Read Online Daggerspell by Katharine Kerr - Free Book Online Page A

matter when one of the rivals is a prince.”
    “Truly, my apologies.”
    She turned so woebegone over his snap that Galrion patted her hand. She bloomed instantly and bent down to allow him to kiss her cheek.
    Circumstances conspired to keep the prince from having his necessary talk with his betrothed. All evening, Gerraent kept them sullen company. On the bright and sunny morrow, Brangwen settled her father outside in the ward, then sat down beside him with her needlework. Much to Galrion’s annoyance, the old man stayed wideawake. Finally, when Gerraent stopped by on his way to hunt, Galrion decided that since he might soon be Gerraent’s elder brother, he might as well put that authority to good use.
    “Here, Gerro,” Galrion said. “I’ll ride a little way with you after all.”
    “Well and good.” Gerraent shot him a glance that said the exact opposite. “Page, run and saddle the prince’s horse.”
    Preceded by a pack of hounds and followed by a pair of servants, Galrion and Gerraent rode to the woods. The Falcon clan lay lonely on the edge of the kingdom. To the north, the clan’s farmlands stretched out until they met those of the Boar, their only near neighbor. To the east and south was nothing but unclaimed land, meadow, and primeval forest. It occurred to Galrion that Brangwen was doubtless looking forward to the splendid life at court that he could no longer give her.
    “Well, young brother,” Galrion said at last. “There’s something I wanted to talk with you about. My lady Brangwen tells me that you’ve won the favor of Ysolla of the Boar. She’d make any man a fine wife.”
    Gerraent stared straight ahead at the road.
    “You’re a man now,” Galrion said. “It’s time you married for your clan’s sake. The head of a clan needs heirs.”
    “True spoken. I know my duty to my clan.”
    “Well, then? Blaen’s your sworn friend. It would be a fine match.”
    “Did Gwennie put you up to this talk?”
    “She did.”
    Gerraent glanced his way with bitter eyes.
    “My sister knows her duty to the clan, as well.”
    As they rode on, Gerraent was lost in thought, his hand on his sword hilt. Galrion wondered how this proud man was going to take it when Galrion swept his sister off to a hut in the forest instead of the palace. The prince was vexed all over again at his stupidity in getting himself betrothed just as he had found the dweomer.
    “Does Gwennie think Ysolla would have me?” Gerraent said.
    “She does. She’d bring a fine dowry, too.”
    They rode in silence for some minutes while Gerraent considered, his mouth working this way and that as if the thought of marrying a rich, pretty wife pained him. Finally he shrugged as if throwing off a weight from his shoulders.
    “Grant me a boon, elder brother,” Gerraent said. “Will you ride to Blaen with me as my second in the betrothal?”
    “Gladly. Shall we ride soon?”
    “Why not? The soonest done, the best.”
    That evening, dinner marked a celebration. While the Falcon’s demesne stretched broad and prosperous, there had been few sons born to the clan over the past generation. If Gerraent should die without an heir, the clan would die with him, its lands reverting back to the High King for reassignment. Every now and then, Galrion noticed Gerraent looking at the blade of his table dagger, where a falcon mark was graved, the clan’s symbol, and his whole life, his duty, and power.
    After Brangwen escorted her father from the table, Galrion had a chance at a private word with Gerraent.
    “My lady Brangwen was teasing me the other night,” Galrion said. “Saying Blaen’s jealous of me. Is that just a maid’s chatter?”
    “It’s true enough.” Gerraent made the admission unwillingly. “But she’s dwelling on the thing to please her vanity. Blaen will forget her soon enough. Men in our position marry where we have to, not to please ourselves.”
    Galrion felt a cold touch like a hand down his back, the dweomer-warning