Sword of Fire Read online

  Some of the men standing round swore softly under their breaths. The fellow who’d touched her got to his feet. He was pasty-white and stank of vomit, but he stood steadily enough.

  “It’s a good thing, lad,” one of the men said to Cavan, “that you listened to your lass there.”

  “Indeed,” Cavan said. “He was too drunk to know what he was doing.”

  The fellow took a few steps backward, then kept going, shrank into the crowd.

  “You!” Alyssa snapped. “Wait! I want to—”

  Too late! He’d gotten clear of the circle. Before anyone could stop him, he turned and ran, dodging through the passersby. In the crowd, he disappeared so fast that Alyssa realized she’d have to let him go. The men around them drifted away, a few at a time, on their own business. Alyssa waited until the last of them had gone, and she kept her voice down.

  “He wasn’t drunk,” she said to Cavan. “I’ve smelled enough men who stank of a night’s binge to know the difference. They’d come rolling into the baker’s shop when we first opened of a morning, seeking summat to sop up the drink before they went home to furious wives. He did that to provoke you, Cavan. Get you hauled before the Master of the Fair.”

  “Where he could claim the bounty?” Cavan also spoke just above a whisper.

  “Just that.”

  “And leave you without a guard. Let’s get back to the Westfolk side of the camp.”

  “And find Travaberiel. He needs to know about this.” She laughed, but from nerves not humor. “Well, at least that fellow got a good bit more trouble than he bargained for.”

  When he heard the tale, Trav sent Jenandar over to the east side of the fair to see what he could learn.

  “Things are getting much more complicated than I like,” Trav said. “A few spies following us are one thing. Attempts at causing trouble is another. You two had best stay in the tent and leave the scouting to me.”

  “Gladly,” Cavan said. “No more drink for me, either. It only makes my temper worse.”

  “Good that you can see it. Let me talk with Linderyn, look around, that sort of thing.”

  “We’ll go back to Linderyn’s tent,” Alyssa said. “It’ll be safer that way.”

  It was some while later that Travaberiel joined them in their borrowed refuge. He seated himself next to her before he spoke. “The man who attacked you? He may have been found. Cavvo, you got a good look at him, didn’t you? We need you to view the corpse.”

  “Corpse?” Cavan snapped.

  “Just that. He was found washed up in an eddy of the river. Drowned, they thought at first. Plausible, if he was drunk. Then someone noticed the fresh bruise on the side of his face.” Travaberiel pointed at his own temple. “He must have been struck down and then dumped into the water.”

  “I don’t want to leave Alyssa here alone,” Cavan said.

  “Quite right.” He stood up. “Ela and Joh are right outside.”

  When Travaberiel lifted the tent flap, the two elven sisters came in. Joh carried a leather sack. Travaberiel said a few words to them in Elvish, then ushered Cavan outside. Talking in low voices they hurried off.

  “We just heard!” Joh sang out. “The attack! How do you fare?”

  “Not hurt at all, just shaken,” Alyssa said. “Where’s Benoic?”

  “Getting clothes on,” Joh said. “I have something to give you, the spare knife.”

  Joh rummaged through the sack she carried and eventually brought out a knife in a black sheath. She drew it with a flourish to reveal a long, narrow blade, sharp on both sides. Black leather strips wrapped the hilt. Both the hilt and the sheath gleamed with a faint bluish overtone from whatever dye the maker had used. Alyssa thought instantly of ravens.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen a blade like this.”

  “From a fight long time gone now,” Joh said. “I kept it, but they—Travaberiel’s kind told me, not for me. For some other I meet one day.”

  “I remember that,” Ela said. “Truly, I think it’s yours, Alyssa. We’ve met because you’re riding a dangerous errand, after all. One that they sanction.”

  “They? You mean dwimmer folk.”

  “Just that. Joh found that knife in the ruins of Rinbaladelan. It was—”

  “Stop!” Joh continued speaking in a long stream of Elvish.

  Alyssa could pick out only a few words, one of which meant a vow sworn to a god. She decided against prying further.

