Sword of Fire Page 27

  “It is an attack,” Mavva said. “Wmm’s priesthood are supplying the swords and arrows. The Bel priests must hate that even more.”

  “We have some proof of that right here.” Amara waved the pabrus vaguely in Dovina’s direction. “May I give this to my brother? Verrc will be most interested.”

  “By all means,” Dovina said. “If we get any more, I’ll give them over to you, too.”

  “Good, and my thanks. At least we’re not up in Dun Deverry where all the gwerbretion have free access. We only have a few to deal with. Your father’s one of them, come to think of it. You should tell him about this threat.”

  “I wasn’t going to trouble him. He has much on his mind as it is.”

  “And this is part of it. I’ll tell him if you’d rather not.”

  Dovina hesitated, then finally decided that Amara was right. “If you could, my lady, I’ll be grateful.”

  At that, Polla appeared in the doorway that led into Dovina’s bedchamber. No doubt she and Minna had been listening—not that Dovina blamed them. I would have done the same, she thought. “What is it?” she said aloud.

  “Er, my ladies, Minna and I were helping out in the kitchens. And we heard the cooks grumbling, because there were two gwerbretion here already, and they’d got news that His Grace Caddalan of Lughcarn and a couple of other high-ranking lords were close by.”

  “One of Cengarn’s sons, too,” Minna put in. “The young one who’s a tieryn.”

  “That’s Lord Bryn,” Amara said. “He stands to inherit the gwerbretrhyn when the old man dies.”

  “And His Grace Standyc is coming, of course,” Polla said. “But they’d been warned about him a long while past.”

  “Ye gods!” Amara said. “Did they say all these men would be staying in the guesthouse?”

  “They said they weren’t, my lady, and they thanked the Goddess for it, too, but they figured they’d be in and out, like, ordering dinners and fetties.”

  “You have my thanks for this news, lass.” Amara glanced at Dovina. “Worse and worse. I fear me that they have summat in mind.”

  “And we’re not going to like it at all,” Dovina said. “I doubt me if anyone will argue with that.”

  * * *

  Gwerbret Verrc was indeed interested in the letter that most likely came from a priest of Bel. He studied it carefully while Merryc sat in his usual chair and watched. Eventually Verrc laid the letter down with a little snort of disgust.

  “We need do summat about this,” Verrc said.

  “Just what I was thinking. I’m surprised the temple would stoop so low.”

  “Not the whole temple, lad. There are factions within factions. Never forget that. I’ve seen plenty of it, over the years. Infighting in the temple. Squabbling between them and other temples. The one we have here, a good man in charge. Not like some of ’em. He had a fair right mess to clean up, too, when he took over the head priest’s job. He threw the worst of them out of the priesthood. Sent a few others off to this temple they have for priests who need a quiet place to think about things.”

  “Is that in Cerrgonney?”

  “Worse yet. In the Desolation. Not much out there but farmers and the men who guard them. And a few criminals digging those ditches for the water.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  “Very peaceful.” Verrc flashed a grin. “And a good weapon for the head priests to wield.”

  “I wonder what His Holiness would think of this note, then.”

  “I wonder, too. I’d best have a little chat with Argyn.”

  His Holiness Argyn, the legally required priest of Bel for their rhan, lived on the Daiver demesne, such as it was, and tended a small shrine to the gods.

  “Shall I fetch him?” Merryc said.

  “Not necessary. I’ll send him a message. He’s always glad to get away from the farm and visit the city. He may be able to find out more about this.”

  “Let’s hope he can.”

  “Indeed. By the by, a messenger from the Prince Regent rode in this morning. He’s on his way. In fact, he’ll be here on the morrow. Doubtless you’ll see him before I do. Tell him that you need to discuss the matter.”

  “I will indeed, Uncle. Things could turn dangerous.”

  * * *

  “Me and the other pages, we played our games of carnoic last night,” Darro said. “I heard all sorts of nasty gossip. Tieryn Bryn’s got a Westfolk mistress, and everyone says she’s an evil sorceress. That was one of the best bits.”

  “I doubt if she’s a sorceress at all,” Dovina said. “What I want to know is what people are saying about us. What concerns us, reforming the courts, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, there was some of that.”

  “So I thought,” Dovina said. “What does concern us? Tell me the worst first.”

  “Well, it’s about Lord Merryc.” Darro paused, started to speak, bit his lower lip, thought, and finally came out with it. “They say he’s one of those men. The kind who like other men. They say he and the Prince Regent—” He blushed scarlet.

