Dog and Dragon-ARC by Dave Freer Page B

to lead the troops against this latest foe. Can we not change earlier?”
    Aberinn shook his head and got up to leave, not trusting himself to speak. Thinking about it with the benefit of hindsight, perhaps his freeing of Earl Alois had been a mistake. Or premature.
    ***
    The ladies’ bower was all Meb feared it would be. For a start it was a-buzz above the clicks of weaving shuttles—like an angry beehive—with woman talk when she came around the corner, following Neve. She grabbed Neve’s shoulder, and they stopped. And Meb proved that eavesdropping is a sure way to prove that you do in fact never hear anything good about yourself.
    “…she has the magic, but she is not noble. Look at the way she was dressed.”
    “And she did not even put her hair up or cover it. Wanton, I tell you. She was in Aberinn’s tower this morning.”
    “She does seem very young.”
    A gentle voice. The one who had been sympathetic the night before.
    “Hmpf.” That was Cardun. “I have never believed that prophecy of Aberinn’s. He’s never done the like before or since. It just came when Prince Medraut had the Royal Council and the earls ready to agree to the vote.”
    “Oh, no one could have faked that, Lady Cardun. Why, there was foam coming out of his mouth. It was terrible.”
    “It was as real as this ‘Defender.’ She’s a common trollop who was wearing a man’s breeches!”
    Meb took a deep breath and walked on into the room. The comments about Aberinn’s fit or the reality of the prophecy—or her—died. Vanished into silence and false smiles.
    She gave them one which matched theirs very well, and did her best to look down her nose at them, which was difficult, because she was not very tall. “So this is what the ladies occupy themselves with in Dun Tagoll. How nice.” She hoped that sounded condescending. She’d never really had a chance to do condescension before. There were tambour frames, a bigger loom than she’d ever seen, women sitting and stitching where the light was best. Meb loved fabrics and loved fine embroidery. They just weren’t things that had come her way. She was saved from deep embarrassment, or finding some way to squirm out of this, by a call from outside. It was a panting page. “The prince’s troop is about to ride out, ladies.”
    So they all went out to the collonaded cloister above the courtyard to see the brave colors hoisted above the cream of Lyonesse, before they rode out to do battle. The little woman who had been kind to Meb the night before looked as if the sight of it cut her to the quick. She did not go down and bestow favors on the men of the troop. Instead she looked as if she might start crying.
    Meb had no one to cheer on either, so she just stayed looking out from between the pillars too. “What is wrong?” she asked, looking at the tight face.
    The woman made an effort to smile. “Nothing, Lady Anghared. It just brings back old memories. Painful ones. Cormac, my husband, rode out like this, with my favor on his sleeve…oh, more than ten years ago.”
    “And he never came back,” said Meb quietly.
    “Yes. They say they saw him fall…but they also say he’s been seen with the hosts of the Blessed Isles.”
    Meb did not know what to say.
    “And with the armies of Ys. He was a very recognizable man. But he was as true as steel. He would never betray Lyonesse.”
    The “he would never betray me” was left unspoken. But she did not have to say it. “I have two young sons. They too will ride out one day,” she said fatalistically. The “and maybe fight against their father” was also left unsaid.
    Desperately looking for something to say, Meb came up with: “You chose my clothes, didn’t you? I’m sorry…I don’t think I know your name.”
    The woman nodded, looked her up and down. “You were so pale last night I thought the blue might suit you. I think yellows and greens would bring out your color better, dear. I do like the comb, even though I imagine