  “Here.” Joh held the knife out. “All that doesn’t matter. It’s for you.”

  Stammering thanks, Alyssa took the knife. They showed her how to attach the sheath to her skirt’s belt and how to draw it fast should she have need of it.

  “I might well need it,” Alyssa told them. “There’s a fair bit more danger to fetching a book than I thought there would be. Even with guards.”

  “So it seems,” Ela said. “Now, if a man should grab at you or threaten, remember to strike low and strike up. Hit them in their manhood with all your strength. Let me show you the grip.”

  The two Westfolk women were still teaching her when Cavan and Travaberiel returned with Benoic in tow. They both exclaimed over the knife. Cavan reached for it, but Joh stepped away from his reach.

  “Ask Alyssa,” she said.

  Cavan looked at her and smiled. “You may,” she said. “Carefully.”

  He took it in both hands and turned it this way and that while Benoic moved close to see.

  “Mountain folk made it,” Joh explained. “Special steel only they make.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” Benoic said. “Not the same alloy as the silver daggers, though. It has something to do with the charcoal in the smelting. I think. I don’t know.”

  Everyone looked at Cavan, their sole representative of the Lughcarn ironworks.

  “I can’t tell you,” he said. “The dwarven smiths keep their secrets.”

  He handed the knife to Alyssa. She sheathed it at her belt and let her tunic drop over it to hide it.

  “What about that corpse?” Alyssa said.

  “It was him, all right,” Cavan said. “Someone ensured he couldn’t spill a secret.”

  * * *

  Not even making love to Alyssa could soothe Cavan’s spirit that night. He lay awake with her asleep in his arms while he brooded over the day’s events. His cursed ill temper! He’d let it rage without a single thought, not even a feeble attempt to control himself. He’d had a chance but failed to rise to Rommardda’s challenge. I could have killed him, he thought. I wanted to. Thank the Holy Goddess, Lyss stopped me!

  But then some foul bastard went and did the job.

  Dangerous enemies. He spent a long while, that night, going over everything that had happened since they’d left Aberwyn. The conclusion was obvious. Noble lords and perhaps a priest or two were determined to keep the law courts firmly in their hands. Anyone, even a young woman, a commoner no less, who posed any sort of threat would be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Once they returned to Deverry territory, what would she have to protect her? A couple of silver daggers! Maybe only one, if Benoic decided to stay with his elven mistress. With the bounty on his head, Cavan realized, he couldn’t even trust the members of his band enough to hire more silver daggers.

  And that stench of evil—someone more dangerous than a noble lord had hired Renno and Wilyn.

  Finally he did sleep, only to have troubled dreams that meant nothing but left him exhausted.

  * * *

  “We need to get back on the road,” Travaberiel said. “I’ve spoken to Graelamala. She and the horses will stay here, but Jenandar, Joh, and Benoic will come with us to Mandra. The horse fair will reach there eventually, and they can rejoin her alar then.”

  “Sounds good,” Cavan said. “I take it that Joh’s almost as good with weapons as a man.
”

  “Almost?” Travaberiel laughed, one sharp bark. “Better than most. I wouldn’t cross her. Benoic’s a braver man than me, I tell you.”

  Alyssa had to smile at Cavan’s shocked expression. They were standing outside their borrowed tent while they talked. All around them the fair went on, as noisy and busy as always, just as if a dead man hadn’t been fetched out of the river only the day before.

  “I’d like to make a start today,” Trav continued. “But first we’ve got to go talk with my father. I’ve got that letter from Rommardda to deliver. Cavvo, come with us, will you?”

  “Of course. Just in case.”

  Travaberiel led the way through the elven encampment. In front of his tent, Maelaber, who looked look so much like Trav that no one would ever doubt the relationship, was sitting on a leather cushion. He was talking with a pair of friends who squatted in front of him. They stood up to leave after exchanging a few polite greetings with Trav. Maelaber also got to his feet, saw Alyssa, and nodded her way.

  “Speak in Deverrian, will you?” he said to Trav. “Let’s not be rude.”

