Daggerspell (Deverry) by Kerr Katharine

Author:Kerr, Katharine [Kerr, Katharine]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780307755834
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

Getting the caravan on the road seemed to take an eternity. Cullyn kept on the move, yelling orders, as the men got the mules loaded and themselves mounted on the spare horses. During the march, he rode up and down the line, yelling and bullying everyone to ride as fast as they could, occasionally slapping the rump of a balky mule with the flat of his sword to keep it trotting. At last they came to the ruined dun, rising from the wild grass with all the loneliness of a cairn marking a warrior’s grave. Although the stone walls and the broch itself looked sound, the wooden gates and outbuildings had long since rotted away. Weeds and ivy ran riot in the ward. Cullyn herded the caravan inside.

“Get the mules and horses inside the broch! Feed them to keep them calm.”

When he saw his orders being followed, he ran round to the back of the ward and found the well. As he’d expected, it had fallen in and was choked with rubble as well as ivy. He ran back into the broch and detailed three muleteers to rush to the nearby stream and fill every pot and waterskin they had. Off to one side he saw Aderyn testing the rusty spiral staircase that led up to the second floor.

“It should hold my weight,” Aderyn announced. “I wouldn’t let a man of your size try it.”

“I doubt me if the floor above will hold anyone.” Cullyn glanced up at the rotten timbers.

“I have to try. I need a high place that’s also private. I can’t be scaring the men out of their wits with dweomer.”

Cullyn felt a bit queasy himself.

“Jill said Loddlaen is a lord’s councillor,” Aderyn went on. “Could he persuade his lord to send men to murder us?”

“It depends on how much this Corbyn honors him, I suppose, but it’s hard to believe. Do you think Loddlaen’s trying to stop you from hauling him in for that murder?”

“That was my first thought, but it doesn’t make sense. Yet I’ve never seen bandits out here, and I tell you, the men I saw were cursed well armed. Well, I’ll have another look.”

As nimbly as a squirrel, Aderyn scrambled up the creaking stairs. Cullyn hurried outside and saw the Westfolk down by the gate. They were unpacking gear from the travois, among it a pair of longbows, beautifully polished staves of some dark wood he’d never seen before, and as tall as they were.

“Archers, are you?”

“We are,” Jennantar said. “I think me our bandits are in for a little surprise.” He gestured at Albaral, who was unpacking a sword belt. “He’s not Cullyn of Cerrmor, but we fight with long knives in our land, too.”

“Well and good, then. Maybe we’ll take some of these bandits to the Otherlands with us. Albaral, do you have any armor?”

“Eldidd mail. Thought it might come in handy, so I packed it.”

“And here I thought you were a fool,” Calonderiel said. “For dragging all that weight along.

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