Выбрать главу

“I am Ogric, Castellan Ferec’s master of table, at your service,” he said. “In a moment, I will bring you to the banquet hall. We maintain little protocol here. When the castellan enters, he asks that no one stand or bow, and you may eat and drink as soon as he gives you greeting.” He beckoned them to follow and led them across the chamber into the room beyond.

This room was enormous, clearly meant for feasting. A wide trestle ran the length of the room, with three shorter, narrower tables butted against it. Whitewashed walls were hung with pale blue or yellow banners, and a length of cloth in the same colors dipped from the ceiling. Several men already sat at the main table, though the central three chairs at the head were still unoccupied. At the other tables, Eddis saw everything from graybeards in soldiers tunics to men and women she recognized from the market and the shops. Ogric led them to places at the middle table, closest to the long trestle and opposite the empty chairs. Eddis let M’Baddah hand her into the first of those before settling next to her, his son at his left elbow. Jerdren was across from her, Blor next to him. The rest of this table was mostly taken up by military-looking men, most of whom were curiously eyeing the newcomers. She glanced at Jerdren, who grinned back.

Servants came in to distribute bowls of bread. Men in dark tunics followed, ladling wine into cups. Other servants followed, pouring soup and setting out small pots of dried herbs for seasoning the steaming broth. It smelled wonderful, Eddis thought.

A sharp, echoing rap brought attention to the long trestle. Ogric tapped his staff on the floor a second time. “Castellan Ferec,” he announced, and inclined his head as a tall, black-haired and black-bearded man in plain blue tunic and breeches strode into the room followed by two older men who also wore unfigured blue.

Eddis glanced across the table as Jerdren gasped.

“By my grandsire’s beard,” he whispered. “That’s the man who called himself Hollis!”

Blorys tugged at his brother’s sleeve. “The castellan? He’s the man you talked to yesterday, the clerk?”

“I thought he was a clerk,” Jerdren replied. “I’m just trying to recall what I said to him.” He fell silent as the three men stood at the center of the trestle.

Ferec waited for the low murmur of conversation to die away. “Guests, friends, protectors, and companions,” he said warmly, “eat and drink with me.” He smiled at the outsiders as he and his men took their seats. “We dine first here in the Keep and turn to business later.”

Once the meal began, a low murmur of conversation filled the chamber. The castellan’s attention had been claimed by the man on his right. Eddis was talking to M’Baddah. Blorys got Jerdren’s attention again.

“You remember what you said to him?” he asked in a noncarrying voice.

The older man shrugged. “Nothing rude,” he replied in kind. “I was hoping to learn about the sortie against the bandits and put in a good word for us, remember? Odd, though. I’ve heard of men in power doing that kind of thing—checking men and stories for themselves, rather than waiting for a clerk’s report. Never expected to be taken in that way myself.”

“He’s said to be a good judge of character, Jers.”

Jerdren picked up his soup and drank. “Good stuff. I hope so, Blor. I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Across from him, Eddis was nibbling bread she’d dipped in her broth.

“Gods,” he murmured. “Doesn’t that woman ever eat? All I’ve seen her do is pick at food!”

Blorys nudged him in the ribs with a hard elbow. “Be quiet, Brother, she’ll hear you!”

I heard that, Eddis thought, but decided to ignore him.

Soup cups were taken away, and platters of sliced meat and bowls of dripping juices followed. Ferec spoke quietly with the men on either side of him and let his guests alone to eat and drink.

Halfway through the final course—baked, sweetened apples filled with cream—the man nearest M’Whan began talking to him, too quietly for Jerdren to make out what was going on. Then the fellow beyond Blor engaged his brother in conversation. Some moments later, both Keep men rose and went around to the head table, where they spoke at length with Ferec, who set aside his cup to listen gravely. Jerdren forced himself to continue eating and drinking.

More wine was served, and as the servants came forward to remove plates and cups, most of the other guests rose quietly and left the room, leaving only the military men, the older guardsmen who’d shared their table, themselves—and the castellan and his advisors. As the outer doors closed, Ferec rapped sharply on the table. All conversation ceased at once.

“Jerdren, I heard from you personally and from the hide merchant Lodis about the service you and your men did us. And I learned this morning about your feats, Eddis—bringing those priests and their burden safely here, and personally stopping a thief so skilled none of my men had been able to catch him in the act. My thanks to you all, and the thanks of the Keep’s guards and citizens.

“As token of our gratitude, my late master would have given you coin and gems. Unfortunately, he is ten years dead, and though we still hold these walls, we no longer prosper. But you deserve recompense.”

“Sir,” Eddis put in quietly, “there is no need. We did what we had to, nothing more.”

Jerdren’s boot pushed against her leg, hard, and he scowled at her.

Ferec smiled. “I expected you would say that. But valor deserves recognition, and my close advisors and I believe we have found a way to reward you.” He got to his feet. “If you will come to my study, we can talk further.”

They followed him and his men out a different door and down a long hall, up a flight of stairs. “Men before us and behind us,” Jerdren muttered to his brother. “Think perhaps they still don’t quite trust us?”

Eddis nudged him and cast him a sidelong, warning look.

Ferec led the way into a room at the head of the steps. Like the old man’s chamber next to the banquet hall, this was a plain room, dominated by a table piled high with rolled parchments, quills, and maps. A smaller table against one wall held two fat candles and a tray with pitcher and cups. Several cushioned stools stood about the room. The castellan took his seat behind the table and shoved everything aside but the maps. Eddis and Jerdren were shown to the stools nearest the table, and the rest chose for themselves.

There was a brief silence, which Ferec broke, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on Jerdren. “Yesterday, you and I spoke for some time in this room. I am sorry if you feel deceived, but I find it often useful to use the guise of a simple clerk to learn what men think of me, of the Keep, and the way we care for what we have. Often, people will speak more freely to a mere lackey than to the leader—or so I’ve found.”

Jerdren shrugged. “You’ve the right, sir, to do as you choose. Perhaps I’d have felt ill at ease, thinking I was coming here to talk to a guardsman and finding myself with the master.”

“Not ‘sir’, Jerdren. Castellan or Ferec. You told me something of your battle on the road. Give us the details now, if you will.”

“Well…” He made as terse and short a story of it as he could and answered a few questions from one of the graybeards.

“Myself, I doubt the men we fought are part of the armed camp you want. These men set up a lousy ambush that fell apart almost at once. They had more men, but we came away with only a few minor wounds and killed maybe half of them.”

“Perhaps,” the castellan allowed and turned his attention to Eddis. Between them, she and M’Baddah described the brief one-sided fight on the steep road.

“We never got close to the big man on the rocks,” Eddis finished. “The other two—there seemed no reason to stay behind and study them. There might have been more men hidden, and we had two men to deliver safely here. As for that fellow in the tavern, Castellan—that was luck only.”