  “You’re right.” Trav made her a half-bow from the waist. “My apologies!”

  “I’m studying Elvish,” Alyssa said, “but I’ve not got much beyond introducing oneself and chatting about the weather.”

  “Useful enough, but limited, truly,” Trav said with a grin. “I was just telling my father here that I’ve got a very important letter for him.”

  “We’ll leave you to the reading of it,” said one of the friends. “We’ll see you at the feast, Maelaber.”

  Once they’d left, Maelaber took Alyssa and Trav inside his tent for privacy, but Cavan insisted on staying outside on guard.

  “Someone might want to eavesdrop,” Cavan said. “I want to get a good look at him, in that case.”

  “True enough, and my thanks.” Maelaber opened the tent flap. “If you two will just come inside?”

  They sat on leather cushions under the smoke hole for the light while the elder herald began to read Rommardda’s letter. He looked up with a frown and what sounded like a curse in the Westfolk language.

  “The last thing I’d ever want in life,” he said, “would be to rule Aberwyn. Ye gods! Has she taken leave of her senses?”

  “Read it all first,” Trav said, “then we’ll talk.”

  Maelaber scowled at him, but he did finish reading. “Very well, she’s not taken leave of her senses, but I shan’t go along with this anyway. My claim? Hah! It’s much too tenuous to stand up in any court, no matter how impartial, and thank the Divine Ones for that, too.”

  “All we’re asking,” Travaberiel said, “is for you to pretend you’re interested in reopening the matter.”

  “And what good will that do? None. More harm than good, I’d say. I’ve no intention of infuriating Gwerbret Ladoic. He’s been a good friend to the Westfolk too many times.” He tossed the letter into Travaberiel’s lap. “Tell Rommardda I’ll have no part in this.”

  Alyssa felt like an archer who’s seen his arrows broken right in front of him.

  “Well, good sir,” Alyssa said, “I’m in no position to argue with you, but truly, we need every weapon we can find.”

  “This one’s no weapon at all. My apologies, lass. Your cause is a good one, just and right and all that, but I can’t help you.” Maelaber crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his son. “I don’t want to argue any more, either. I’m not going to Cerrmor and make a fool of myself in front of the Prince Regent.”

  Travaberiel winced. With a sigh he took the letter and began rolling it up again.

  Alyssa tried again. “But the gwerbret—”

  “You don’t understand. Ladoic can be a stupid stubborn man when the fit takes him, but the fits don’t rule his entire life. Our treaties with him are the only security the Westfolk have on the coastal border. The horse fairs matter to your people, truly, but not enough to protect us.”

  “Protect you, good sir? May I ask you from what?”

  “From your people, of course. Come now, lass. You must have studied the history of the west in that collegium of yours.”

  Alyssa sighed and looked away. “I have. I can’t blame you, good sir. I’m taken by surprise, I suppose, by your high opinion of our gwerbret.”

  “The view is different from our side of the river. But beyond all that, the Westfolk aren’t as welcome in the rest of the kingdom as they are in Aberwyn.” He glanced at Travaberiel. “The Wise One’s spent too much time in Lughcarn and the like. You may tell her I said so, too, when next you see her.”

  “Done, then,” Travaberiel said. “I’ll come with you to Cerrmor, Alyssa, to make sure you get there safely.”

  “You’d best not stay in Cerrmor.” Maelaber spoke before Alyssa could get a word in. “Rommardda mentioned that feud between the Bears and the Maelwaedds. Standyc won’t appreciate Westfolk poking their nose in.”

  Alyssa started to thank Travaberiel for his offer, but he held up one hand for silence. She heard Cavan’s voice, sharp and threatening, just outside the tent. Trav got to his feet fast and had the tent flap open before she or Maelaber could rise.

  “What’s all this?” Travaberiel stepped outside.

  Alyssa followed him in time to see Ela and Joh running up to help Cavan, who was struggling with a portly man, dressed like a merchant, who had oddly short dark hair. As soon as Joh laid a hand on him, the fellow squalled.

