The Silver Mage. Katharine Kerr
often,’ Hwilli said, ‘to keep an eye on your brother’s progress. But if he shows the least sign of fever, call for a servant and have them come tell me immediately.’
‘I will. A thousand thanks.’
When she walked to the door of the chamber, Rhodorix hurried to join her out in the corridor. She waited for him to speak, but he merely smiled, studying her face, then held out the white crystal. She took it.
‘Um,’ she said, ‘is there something you want to ask me?’
‘A great many things, but since we’ve just met, it would be rude of me.’ He winked at her. ‘May you have a pleasant evening, fair one.’
Hwilli felt her face burning from a blush. She handed back the crystal, turned on her heel, and strode away as fast as she could whilst still retaining her dignity. Yet she had to admit to herself how deeply his teasing had pleased her.
Later it occurred to her that she should tell Master Jantalaber about the actual meaning of the name Rhwmanes. To her surprise she realized that she disliked the idea of doing so, even though she knew that the master would find the information interesting and even, perhaps, important. She decided to keep it as her secret, a scrap of knowledge that the ever so learned People didn’t know and wouldn’t know if she never told them, something that she shared with Rhodorix alone.
In the morning Rhodorix went with Andariel to examine the herd of forty-two horses, mostly roans and greys, which they kept in a paddock behind the fortress, all of them captured in the various battles with the white savages. Some had been wounded; they trembled at the approach of the two-legged beings. Others came right up to the fence to nose the men’s tunics in the hope of a bit of extra food. All of them showed good breeding with their long legs and deep chests.
Two white cows with rusty-red ears stood against the back fence. Rhodorix had never seen that particular bovine variety before. Since Rhodorix had brought the pair of crystals with him, he could talk with the captain.
‘Those cows?’ Rhodorix pointed to them. ‘What are they doing in here?’
‘Oh, they belong to the priests. They’ll be the mid-winter sacrifice,’ Andariel said, grinning. ‘We do know the difference between a cow and these new beasts.’
That’s why they’re white, Rhodorix thought. That’s always best for the sacrifices.
Not far from the cows stood the golden warhorse with the silver mane and tail that Rhodorix had seen on his first day at Garangbeltangim.
‘Has anyone spoken for that horse?’ He gestured at the golden gelding.
‘No one’s spoken for any of them,’ Andariel said.
‘Very well. I’ll take him, then.’
‘Um, should each man have a particular horse?’
‘He should, truly. And he should be caring for it as well, not leaving it to the servants. It makes a bond, like, twixt horse and rider.’
Andariel looked utterly surprised at the idea.
‘How many of your men know how to ride?’ Rhodorix said.
‘None.’ Andariel smiled, a wry twist of his mouth. ‘We save these beasts when we can, and we have some captured seat-things and some head-strap things, but riding on their backs – we don’t know what to do or how to climb onto them.’
‘I see. Do you know how to feed them? They need grain, not just grass.’
‘I’m truly glad you’re here. We didn’t know that, either.’
As they examined the riding stock, Andariel told him more. The People, as they called themselves, lived mostly in the mountains and foothills, where the narrow valley croplands and the terraces cut into the slopes raised barely enough food for themselves. Cattle, goats, and sheep could graze on mountainsides too steep for terracing. Horses were a luxury better suited to flat ground.
Still, when the Meradan warbands had swept down on them, the People had seen the value of speed. The savages never fought on horseback, but the ability to ride fast from one scrap to another, or to make a quick retreat, had given the Meradan too great an edge in the constant raiding and skirmishing. Rhodorix and Gerontos had arrived like one of Evandar’s best gifts.
With Andariel’s help, Rhodorix chose forty guardsmen to learn riding and some of the menservants in the fortress to help tend the horses, then returned to his chamber to see if Gerontos had need of him. Rhodorix found his brother sitting on the edge of the bed and contemplating a wooden crutch while Hwilli stood nearby, watching him. When Rhodorix walked in, she grabbed the white crystal out of the basket.
‘I wish you’d leave them here,’ she snapped.
‘My apologies, but I had to talk with the captain,’ Rhodorix said into the black. ‘Here, Gerro, I hope that leg is going to heal up fast. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. For starters, these people don’t even know how to build a stall, and if they did, they wouldn’t know how to rake it out.’
‘I hope I’ll be up and around soon.’ Gerontos looked at Hwilli. Rhodorix repeated the question through the crystal.
‘He’s doing well,’ Hwilli said, ‘but I don’t want him walking very far.’
‘Out to the courtyard?’ Gerontos said.
She shook her head. ‘Too far. In a few days, maybe.’
‘When can I ride again?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen anyone ride a horse, so I don’t know how difficult it is.’ Hwilli paused, thinking. ‘Well, you’ll have to get well enough to walk first. We’ll decide about the riding later.’
‘It’s probably too soon to start training with the actual horses, anyway.’ Rhodorix perched on the end of the bed. ‘I told some servants how to build a couple of wooden horses. We’ll put them out in the courtyard so the men can learn to vault and mount.’
‘It’s always best to start at the beginning.’ Gerontos grinned at him. ‘That’ll keep them busy until I can walk.’
Coming as he did from a warlike and honour-bound people, Rhodorix had seen plenty of broken limbs in his short life, but he’d never seen one as painless as his brother’s leg seemed to be. The cast did bother Gerro’s skin, however, especially in the warm afternoons, when he complained of the way it itched. Hwilli came in often, and several times a day she gave him a small quantity of the golden liquid. Not long after drinking it, Gerontos would drift off to sleep. Once she was satisfied that her patient was doing well, Hwilli would linger to talk.
‘That yellow stuff must contain a powerful herb,’ Rhodorix said one evening.
‘Powerful, yes, but we make it from mead and the seeds of a red flower, not from a herb,’ Hwilli said. ‘I can’t give it to him constantly, though. If you use too much of it, patients come to crave it. Then when you tell them they can’t have it any more, they weep and rage and carry on like madmen.’
‘Dangerous stuff, then.’
‘A great many things here are.’
‘Was that a warning?’
‘Of a sort, perhaps.’
‘About yourself?’
‘What? Hardly!’ She smiled at him, then let the smile fade. ‘I meant the Meradan, the white savages as you call them. They’re bound to attack us, sooner or later.’
‘Now that’s true-spoken, alas. With a cadvridoc like Ranadarix commanding us, we’ll beat them off again.’
‘We can hope so.’ Her voice wavered.
‘You’re frightened, aren’t you?’ Rhodorix walked over to her.
‘Of course! Any sane person would be frightened.’
‘Well,