Part 11 (2/2)

Gavril felt tempted to keep Thum out here half the night. ”Tell me more,” he urged when Thum stopped speaking. ”You make the customs of this region come alive for me.”

”Gladly, your highness, but Lord Odfrey awaits you,” Thum said stiffly. Gavril made a deprecating gesture. ”So he does. I had almost forgotten. Come then.”

They walked on, Gavril moving leisurely and Thum crowding his flank. At the opposite end of the walkway, Gavril paused, waiting while Sir Los shouldered forward and pushed through the door first.

When his protector gestured that all was clear, Gavril stepped through.

Thum entered last, gasping and shuddering while Sir Los shut the door with a faint boom that echoed through the stark, unfurnished antechamber. While Thum blew on his hands, they walked along a corridor adorned only with weapons hanging decoratively on the walls, down more stairs, through a public roomhung with tapestries and ma.s.sive, unlit candles, and up a flight of stairs,. At the end of another corridor at last they came to a stout door of oak, banded with iron. A sleepy young page waited on duty there, yawning in the torchlight. Gavril paused several paces away from the door and turned his back abruptly on the idle stare of the page. He met Thum's gaze. ”Swiftly. What is this summons about?” he asked in a low, curt voice.

Thum's hazel-green eyes blinked in surprise. ”I know not.”

”Of course you do. Prepare me. Tell me what Lord Odfrey wants with me.”

”I cannot-”

”You mean you will not.”

Thum's freckled face began to redden. ”No, your highness,” he said calmly. ”I cannot. I do not know.”

”But he sent you. You must have heard him say something of his intentions.” ”I was summoned to the chevard and we talked briefly. Then he said I was to escort you here to him,” Thum replied.

His answer displeased Gavril. ”Yes, you talk often with the chevard, do you not?” he muttered.

”Sir?”

Gavril scowled, and his blue eyes met Thum's hazel ones harshly. ”You talked this afternoon, and saw that I was reprimanded.”

Thum looked astonished. ”Your highness, I did not-” ”Do you call me a liar now, as well?” Gavril broke in.

Thum tried to answer, but Gavril lifted his hand for silence. He shot Thum another glare, and turned away from him.

Striding on, he approached the page, who now snapped to attention, and said, ”Admit me.”

Bowing, the page pushed open the heavy door. It swung slowly, creaking on its hinges, and Gavril entered Lord Odfrey's wardroom. Glancing back over his shoulder, he said to Thum, ”Await me. We are not finished, you and I.” Anger had knotted Thum's brow. He gave Gavril only a sketch of a bow and said, ”Indeed, we have not. I will see myself cleared in your highness's estimation or-” Gavril turned away and walked into the wardroom without letting Thum finish. He glanced around swiftly, with little interest. He had been here before. It was a plain, utilitarian chamber, holding a desk and a locked cabinet, a window shuttered now against the night, a few unevenly burning candles, a miser's fire dying on the hearth in a collapsing heap of coals, and Lord Odfrey's weapons, hanging haphazardly on hooks.

Lord Odfrey's mud-encrusted boots stood drying on the hearth. The room smelled of smoke, dog, damp wool, and melting tallow wax. Gavril's nostrils curled in distaste. The chevard lived like a yeoman instead of a lord.

Lord Odfrey's plain bra.s.s cup stood on the desk, weighing down a litter of papers and maps. A worn leather dispatch case lay open on one corner of the desk, its contents half-raked out into view. But of the man himself, there was no sign.

Gavril's brows pulled together. He swung around and pinned his gaze on the page. ”Where is the chevard?”

”He will return soon,” the boy said, his eyes wary. Gavril had a black reputation among the pages. All of them feared him, which was exactly as he wanted it. ”He said if your highness came, I was to bid you await him here.” Gavril could not believe this insult. Again and again, Lord Odfrey dealt him rudeness and discourtesy. To leave, knowing his prince was coming, was a deliberate slight. ”And how long am I to wait?” Gavril asked in a voice like silk.

The page backed up a step, his hand groping behind him for the door. ”Not long, I believe, your highness. Uh, let me fetch your highness some cider.” And the boy dashed out, slamming the door behind him, before Gavril could ask him anything else.

Fuming, Gavril paced around the wardroom, kicking a leather-covered stool out of his way. He ended up beside Lord Odfrey's desk. Frowning, he glared at it, and noticed the maps half-unrolled atop the general litter of papers. The top map was of Nold.

Gavril caught his breath and glanced over his shoulder at the door. Sir Los stood there. The protector met his gaze in silence.

”Lock it,” Gavril said.

Sir Los didn't even blink; he was too well trained for that. Putting a hand on the pull-latch, he said, ”There's no key.”

”Then hold it. Let no one enter and surprise me.”

”Be quick, your highness,” Sir Los said. ”For I hear the footsteps of someone approaching.”

