ”And so Avaril Valdoria swore to avenge his parents.”
Roca pulled her jacket tighter. ”Your people have a saying, yes? The sins of the father-?”
”Shall be visited upon the son. Yes.” A grimace creased his face. ”Let us hope this castle is as una.s.sailable as it looks.”
She s.h.i.+vered. ”Let us hope.”
People filled the dining hall: Garlin, Eldri, soldiers, women and men from the castle. Young people moved among them, serving food and drink. Everyone wore heavy clothes, fur-lined boots, and jackets or cloaks. Only a low fire burned in the great hearth; they were already rationing the gla.s.swood they used for everything but couldn't grow here. Roca and Brad waited on a bench against the wall, out of the way, a few meters from the long table where Eldri and Garlin conferred with several advisers.
Roca crossed her arms. ”We should be over there.”
”Garlin refused,” Brad said.
She rose to her feet. ”Garlin needs to trust us more.”
At first Brad looked as if he would caution against interfering. Then he stood next to her. As they approached the table, Garlin glanced up and frowned at them. Following his gaze, Eldri looked too.
Roca stopped at the table. ”We would like to help.”
”This concerns Windward,” Garlin said. ”Not you.”
”We are here, also,” Roca answered.
He waved his hand at the room full of people. ”So are they. I do not see them interrupting us.”
”We have knowledge they don't.”
Garlin scowled at her. ”This is not about offworlders.”
”It is about defense,” Eldri said mildly. ”Theirs, too.”
”We might be able to offer insights,” Brad added.
”I think they should stay,” Eldri said.
Garlin's urge to send them away was almost palpable, so much so that Roca wondered everyone in the room didn't feel it. But apparently Eldri's wishes superseded his. He motioned curtly at two chairs across the table, set back from his group. ”Be seated then.”
As Roca and Brad settled into the chairs, Roca looked around. Three other people were at the table: an older man with gray hair and a craggy visage; a portly woman, also with graying hair, though surely she was only in her early thirties; and Shaliece, the Memory in the red robe. Shaliece watched them all, her concentration never wavering. It unsettled Roca; she felt as if a holovid camera were recording her every move.
The others resumed their discussion. They spoke in Trillian, but Brad translated for her. The two of them were far enough away from the others that as long as he kept his voice low, it didn't disrupt the conversation.
”They are shocked by Avaril's army,” he said. ”They knew he was gathering men, but they had no idea he had so many.”
She felt their bewildered dismay. ”What did Avaril's man say?”
”He gave Garlin terms for surrender.”
Roca scowled. ”Why should we surrender?”
Brad indicated Eldri, who was gesturing with vehemence as he spoke. ”He asks the same question. It is a standoff. We can't get out and Avaril's army can't get in. They wonder if Avaril can breach the walls.”
He paused. ”Personally, I think he would need flyers to get in here or some other technology they don't possess.”
”What do they say?”
Brad waited for an appropriate opening, then spoke to the others in Trillian. The older man responded, and Brad translated for Roca. ”The walls are strong, probably enough to keep out Avaril.” He paused.
”They measure time differently here, but I think he is saying they have enough stores to last about a standard year, and that only with careful rationing.”
”A year?” She held back her apprehension. ”Surely Dalvador will send reinforcements before then.”
He relayed her question and translated the answer. ”Apparently Avaril has other forces that have engaged the armies of Dalvador and Rillia. Or so his man claims. We have no way to verify it.”
Garlin spoke to Brad in English. ”Can you ask your port for help?”
”I've sent messages.” Brad tapped the palmtop on his belt. ”With a good line of sight from a tower, I can reach the computers. Unfortunately, no one in Dalvador knows to check for messages or how.” He glanced at Roca. ”I sent a message offworld, but it won't travel any faster than light speed.”
The Memory held up her hand. She spoke to Brad in a melodic trill; then, in perfect English, she said, ”But it won't travel any faster than-” and tilted her head.
Brad spoke slowly. ”Light speed.”
She nodded and folded her hands on the table.
Roca smiled at Shaliece. ”You speak English well.”
Everyone at the table froze. The older man rose to his feet, his lips pressed in a line. Eldri spoke quickly, putting his hand on the man's arm, nudging him back into his chair.
Roca glanced at Brad. ”What did I do?”
It was Eldri who answered, his voice gentle. ”The Memory will not speak unless her hand is up. It otherwise disrupts her memory of events.”
Roca spoke to all of them, with Brad translating. ”Please accept my apologies. I am new here and meant no offense.”
<script>