Hawkmistress! A DARKOVER NOVEL by Marion Zimmer Bradley

Orain did not answer. He said, “Our meat’s on the table, Rumal. Neighbors, maybe we’ll have another round later, but the dinner’s getting cold while we stand here gabbing,” and gestured to Romilly to put down the darts and go to their seat. When the food arrived, and Orain was cutting the meat into portions, he muttered under his breath, “We’re here to serve Carolin, lad, not defend him to fools in taverns. Eat your dinner, boy.” And after a moment, he added, still in a half-whisper, “Part of my reason for walking about town is to hear how the folk think – see how much support there is here for the king. If we’re to raise men for him here, it’s urgent there must be popular support so no one will betray us – a lot of things can be done in secret, but you can’t raise an army that way!”

Romilly put her fork into the roast meat, and ate in silence. She noted that when he spoke to her, Orain had, without thinking, dropped the rough up-country accent and spoken again like an educated man. Well, if he was the king’s foster-brother, as she had heard, that was not surprising. Carlo too must have been high in those councils and one of his loyal men – no doubt he too had lost lands and possessions when Carolin was deposed and fled to the hills. Which reminded her again-

I do not know if Carolin has enemies in the city, but he certainly has at least one in the monastery. I do not think a child like Caryl would do him any great harm, he said the king had shown him kindness; but if Carlo and Orain are expecting to meet the king within monastery watts, there is at least one pair of eyes who would recognize him. They must prevent him from coming there. And Romilly wondered why it should matter to her what happened to the exiled king. As her father had said so often, what did it matter what great rogue sat on the throne, or what worse rogue tried to unseat him?

Orain and Carlo could not follow an evil master. Whichever king they follow, he is my king too! And the story she had heard of the evil Hastur-lord Lyondri had filled her with revulsion. She thought, wryly, that without knowing it, she had somehow become a partisan of Carolin.

“Take that last cutlet, lad; you’re a growing boy, you need your food,” Orain said, grinning, and called to the serving-woman for more wine. Romilly reached for another cup, but Orain slapped her hand away.

“No, no, you’ve had enough – bring the boy some cider, woman, he’s too young for your rotgut here! I don’t want to have to carry you home,” he added, good-naturedly, “and lads your age have no head for this kind of thing.”

Her face burning, exasperated, Romilly took the huge mug of cider the woman set before her. Sipping it, she acknowledged to herself that she liked it better than the strong wine, which burned her mouth and her stomach and made her head swim. She muttered, “Thank you, Orain.”

He nodded and said, “Think nothing of it. I wish I’d had a friend to knock my head out of the winepot when I was your age! Too late now,” he added with a grin, and lifting his tankard, drank deep.

Romilly sat listening, full and sleepy, as Orain went back to the dart board; when asked to join him, she shook her head, feeling drowsy, listening to the talk around the bar.

“Well thrown! Whang in the eye of whichever king you don’t favor!”

“I heard Carolin’s in the Hellers because the Hairimyn are too soft to search for him up here – they might freeze their dainty tailbones!”

“Whether Carolin’s here or no, there are enough supporters for his rule – he’s a good man!”

“Whatever Carolin’s like, I’ll join anything which gets that bastard Lyondri the rope’s end he deserves! Did ye’ hear what he did to old Lord di Asturien? Burned over his head, poor old man, and him and the old lady by the side of the road in their night-gear and bedslippers, if one of their woodsmen hadn’t taken ’em in and given ’em a place to lie down in….”