Bard by Keith Taylor

Author:Keith Taylor [Taylor, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General
ISBN: 9780441049127
Google: EcBmAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0441049125
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1984-04-01T22:00:00+00:00

VI.

Buckled with gold and white-mantled in ermine,

Decked like a king with a bride to attend,

I doss on cold hillsides where night-prowling vermin

Are avid for that which I’m fain to defend;

My life I must gamble, the truth to determine,

And only the dark silent gods know the end.

Felimid mac Fal, The Seeking of Kincaid

TREASURE THE ERMINE’S PELT WAS, despite the time of year and a dead man’s desperate piercing. It had remained fully white though the trees were budding.

The skin had not been badly rent. When it had attacked, bloodthirsty as its tiny cousin the weasel, the robber had not had time to strike more than once, and although he had spitted the creature through, it hadn’t availed him. The ermine had survived to rip him vindictively to shreds, serve his horse the same, and then run three miles with Kincaid impaling her body before she would condescend to die.

Looking at the serpentine body, Felimid pictured its deadly, slippery-gaited rush, the eager fangs imbrued in gore, the terror-stricken screams of the horse as that furred white demon clung to its back, ripping. He was just as glad not to have met the ermine while she had lived.

He bundled the pelt behind his saddle, reflecting that he became more tempting to robbers each day. The witch’s crow perched on his shoulder as they rode, too glutted now to fly. Kyle was taken aback to learn who and what Brandubh was.

‘I knew that old woman had the look of a witch,’ he muttered. ‘We should have taken time to hang her.’

Brandubh looked at him malevolently. ‘For that, may nine misfortunes come upon you,· he croaked. The horse-lord cursed, and clutched at Brandubh, who flapped heavily away from his reaching hands.

‘Easy!’ Felimid said, laughing. ‘So u saw the old woman as u rode after me, did u? Did her grandson still lie unburied?’

‘If that was the slain man she mourned over-yes,’ Kyle answered, a bit shortly. ‘She directed us on your trail. . .

‘Treacherous old sow,’ said the bard, but mildly, for he was not surprised. ‘Us. u say? You set out with backing, then. How did u come to be following me alone?’

Kyle shrugged. ‘Ill luck. When we came to the ford of the Kennet. we found it impassable, swollen by rain. It was too turbulent to walk through and too shallow to swim, so we rode upstream.

‘We found a place where the stream ran narrow between high banks, but the flood had deeply undercut both. I decided to try the leap. We made it, Whitebrow and I, although a long wide strip of earth split away from the bank under his hooves as we landed, and he scrambled to secure footing by the width of a pastern. When I looked back, I saw another segment breaking away from the far bank. After that, the gap was too wide for any horse and rider to jump. I told my men to go home. For myself, I didn’t choose to quit following you – I’d have brought you back if I could, Felimid.

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