”Morde!” Gavril said. He grabbed up the map, knocking over the cup of cider in the process. Brown liquid sloshed out, staining papers and running off the edge of the desk onto the floor.

Gavril batted the cup off the desk, sending it flying across the room, where it banged against the stone hearth. Swearing to himself, he swiped the sticky cider off most of the papers, and watched ink running and melting together. Outside, footsteps paused at the door, which then swung open, only to bang against the solid shoulders of Sir Los, who had braced his feet and did not move aside. ”What's this?” Lord Odfrey asked in surprise. ”Who blocks my door?” There was no time to clean up the mess. There was no time to study the map, which was large and exquisitely detailed. Frustrated, Gavril put it down on top of the desk, hiding the wet papers, and sprang away from the desk. At his gesture, Sir Los stepped aside from the door.

Pushed hard from the other side, the door banged violently into the wall. Lord Odfrey stood framed in the doorway, scowling. Rid of his hauberk, and clad instead in a knee-long tunic of old-fas.h.i.+oned cut and leggings of dark green wool, soft cloth shoes on his feet, and a niching of pale linen s.h.i.+rt showing at his neck, Lord Odfrey looked younger and less formidable. His hand, scarred across the knuckles and wearing only a plain signet ring, tightened visibly on the parchment scroll he was carrying. One of his rangy hounds thrust its slim head beneath his master's hand. Behind him stood Thum and the page, both craning their necks to see inside.

Lord Odfrey's dark eyes narrowed on Gavril. ”Your highness has come at last, I see.” He sounded short-tempered and tired.

Gavril lifted his chin. ”I was about to leave, thinking I had been summoned in error.”

”What error?” Lord Odfrey asked, stepping into the wardroom. His dog gazed up at him in adoration, then lay down near the hearth. ”What error?” he repeated. ”I sent Maltie to you a full hour ago.”

Gavril was in no mood to bear another unjust reprimand. Gritting his teeth, he said, ”I have answered your summons. What is it you wish to discuss with me?” ”Little enough now at this late hour,” Lord Odfrey said in his gruff way. ”First of all, has your highness brought any letters? My dispatches to the king are almost complete. The messenger will ride out at dawn. Your letters can go in his pouch.”

Gavril moved uneasily away from Lord Odfrey's desk. He wondered if the cider had ruined those dispatches. If so, if Lord Odfrey questioned him about it, he would blame the page's clumsiness rather than his own.

”Any letters, your highness?”

Gavril started and pulled his thoughts together. ”Uh, no. I have not yet found the time to write to my father the king.”

Lord Odfrey grunted and s.h.i.+fted impatiently to something else. ”I have some questions about your hunt today-” ”Surely we have discussed the matter enough,” Gavril broke in. ”Your reprimand was clear, my lord. You need not repeat it.”

”I have no intention of repeating it,” Lord Odfrey said impatiently. ”I want to know if you saw any signs of battle while you were in the forest. Any trampled ground? Any signs of warning ... bits of red cloth fluttering from branches, that sort of thing? Any runes scratched into the trunks of trees?” ”No.”

Lord Odfrey sighed, but he did not look relieved. ”Did you smell any smoke?”

”No.”

The chevard clasped his hands behind him and began to pace back and forth in front of the hearth. If he noticed the cup lying dented in the corner, he did not mention it. Nor, to Gavril's relief, did he approach his desk. ”A messenger just came from Silon town downriver. There's been trouble there with dwarf raiders. You were lucky today to leave the forest unscathed.” The brush with danger, however faint and until now unknown, pleased Gavril. He puffed out his chest. ”We did not venture far into Nold, but had we encountered any war parties, I a.s.sure you we would have fought.” Lord Odfrey snorted. ”You'd have had little choice otherwise.” His glance shot to Sir Los before Gavril could find a retort. ”And you, protector? Did you notice aught while the boys were coursing their stag?” ”I did not, my lord,” Sir Los replied respectfully.

”d.a.m.ne. The eld was more informative than either of you. I should have kept him for questioning.”

”It is against law and Writ to keep pagans beneath a roof that houses the faithful,” Gavril said.

Lord Odfrey glared at him. ”That's as may be,” he replied curtly. ”But it's upland custom that eldin bring good luck to households that give them shelter.” ”Old superst.i.tions should be stamped out when they appear, not encouraged.” ”If the dwarves decide to carry their war across our border, we'll have need of all the luck we can find, whether it's church luck or pagan.” Gavril drew in a sharp breath. ”That'sblasphemy!”

”No, it's practicality-something you need to acquire, my prince. Good night.” Gavril stood there with his mouth open, astonished to find himself dismissed so curtly. ”We have not yet finished this discussion,”

he said. ”There's no discussion here,” Lord Odfrey said. He left the hearth and headed toward his desk, but Gavril stood between him and the table, blocking his path. Lord Odfrey stopped and scowled. ”I've asked my questions, and you've given me no answers. It's late. Go to bed.”

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