“Truth?”
“You want me to say it out loud where any may hear?”
“He did, Nywulf,” said Rufra.
“You did know then,” I said. Nywulf nodded and a shiver ran through me. “And you let him come alone?”
“He generally doesn’t tell me when he’s going to run off and do something foolish,” said Nywulf, staring at Rufra
“Or brave,” said Rufra.
“Often the same thing,” the squiremaster growled before turning to me. “He likes to sneak off alone and I have to track him down.”
“Nywulf shares very little with me also,” said Rufra sullenly.
“For good reason,” said Nywulf. “Did you tell him the truth as well?” Rufra nodded. “See, Girton. Boy can’t keep a secret to save his life.”
“How did you know?” I said quietly.
Nywulf came close enough to me that I could smell the stale sweat on him.
“A skilled man can’t hide his skill, and I trained as a Heartblade. You’re good, boy, I’ll give you that, and if we hadn’t been stuck together I may never have picked you up.” He leaned in even closer. “And if I hadn’t picked up on you I would never have noticed the jester.” I looked at the floor, feeling like I had betrayed my master.
“Why did you leave Rufra and I alone if you thought—”
He spoke over me before I could say too much. “I didn’t, not at first. I tried to get rid of you.”
I had a sudden memory: Captain Dollis, nervous in the wall tavern and wanting a huge amount of money for his information, enough money to start a new life. How he’d approached Nywulf in the alley, his words like a threat—You should walk away unless you want me to t—
“The dogs?” I said. “You paid Dollis?”
“Yes,” he said simply. There was no a trace of guilt. “After you escaped the dogs, I followed you looking for an opportunity to finish what Dollis didn’t. I saw plenty of times you could have tried to kill Rufra and yet you did not. In fact, your friendship with him seemed real.” He glanced at Rufra and spoke quietly. “He deserves a friend, needs one.” Then he leaned in and grabbed my arm. It hurt but there was no menace in it, just a natural fierceness. “And you saved him in the wood,” he said. “I owe you that, and I never forget a debt.”
“But you saved me from the attackers in—”
“A small thing, boy, and it only made up for what I did to you in the kennels. Besides, I wanted rid of Dollis. That was why I was following him that night. Man couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut.” His grip tightened on my arm. “I owe you,” he said again, and then walked away.
“I am not sure whether having Nywulf owe me makes my life more or less frightening,” I said.
“I have felt like that all my life.” Rufra grinned. “Girton, Festival will be gone soon. Let me show you it properly, like I wanted to before.”
“I have already seen Festival.”
“No, not truly. You have only seen the surface.”
“Rufra!” We both turned at the shout.
A Rider approached us, small with the familiar rolling gate of one who spent more time on a mount than off. The Rider’s armour was the red and black check of the Festival Lords, but as he came closer I saw the colour had been recently applied and in places I could see purple and green below.
“Cearis?” said Rufra, looking puzzled.
“Aye!” The Rider’s lifted his visor and, to my shock, revealed a woman beneath; scarred and rough-skinned from a hard life, but unmistakably female.
Rufra’s face lit up.
“Girton, this is my Aunt Cearis. I told you about her—she taught me the bow. Aunt, this is my friend, Girton—” a pause “—Girton ap Gwynr.”
The Rider held out her hand. “I am Cearis ap Vthyr and well pleased to meet a friend of Rufra.”
As I shook her hand, Rufra spoke:
“Why are you here, Cearis? And why are you wearing Festival colours?”
“My brother, Suvander, becomes less and less enamoured with the old ways every day.”
“Uncle has stopped women from riding out?”
She shook her head and her amour creaked.
“Not yet, well, not as of a week ago which is how long the journey here took, but it would not take a tracker to smell his intention in the air. He’s finally thrown his lot in with the ap Mennix and is busily adopting all their ways in exchange for a smell of power. Neander has been trying to convince him to unsaddle his women for years, but something has changed recently.”
“Changed?”
“Messages from Maniyadoc, repositioning of his Riders and troops and gentle suggestions that I should spend more time in the long hall than on a warmount.” I did not need to see her face—though she looked like she had smelt something bad—to feel her disgust. “I am a poor seamstress as you know, Rufra, and rather than risk the ridicule of the ladies I chose to come here and see if Festival would have me.” She left a long pause. “Of course, your uncle has never been our most popular leader, has he?”
She left that hanging, and Rufra’s eyes shone at what she implied.
“Your troops must miss you,” he said quietly.
“Only those that stayed, Blessed” she said equally quietly. What was being said was dangerous, and I felt like I should step away, but Rufra’s friendship was only just won back and I would not jeopardise it. “I am fifteen strong, Rufra. We wear Festival colours for convenience but we have sworn to no one, not yet. Your uncle has forty knights but we are better warriors and better Riders, far better, and not all of his forty are loyal to him. Some wait to see the direction of the wind and all still remember your grandfather.”
Rufra’s step slowed to a stop and for a moment I saw something fierce in his eyes. Then he shook his head.
“Cearis, such talk here will get you a knife in the back,” he said sadly. He stepped closer to her and unconsciously I used the Assassin’s Ear to listen in. “Even if we took the ap Vthyr lands, Aydor ap Mennix, his mother and the ap Dhyrrin would never stand for me in power, you know that. They would bring everything they had against us. I would need to hold somewhere as strong as Maniyadoc to stand a chance.”
“But the Festival Lords—”
“Would stand back and wait. They take sides in Maniyadoc and then every other blessed in the Tired Lands will look upon them with suspicion.”
Cearis stared into his eyes and then, with a sad smile, shook her head.
“Wise beyond your years, boy,” she said. “Sometimes I see so much of my sister in you it makes me ache.” With that she did a curious thing, she lifted her head to expose her throat to him. Then she turned on her heel and walked away.
“What was that she did, Rufra? When she lifted her head?”
“A gesture of respect from a Rider to their blessed, Girton. She was exposing herself to my blade. It’s one of the old ways. Now come. Festival awaits.” I followed him, risking a surreptitious glance behind me at the ground I had stood on while I listened, but there was no circle of death from my trick. “We should find Drusl too,” he added.