reassessed its rider: any man who could
command a horse to calmness in the presence of wolf musk had skills
to be reckoned with.
"Answer the question!" The Castleman
spoke again, puncturing his words with a thrust of his spear and a
forward charge of his horse. He was tall, but lacked the shoulder
breadth of a hatchetman. Dual scabbards holstered on opposing sides
of his gear belt indicated his weapon of choice.
Vaylo regarded the spear tip pointed directly at
his face. Absurdly, he thought he recognized it as one of his own.
Then again it had probably been Dhoone's in the first place, seized
by Bludd after the strike on the Dhoonehold. Such were the transitory
possessions of war. Take himself. He'd once commanded three
roundhouses, now he was down to exactly none. Which means I have
nothing but thin air to lose. Grinning savagely, the Dog Lord spoke
his name.
FOUR
Negotiation
Bram tried not to shiver when the Bludd chief
spoke his name. They had all guessed the strangers identity the
moment they spotted the first dog, but it had not prepared them for
hearing the man speak. The Dog Lord's voice was savage and calm; the
voice of a man who had killed and would kill again. Bram thought of
his brother's account of the one and only meeting between himself and
the Bludd chief. "He's an old man," Robbie Dun Dhoone had
pronounced, the morning after Dhoone had been retaken. "Past his
prime and losing his edge, and if it wasn't for his hellhounds he
would never have escaped."
Hearing the Dog Lord speak, Bram Cormac knew his
brother's words to be a lie.
The dogs reacted to their master's voice by
altering the pitch of their growls. Slow thunder rumbled deep within
their throats, making Guy's and Jordie's horses blow nervously and
flick their tails. Bram squeezed the mare's flanks with his thighs,
coaxing the beast to calmness. Now if only he could calm himself.
"And exactly who do I have the pleasure of
addressing?" The Bludd chief's voice came again, cold as the
rain driving against his face. He wasn't a big man but his shoulders
and chest were well-built, and he had something about him—a
kind of iron-hard solidity—that gave him a powerful physical
presence. His linen shirt was sodden to the point of transparency,
and the woolen waistcoat he wore over it was so weighed down with
rainwater it sagged. His long gray hair was braided into warrior
queues, and grease had combined with rainwater to produce an oily
iridescence. The blade he held was a foot long and badly cankered.
Bram regarded it closely, wondering if it really could be the simple
kitchen knife it seemed.
"I'll do the asking, Dog Keep." Guy
Morloch brought the point of his spear to the apple of the Bludd
chief's throat. Immediately, the big wolf dog to Bram's right lunged
forward, hackles rising. Guy's stallion threw back its head, nostrils
flaring, eyes darting wildly as it tried to track the wolf's
movements. With a single twist of his free hand, Guy shortened the
reins, forcing the bit into the stallion's tongue. Controlled, the
creature quieted, but Bram could tell from its eye whites that it was
still dangerously close to panic. The wolf, satisfied that the spear
point was no longer threatening his master's throat, dropped its
belly to the mud and bared its teeth.
Vaylo Bludd waited for quiet. Whilst Guy's horse
was bucking he had shifted his ground slightly, moving away from the
bushes that had first concealed him. The hefty armsman at his back
quickly did the same. Bram found himself wondering about those two
movements as the Bludd chief spoke.
"If I were you I'd ride on, Milkman. My dogs
are hungry for white meat."
So he knows Guy isn't a Dhoonesman. Bram looked to
the tall Castleman and wondered what else Guy was giving away. Guy
Morloch was a crack swordsman on the tourney court, but he was
inexperienced in field combat and although he was still wielding the
spear, he had made the mistake of backing off. And while the Dog Lord
stood his
command a horse to calmness in the presence of wolf musk had skills
to be reckoned with.
"Answer the question!" The Castleman
spoke again, puncturing his words with a thrust of his spear and a
forward charge of his horse. He was tall, but lacked the shoulder
breadth of a hatchetman. Dual scabbards holstered on opposing sides
of his gear belt indicated his weapon of choice.
Vaylo regarded the spear tip pointed directly at
his face. Absurdly, he thought he recognized it as one of his own.
Then again it had probably been Dhoone's in the first place, seized
by Bludd after the strike on the Dhoonehold. Such were the transitory
possessions of war. Take himself. He'd once commanded three
roundhouses, now he was down to exactly none. Which means I have
nothing but thin air to lose. Grinning savagely, the Dog Lord spoke
his name.
FOUR
Negotiation
Bram tried not to shiver when the Bludd chief
spoke his name. They had all guessed the strangers identity the
moment they spotted the first dog, but it had not prepared them for
hearing the man speak. The Dog Lord's voice was savage and calm; the
voice of a man who had killed and would kill again. Bram thought of
his brother's account of the one and only meeting between himself and
the Bludd chief. "He's an old man," Robbie Dun Dhoone had
pronounced, the morning after Dhoone had been retaken. "Past his
prime and losing his edge, and if it wasn't for his hellhounds he
would never have escaped."
Hearing the Dog Lord speak, Bram Cormac knew his
brother's words to be a lie.
The dogs reacted to their master's voice by
altering the pitch of their growls. Slow thunder rumbled deep within
their throats, making Guy's and Jordie's horses blow nervously and
flick their tails. Bram squeezed the mare's flanks with his thighs,
coaxing the beast to calmness. Now if only he could calm himself.
"And exactly who do I have the pleasure of
addressing?" The Bludd chief's voice came again, cold as the
rain driving against his face. He wasn't a big man but his shoulders
and chest were well-built, and he had something about him—a
kind of iron-hard solidity—that gave him a powerful physical
presence. His linen shirt was sodden to the point of transparency,
and the woolen waistcoat he wore over it was so weighed down with
rainwater it sagged. His long gray hair was braided into warrior
queues, and grease had combined with rainwater to produce an oily
iridescence. The blade he held was a foot long and badly cankered.
Bram regarded it closely, wondering if it really could be the simple
kitchen knife it seemed.
"I'll do the asking, Dog Keep." Guy
Morloch brought the point of his spear to the apple of the Bludd
chief's throat. Immediately, the big wolf dog to Bram's right lunged
forward, hackles rising. Guy's stallion threw back its head, nostrils
flaring, eyes darting wildly as it tried to track the wolf's
movements. With a single twist of his free hand, Guy shortened the
reins, forcing the bit into the stallion's tongue. Controlled, the
creature quieted, but Bram could tell from its eye whites that it was
still dangerously close to panic. The wolf, satisfied that the spear
point was no longer threatening his master's throat, dropped its
belly to the mud and bared its teeth.
Vaylo Bludd waited for quiet. Whilst Guy's horse
was bucking he had shifted his ground slightly, moving away from the
bushes that had first concealed him. The hefty armsman at his back
quickly did the same. Bram found himself wondering about those two
movements as the Bludd chief spoke.
"If I were you I'd ride on, Milkman. My dogs
are hungry for white meat."
So he knows Guy isn't a Dhoonesman. Bram looked to
the tall Castleman and wondered what else Guy was giving away. Guy
Morloch was a crack swordsman on the tourney court, but he was
inexperienced in field combat and although he was still wielding the
spear, he had made the mistake of backing off. And while the Dog Lord
stood his
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