Read Online Sun Wolf 2 - The Witches Of Wenshar by Barbara Hambly - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Hambly
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course, isn’t it?”
“Oh, thanks!” Starhawk grinned, more amused than offended at the assumption of complete promiscuity—and indeed, she thought to herself, there was nothing to indicate to Kaletha that Sun Wolf hadn’t lost his eye in a pothouse difference of opinion over some woman’s favors, instead of a duel to the death with the greatest wizard in the world.
“About time,” Osgard grunted, on the dais, as Anshebbeth came flustering back through the narrow door, which led to an inside stair. “Captain Sun Wolf—my son, Jeryn. Stand up straight, damn you, boy.”
If Tazey, seated in apprehensive silence at the High Table behind them, was clearly her father’s daughter, with the King’s height, his athletic grace, his streaky blond hair, and absinthe-green eyes, then Jeryn was just as clearly a shirdar woman’s child. He had the thin, hawklike features, though his unwashed, black curls were cut short and his olive skin was paste-pale from staying indoors. At this distance, Starhawk couldn’t see the color of his eyes, for they were downcast, sullen, and shifty, guarding secrets and resentments under puffy lids. He dressed in the formal clothes of court, short trunks and hose, which bagged around his skinny knees; he wore them without pride and looked shabby and unkempt, an orphan who has dressed himself from a prince’s ragbag.
“What do you think, Captain?” Osgard’s tone had turned bullying. “You figure you can do anything with this boy?”
Jeryn said nothing, just held himself braced in a way that spoke worlds about the kind of treatment he expected from his father. And it was hardly, Starhawk thought impersonally, a fair question. There were enough people left in the Hall that Sun Wolf’s refusal would be widely interpreted as an admission that he couldn’t make a warrior of the boy, either through his own fault or through Jeryn’s. Osgard had undoubtedly meant the scene to hinge on Sun Wolf’s pride in his ability to teach. Though the Hawk knew this would not have applied, she also knew that putting Sun Wolf to the choice now, in public, would work because he would not openly reject the boy.
After a long moment, Sun Wolf said, “I said I’d have to talk to my partner.”
It was a way out, but Osgard wasn’t about to give it to him. “Well, hell,” he said genially, “there’s no trouble about that, is there?” He turned, and held out his hand to Starhawk. “You got no objections to a post in the guards, have you, Warlady? A silver eagle every fortnight, board and bed? Pardle Sho may not have the fancies you’ll find north of the mountains, but there’s money aplenty here and places to spend it, if you’re not too finicky in your tastes. It may not pay like the mines do, but there’s more honor to it and less labor. How can you say no to that?”
Sun Wolf’s eye had the angry smolder of a man who has been gotten around in a way that he could not fight without looking like a boor. Starhawk, aware that Sun Wolf had no objections to looking like a boor and was on the verge of making an issue of it, rose, hooked her hands into her sword belt, and said casually, “I can’t say no till I’ve tried it for a week.”
It was something the Wolf had taught her—when in doubt, play for time.
In a week, she reasoned, anything could happen.
And, in point of fact, it did.
Starhawk wasn’t sure just what woke her. A dream, she thought—a dream of three women in a candlelit room, their shadows moving over the painted walls, giving the grotesque images there a terrible life of their own. She could not hear their words, but they sat close together around the candles, combing their hair and whispering. The room had no windows, but somehow Starhawk knew that it was late at night. The scene was an ordinary enough one, yet something about it—the way the shadows flickered over those frescoes whose designs and motives she could not quite make out, the way the candlelight glowed
“Oh, thanks!” Starhawk grinned, more amused than offended at the assumption of complete promiscuity—and indeed, she thought to herself, there was nothing to indicate to Kaletha that Sun Wolf hadn’t lost his eye in a pothouse difference of opinion over some woman’s favors, instead of a duel to the death with the greatest wizard in the world.
“About time,” Osgard grunted, on the dais, as Anshebbeth came flustering back through the narrow door, which led to an inside stair. “Captain Sun Wolf—my son, Jeryn. Stand up straight, damn you, boy.”
If Tazey, seated in apprehensive silence at the High Table behind them, was clearly her father’s daughter, with the King’s height, his athletic grace, his streaky blond hair, and absinthe-green eyes, then Jeryn was just as clearly a shirdar woman’s child. He had the thin, hawklike features, though his unwashed, black curls were cut short and his olive skin was paste-pale from staying indoors. At this distance, Starhawk couldn’t see the color of his eyes, for they were downcast, sullen, and shifty, guarding secrets and resentments under puffy lids. He dressed in the formal clothes of court, short trunks and hose, which bagged around his skinny knees; he wore them without pride and looked shabby and unkempt, an orphan who has dressed himself from a prince’s ragbag.
“What do you think, Captain?” Osgard’s tone had turned bullying. “You figure you can do anything with this boy?”
Jeryn said nothing, just held himself braced in a way that spoke worlds about the kind of treatment he expected from his father. And it was hardly, Starhawk thought impersonally, a fair question. There were enough people left in the Hall that Sun Wolf’s refusal would be widely interpreted as an admission that he couldn’t make a warrior of the boy, either through his own fault or through Jeryn’s. Osgard had undoubtedly meant the scene to hinge on Sun Wolf’s pride in his ability to teach. Though the Hawk knew this would not have applied, she also knew that putting Sun Wolf to the choice now, in public, would work because he would not openly reject the boy.
After a long moment, Sun Wolf said, “I said I’d have to talk to my partner.”
It was a way out, but Osgard wasn’t about to give it to him. “Well, hell,” he said genially, “there’s no trouble about that, is there?” He turned, and held out his hand to Starhawk. “You got no objections to a post in the guards, have you, Warlady? A silver eagle every fortnight, board and bed? Pardle Sho may not have the fancies you’ll find north of the mountains, but there’s money aplenty here and places to spend it, if you’re not too finicky in your tastes. It may not pay like the mines do, but there’s more honor to it and less labor. How can you say no to that?”
Sun Wolf’s eye had the angry smolder of a man who has been gotten around in a way that he could not fight without looking like a boor. Starhawk, aware that Sun Wolf had no objections to looking like a boor and was on the verge of making an issue of it, rose, hooked her hands into her sword belt, and said casually, “I can’t say no till I’ve tried it for a week.”
It was something the Wolf had taught her—when in doubt, play for time.
In a week, she reasoned, anything could happen.
And, in point of fact, it did.
Starhawk wasn’t sure just what woke her. A dream, she thought—a dream of three women in a candlelit room, their shadows moving over the painted walls, giving the grotesque images there a terrible life of their own. She could not hear their words, but they sat close together around the candles, combing their hair and whispering. The room had no windows, but somehow Starhawk knew that it was late at night. The scene was an ordinary enough one, yet something about it—the way the shadows flickered over those frescoes whose designs and motives she could not quite make out, the way the candlelight glowed
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