Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

66

Uachi had not said a word since his arrival at House Resh Deran. He had decided to continue letting Diarmán do the talking. The man did love to talk, after all, and Uachi had enough to focus on trying not to look like himself and trying not to throw a punch every time a stranger smirked at him, which was any time a stranger glanced his way.

What had Diarmán done to his face?

As they awaited her ladyship's pleasure, Uachi and Diarmán were let into the holdfast's gates. Inside was a courtyard like the ones at the other Narrian houses Uachi had seen. The familiarity struck him. He realized that this was the third great Narrian holding he had visited and wondered at the convoluted path his journey had taken since he had left Tuamach.

Seated on a bench, Uachi stretched his legs out before him and rolled his ankles, trying to work some of the weariness out of his limbs and avoid stiffening up after their long walk. Nearby, Diarmán was chatting with a couple of passing servant girls, whose giggles and shy glances revealed that they were already smitten.

Uachi scowled, turning away. Diarmán could charm a stone, the bloody idiot. He could do with a dose more gravity, Uachi thought. Quick on the heels of this uncharitable thought came an answer as if from Diarmán's own lips: No one wants to listen to a miserable bard.

"You're in luck, fellows." Another servant approached from the house proper. He stopped just before Uachi and rested his fists on his hips, looking cheerful. "My lady welcomes you and invites you to entertain the household after dinner. In the meantime, come with me. I'll sit you down in the kitchens and see to it that you're fed. How does that strike you?"

Diarmán had separated from his newest admirers at the arrival of the messenger. Now, he swept another bow, as courtly as it was ridiculous. "It strikes us as most generous and hospitable, good sir."

The servant turned and gestured for them to follow. "Well, then! Come along, and we'll see what can be done!"

***

Stares, stares, and more stares. Uachi did not appreciate being the center of attention, and it didn't seem right that he was the subject of so much interest when he had not spoken a single word.

It wasn't precisely accurate to say that he was the center of attention, perhaps; Diarmán was holding court from a rough wooden table in the kitchen, chattering away about the Land of Pleasure and Repose and other such nonsense while the kitchen maids giggled and the kitchen lads grinned.

"I hope Lady Deran lets us come listen to the music!" said a smudge-faced boy with an armload of firewood. "She will, I'll bet."

"Focus on your work, lad, or you'll not earn the privilege even if it's granted," said the servant who had brought them to the kitchen. His name was Woll, and he was as friendly a man as Uachi had ever met. He had settled them comfortably and served them roast venison, wilted greens, and fresh buttered bread—good, hearty food. "More bread, sirs?"

Diarmán said, "If it is not too much a trouble. Drummer can stow away an army's provisions in a night, as you see, and he does get so churlish when he's hungry."

Uachi slid a dark look toward Diarmán, who returned it with an innocent smile. Woll, for his part, was already hurrying off to get more bread. He called over his shoulder, "Not a man of many words, is Drummer! Surely that makes his stormy moods easier to bear!"

With an expression of long-suffering benevolence, Diarmán said, "Let us simply thank the spirit muses that you will not have occasion to find out, my good sir, owing to your generosity of heart and of pantry."

Uachi laughed, surprising himself and choking on the bite he was swallowing. He coughed, reaching for his cup, while Diarmán thumped him twice on the back.

"Steady on, Drummer, lad! I have on numerous occasions accompanied myself on the drum using my feet, but I daresay I am a bit out of practice. Let's keep you alive, shall we?"

It carried on in such a manner for over an hour. The atmosphere in the kitchen was warm and convivial. Woll was a busy fellow, but he stopped frequently to chat with Diarmán and Uachi, and he did not seem to mind that the other servants did, too, as long as they kept their visits brief. Uachi maintained his silence and allowed Diarmán to carry their ruse, which he did easily. He was full of jokes and anecdotes about the Land of Pleasure and Repose, but he also had stories about great households he had supposedly visited and entertainments he had supposedly provided there. Each of these stories was just real enough to sound true and just silly enough to stop anybody questioning the details.

At length, a young woman appeared and consulted with Woll, who then came to collect them. "The time has come!" he announced. "I turn you over into the care of our dear Bayanna. She will see you up to the dining hall and then, when you've finished, she'll show you where you can sleep. Be welcome, and rest well, travelers."

Diarmán bade farewell to Woll in the same way he'd greeted him, with an extravagant bow. Uachi mimicked him this time, doffing his hat for effect. He did not, however, repeat Diarmán's salutations to Bayanna: yet another bow, this time over her hand, with a kiss to her knuckles.

Thankfully, Bayanna was not a girl, and she was steadier in the face of flattery than the kitchen maids. She took her hand back with nothing more than a warm smile. "Come along, sirs; the household awaits."

Diarmán and Uachi followed Bayanna out of the kitchens and down a long stone corridor well-lit with flaming braziers. On the way, they passed a couple of servants returning to the kitchens with empty serving dishes or wine flagons. At the end of the corridor was a large dining hall; again, it reminded Uachi of the hall he'd seen at Diarmán's home—the older one, which the family had not used. There was a high table at one end of the room where sat a stately matriarch in red. She had dark skin and long graying hair worn in two thick braids over her shoulders: Lady Deran, undoubtedly. At her right hand was a young man; in his stature and his looks, he seemed every bit her son.

At her left hand was a woman Uachi did not recognize but knew immediately nevertheless. She was beautiful, with tawny skin and dark eyes. Her black hair was swept up underneath a golden diadem. Next to her sat a stout boy of ten or eleven years. He had her complexion, but his hair was lighter. He, too, wore a crown. And standing behind her were two girls. Uachi had little experience with children, but he guessed them to be in their middle teen years.

The woman had to be Liara, the so-called empress: Koren's wife, the mother of his son. And those girls had to be Evenna and Halla, Queen Coratse's daughters.