Daggerspell. Katharine Kerr
rightfully mine. The honor of my warband calls out for vengeance! We’ll fight to the last man.”
“Pity we can’t arm the swine,” Cullyn said. “Everyone will fight for their own food.”
“Now, splendid!” Braedd gave him a delighted grin. “They shall have little helms, with their tusks for swords, and we shall teach them to trot at the sound of a horn.”
“Your Grace?” Glyn moaned.
“Well, truly, I ramble again.”
Glyn and Abryn, the councillor’s son as it turned out, took Jill and Cullyn out to the last building standing in the ward, the barracks. As was usually the case, the warband slept directly above the stables. In the winter, the body heat from the horses helped keep the men warm, but now, on this warm summer day, the smell of horse was overwhelming. Glyn showed Cullyn a pair of unoccupied bunks, then lingered to watch as Cullyn began to stow away their gear.
“You know, silver dagger, I don’t mind admitting that it gladdens my heart to have a man of your experience joining the warband.”
“My thanks. Have you served the tieryn long, good sir?”
“All his life. I served his father first, you see, and truly, he was a great man. He’s the one who settled the war, and more by law than the sword. I fear me that Tieryn Braedd takes more after his grandfather.” Glyn paused, turning to Abryn. “Now, Abryn, Jill is our guest, so be courteous to her and take her outside to play.”
“That means you’re going to say somewhat interesting,” Abryn whined.
“Jill,” Cullyn said. “Out.”
Jill grabbed Abryn’s arm and hustled him out of the barracks fast. They lingered by the stables and watched the geese waddling through the rubble.
“Do those geese bite?” Jill said.
“They do. Huh, I bet you’re scared.”
“Oh, do you, now?”
“You’re a lass. Lasses are always scared.”
“We are not.”
“You are, too. And you’ve got a funny name. Jill’s not a real name. It’s a bondwoman’s name.”
“So what?”
“What do you mean, so what? It’s the worst thing, being one of the bondfolk. You shouldn’t be wearing those brigga, either.”
“I am not a bondwoman! And my da gave me these brigga.”
“Your da’s a silver dagger, and they’re all scum.”
Jill hauled back and hit him in the face as hard as she could. Abryn shrieked and hit back, but she dodged and punched him on the ear. With a howl, he leapt for her and knocked her down. But she shoved her elbow into his stomach until he let go. They wrestled, kicking, punching, and writhing, until Jill heard Cullyn and Glyn yelling at them to stop. Suddenly Cullyn grabbed Jill by the shoulders and pulled her off the helpless Abryn.
“Now, what’s all this?”
“He said silver daggers were all scum. So I hit him.”
Abryn sat up sniveling and wiping his bloody nose. Cullyn gave Jill a broad grin, then hastily looked stern again.
“Now, here, Abryn!” Glyn grabbed the boy. “That’s a nasty way to treat a guest! If you don’t learn courtesy, how can you serve a great lord someday?”
Berating him all the while, Glyn hauled Abryn off into the broch. Cullyn began brushing the dirt off Jill’s clothes.
“By the asses of the gods, my sweet, how did you learn to fight like that?”
“Back in Bobyr, you know? All the children always called me a bastard, and they said I had a bondwoman’s name, and so I’d hit them. And then I learned how to win.”
“Well, so you did. Ye gods, you’re Cullyn of Cerrmor’s daughter, sure enough.”
For the rest of the day, Jill and Abryn scrupulously avoided each other, but on the morrow morning Abryn came up to her. He looked at the ground near her feet and kicked a lump of dirt with the toe of his clog.
“I’m sorry I said your da was scum, and my da said you can have any name you want to, and you can wear brigga if you want to, and I’m sorry about all of it.”
“My thanks. And I’m sorry I made your nose bleed. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
Abryn looked up grinning.
“Want to play warrior? I’ve got two wooden swords.”
For the next couple of days, life went on quietly in Tieryn Braedd’s dun. In the mornings, Cullyn and two of the riders rode out to patrol the oak wood; in the afternoons, the tieryn and the other two riders relieved them. Jill helped Abryn with his tasks round the dun, which left them plenty of time to play at swords or with Abryn’s leather ball. Jill’s only problem was Abryn’s mother, who believed Jill should be learning needlework instead of playing outside. Jill grew quite clever at avoiding her. At meals, the warband ate at one table in the great hall, while the tieryn and Glyn’s family ate at another. Once the councillor retired to his chambers, however, Braedd would come drink with the riders. He always talked about the feud, which he knew year by year, from the events that had happened long before he was born down to the most recent insult.
Finally, after about a week of this pleasant routine, Braedd hurried over to the warband’s table one evening with his pale eyes gleaming. He had news: a servant had been to the local village and overheard gossip about Ynydd’s plans.
“The baseborn pusboil! He’s claiming that since the swine rights are his, he can send in his swine any time he likes, summer or fell. They say he’s planning on sending a few pigs in under armed guard.”
Except for Cullyn, the warband began cursing and slamming their tankards on the table.
“And I say he won’t set one trotter in my woods,” Braedd went on. “From now on, the full warband’s going to ride on patrol.”
The warband cheered.
“Your Grace?” Cullyn broke in. “If I may speak?”
“By all means. I value your experience in the field highly.”
“My thanks, Your Grace. Well, here, the woods are a bit long for only one patrol. The warband might be down at one end while Ynydd’s making his entry at the other. We’d best split into two patrols and ride a crisscross route. We can use the page and a servant to send messages and suchlike.”
“Well spoken! We’ll do that, and take Abryn along with us.”
“Can I go, Your Grace?” Jill burst out. “I’ve got my own pony.”
“Jill, hush!” Cullyn snapped.
“Now, there’s a lass with her father’s spirit,” Braedd said with a grin. “You may come indeed.”
Since Braedd was the tieryn and he the silver dagger, Cullyn could say nothing more, but he gave Jill a good slap later when he got her alone.
After two days of riding with the patrol, Jill regretted pressing the issue, because she found herself bored. With Cullyn and two riders, she trotted up to one end of the wood, then turned and trotted back to meet the tieryn and the rest of the warband—back and forth, from dawn to dusk. Her one solace was that she got to carry a beautiful silver horn slung over her shoulder on a leather strap. Finally, on the third day, when they’d been out on patrol no more than an hour, Jill heard a strange noise a good ways from them on the edge of the woods. She slowed her pony and fell back to listen: a clattering, grunting, snorfling sound.
“Da!” Jill called out. “I hear pigs and horses!”
The three men swung their horses around and rode back.
“So