  “Do not touch me, woman!”

  “Hah!” Cavan said. “You’re one of Bel’s priests, aren’t you? I thought so.”

  The man stopped fighting. Joh laughed and ran an impious hand over the stubble on the priest’s head.

  “Now you must get purified,” she said, grinning. “Not my god!”

  His face turned bright red. When Cavan let him go, he made a great show of pulling down his shirt and smoothing himself generally.

  “Here,” Trav repeated, “what’s all this?”

  Trapped, the priest scowled back and forth between the herald and the silver dagger, as if trying to decide which was worse. Finally he sighed with a loud exhale.

  “We have a right to discover if someone plots against us,” he said. “The laws have been in our hands and hearts forever.”

  “As far as I know,” Trav said, “no one wants to change that. It’s the gwerbretal courts that have become corrupt, not their sacred advisers.”

  The priest crossed his arms over his chest and stayed silent. For a change Alyssa was glad that their kind refused to listen to a woman’s words. She knew perfectly well that a great many people wanted the laws wrested from priestly control, but why bother telling the truth? Instead she did her best to look humble. Cavan was looking the man over, narrow-eyed.

  “A priest you were, at least,” he said. “Where’s your sickle? I can’t believe a true priest would dress up but not have that in a pocket or suchlike. That waistcoat you’re wearing’s so cursed tight I could see the thing if it was there.”

  The priest’s face blanched.

  “The temples throw out garbage like the rest of us,” Cavan continued. “I’d wager—”

  The man made a growling noise deep in his throat and jerked up a hand, only to stop himself when Cavan laid a hand on the hilt of his finesword.

  “I suggest,” Travaberiel said to the priest, “that you stop following us. No good’s going to come of it.”

  The priest merely glared the harder.

  “Oh, by the hells,” Trav continued, “just go, will you? Be gone and stay gone!”

  “Now wait!” Cavan snapped. “I want to ask him—”

  “He won’t answer.” Trav laid a hand on Cavan’s arm. “Go on!” This last to the priest. “Leave before Cavvo slits your throat for you. I suggest you leave the horse fair, too.”

  Muttering under his breath,
the disgraced priest strode off. Cavan watched him go with murderous eyes. Travaberiel kept his hand on his arm until the priest had disappeared into the thick of the crowd.

  “I can follow his every move,” Travaberiel said to Cavan. “Now that I’ve seen him in the flesh, I can scry him out with no trouble at all.”

  “Of course.” Cavan forced out a smile. “Right you are.”

  More dwimmer. Alyssa felt as if she were sailing on an unknown and stormy sea. Every time the thought came to her, dwimmer is real, she felt as if she went to walk across the deck of a ship only to feel the footing fall away from her as the ship pitched in the waves.

  Although they did manage to leave the fair and get on the road that afternoon, they only traveled for a few miles before the lowering sun bade them stop. After that first day, however, things went more smoothly without a herd of horses and a large Westfolk escort. The weather stayed fair, and the road, so important to the economy of the fairs, was a good one. Travaberiel reported several times a day that as far as he could see, no one followed them.

  “I doubt if trouble waits for us in Mandra,” he said. “Bel’s priesthood isn’t welcome there, but Wmm’s is.”

  “Wait a moment,” Alyssa said. “You actually do know that Wmm’s priesthood wants the laws written down, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I just lied to that fat priest.” Trav grinned at her. “I’d never lie about the dwimmer, but this has naught to do with that.”

  That night, Alyssa and Cavan laid out their blankets near a small fire. In the glow of the embers she lay awake, thinking about Maelaber’s refusal. Cavan propped himself up on one elbow to look at her.

  “What’s so wrong?”

  “You heard, didn’t you, that Maelaber wouldn’t help us?”

  “Why should he?”

  “Well, our cause—”

  “Is perfectly just, but he has causes of his own. You’ve been lucky so far, Lyss, meeting people who’ve helped you. You can’t expect that from everyone you ask.”

  She hesitated to answer, but only briefly. “You’re right, aren’t you? Things have been too easy so far.”