Read Online A Time of Omens by Katharine Kerr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katharine Kerr
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reached for his own hilt and was rewarded with another bellow of rage. The lass startedscreaming just as Aethan came plowing into what was left of the doorway.
“Put that sword away, Branoic you asshole, and come with me!”
The fellow was so stunned that he merely stood there, hiking his brigga, as Aethan shoved Branoic bodily ahead of him, down the collapsed corridor. Judging by the shrieking and writhing under the pile of broken wickerwork the brothel had indeed been busy that night. They shoved their way out the doorway and clattered down the stairs fast to the stableyard, where a curious crowd was beginning to form.
“I was just going downstairs again with the red-haired slut when I saw your stupid ugly mug poking up over the wall.” Aethan’s voice was so choked that Branoic thought him still furious until all at once the older man broke out into a howl of laughter. “Oh, ye gods, the look on everyone’s face! Wait till we tell Maddo about this!”
“Ah shit! Do we have to?”
“I do,” Aethan gasped out. “Don’t know about you. I—oh, ye gods! Where’s Maryn?”
In a wave of ice-cold shame Branoic spun around and headed, all unthinking, back toward the stairway with Aethan right behind. By then, though, men and women both were rushing down, clutching pieces of clothing or struggling to get clothing on, cursing and snarling and swearing they’d find the Tout of a silver dagger who was responsible and slice his heart out. Aethan grabbed Branoic by the arm and pulled him back into a patch of shadow.
“Go get the horses and take them round to the street,” he hissed. “I’ll find the lad and try to warn the rest of our men, too.”
Keeping to the dark places Branoic scuttled to the stable and found their three mounts. His heart was pounding in terror—what if something had happened to the one true king of all Deverry and it was all his fault? All at once he realized that their little prank was a dangerous one all round, taking Maryn into the heart of a strange town with only a couple of guards—who had then let him go off with a whore on his own. What if the lass had been in someone’s pay? He gathered the horses’ reins in one hand, threwopen the stable door with the other, and started out only to run straight into Maddyn and Nevyn.
“Where’s the prince?” Maddyn snarled.
“I don’t know. Aethan’s looking for him.”
With a foul oath Maddyn slugged him backhanded across the face.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you’d do such a stupid thing, but I expected better from Aethan. And why by the name of every god is this wretched crowd milling round out here?”
Branoic tried to speak, but his voice clogged and tears filled his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to choke them back. Nevyn grabbed his arm and shook it.
“Think, lad! Save the cursed shame for later.”
“I—I—I …”
The horses began to stamp and toss their heads. By then Branoic’s hands were so sweaty that he could barely hang on to the reins.
“Nevyn!” The whisper came from directly above them. “Is th-th-that you?”
“It is!” The old man sounded as if he’d weep, too, but from relief. “Maryn, where are you?”
“In the hayloft. We o-c-came up here to be private, like.”
“Then come down! Give the lass some coins—I imagine she’s more than earned them—and get down here right now!”
“I will, sir. S-s-straightaway.”
There was a chink of silver, a giggle, and a rustle of hay; then Maryn clambered down the rope ladder and dropped lightly to the floor nearby. Nevyn threw both arms around him and hugged him.
“My apologies,” Maryn stammered out. “But I—”
“I don’t want to hear a word more about it, but if you ever do such a stupid thing again…” All at once Nevyn broke off with a warning glance up at the hayloft, where the lass was lingering, prudently out of the way. “Well, no harm done, I suppose.” He turned to Branoic. “Here, lad, you don’t need to grovel and
“Put that sword away, Branoic you asshole, and come with me!”
The fellow was so stunned that he merely stood there, hiking his brigga, as Aethan shoved Branoic bodily ahead of him, down the collapsed corridor. Judging by the shrieking and writhing under the pile of broken wickerwork the brothel had indeed been busy that night. They shoved their way out the doorway and clattered down the stairs fast to the stableyard, where a curious crowd was beginning to form.
“I was just going downstairs again with the red-haired slut when I saw your stupid ugly mug poking up over the wall.” Aethan’s voice was so choked that Branoic thought him still furious until all at once the older man broke out into a howl of laughter. “Oh, ye gods, the look on everyone’s face! Wait till we tell Maddo about this!”
“Ah shit! Do we have to?”
“I do,” Aethan gasped out. “Don’t know about you. I—oh, ye gods! Where’s Maryn?”
In a wave of ice-cold shame Branoic spun around and headed, all unthinking, back toward the stairway with Aethan right behind. By then, though, men and women both were rushing down, clutching pieces of clothing or struggling to get clothing on, cursing and snarling and swearing they’d find the Tout of a silver dagger who was responsible and slice his heart out. Aethan grabbed Branoic by the arm and pulled him back into a patch of shadow.
“Go get the horses and take them round to the street,” he hissed. “I’ll find the lad and try to warn the rest of our men, too.”
Keeping to the dark places Branoic scuttled to the stable and found their three mounts. His heart was pounding in terror—what if something had happened to the one true king of all Deverry and it was all his fault? All at once he realized that their little prank was a dangerous one all round, taking Maryn into the heart of a strange town with only a couple of guards—who had then let him go off with a whore on his own. What if the lass had been in someone’s pay? He gathered the horses’ reins in one hand, threwopen the stable door with the other, and started out only to run straight into Maddyn and Nevyn.
“Where’s the prince?” Maddyn snarled.
“I don’t know. Aethan’s looking for him.”
With a foul oath Maddyn slugged him backhanded across the face.
“I shouldn’t be surprised you’d do such a stupid thing, but I expected better from Aethan. And why by the name of every god is this wretched crowd milling round out here?”
Branoic tried to speak, but his voice clogged and tears filled his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to choke them back. Nevyn grabbed his arm and shook it.
“Think, lad! Save the cursed shame for later.”
“I—I—I …”
The horses began to stamp and toss their heads. By then Branoic’s hands were so sweaty that he could barely hang on to the reins.
“Nevyn!” The whisper came from directly above them. “Is th-th-that you?”
“It is!” The old man sounded as if he’d weep, too, but from relief. “Maryn, where are you?”
“In the hayloft. We o-c-came up here to be private, like.”
“Then come down! Give the lass some coins—I imagine she’s more than earned them—and get down here right now!”
“I will, sir. S-s-straightaway.”
There was a chink of silver, a giggle, and a rustle of hay; then Maryn clambered down the rope ladder and dropped lightly to the floor nearby. Nevyn threw both arms around him and hugged him.
“My apologies,” Maryn stammered out. “But I—”
“I don’t want to hear a word more about it, but if you ever do such a stupid thing again…” All at once Nevyn broke off with a warning glance up at the hayloft, where the lass was lingering, prudently out of the way. “Well, no harm done, I suppose.” He turned to Branoic. “Here, lad, you don’t need to grovel and