  “I understand, no need to say more. What else?”

  “That he only wants to marry you for your land.”

  “That’s hardly gossip. Most lords do want land when they marry.”

  “But my lady, er, that other thing—is that true?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed.” She laid a hand on her bustline. “He certainly seems interested in more than my land.”

  Darro grinned, but a paler version of the blush returned.

  “What it says to me,” Dovina continued, “is that some people are so jealous they could spit. Every lord wishes he had the Prince Regent’s favor, but Merryc’s one of the few men who does. Did you hear that rumor from Lady Rhonalla’s page?”

  “I didn’t, my lady. He wasn’t allowed to come. I saw him in the great hall this morning, and he told me his lady had forbidden it.”

  “Oh, had she now?” Dovina allowed herself an evil grin. “Then she knows we’re playing a different sort of game. Very good! Fetch my writing things and my reading-glass. I’ll write Merryc a note. You can give it to him before we go to the ceremony. Stress that it’s very important. I do think Merryc needs to know what’s being said.”

  Thanks to their special ties to the throne, representatives of Clan Daiver were expected to attend the Prince Regent’s entry into Cerrmor. Dovina and Mavva traveled in Lady Amara’s town carriage, an open affair that seated four in two facing seats. Darro clung to the back along with one of Amara’s footmen, and another footman rode next to the coachman. Dovina noticed that both footmen wore fineswords in clear view of anyone who might consider making trouble. Amara chatted as if nothing at all were amiss.

  “The prince will stay in his coastal residence just west of the city,” Amara said. “It’s a lovely large villa—that’s what the Bardekians call those big houses in the country, villas—that used to belong to an offshoot of the Maelwaedd clan. There’s still a fair bit of Maelwaedd blood, good Eldidd blood, in the royal line, even though it’s been what—how many years?”

  “Just over a hundred,” Dovina said, “since the heralds decreed the line gone. Though you know, there’s summat nagging at my memory. Mavva, isn’t there an illegitimate heir somewhere for that clan?”

  “I think so, my lady, but I don’t truly remember. The heralds should know.”

  “It hardly matters, I’m sure,” Amara said. “Now, once the mayor grants the Prince Regent entry, he’ll be able to go back and forth without all this fuss. I’ll be giving a reception for him, of course, as soon as I can consult with his chamberlain about days and times and suchlike.”

  Another cursed reception! Dovina thought, but she smiled brightly when Mavva said, “How lovely!” in a convincing tone of voice.

  Although the prince’s villa lay to the west, he wou
ld enter the city through the north gate thanks to the traditional ceremonies. The crowd waiting to see him gathered inside the city on a plaza. The defensive plan of the city made it impossible for them to wait on the road outside. High walls lined the road leading up to the north gate for some five hundred yards. Any would-be attacker would find his troops funneled through long lines of archers up above. A similar arrangement protected the west gate. To the east lay the gardens, and to the south, of course, was the ocean.

  Just before Amara’s carriage reached the plaza, Merryc rode up on a golden Western Hunter gelding. He made a half-bow from the saddle to the ladies.

  “Did you read my note?” Dovina said.

  “I certainly did,” Merryc said. “My thanks. I’ll attend to it.”

  Amara raised a curious eyebrow, but the coachman clucked to the horses, and they moved on. Merryc rode beside the carriage, but he stayed just a bit too far away for his mother to question him.

  The north and west gates each opened onto roughly circular plazas, some hundred yards across, bisected by the main roads and bounded by the high stone city walls. The heavy wooden gates, twice as high as a tall man and bound in steel, were shut. Armed guards, a herald, and the mayor in full ceremonial garb stood above them on the catwalks, and workers stood ready at the huge winch.

  A good-sized crowd of citizens filled the northern plaza, and a number of the noble-born in residence in the city had come down as well on horseback or in carriages. A few enterprising vendors were hawking bits of sweetbread and chunks of roast pork on sticks to the crowd, while a small troop of city guards tried to keep everyone in order. At the sight of the Clan Daiver tartan, the guard captain gave the carriage a place right beside the road.

  “My lord Merryc,” he said, “if you could sit on your mount just beside the ladies?”

  “Gladly, Vrando,” Merryc said. “You’ve got quite a crowd.”

  “Too many, but who can blame them? We don’t get a look at the prince all that often. Should be soon, milord. Him and his escort, they’re inside the outer walls already. Just waiting for us to open the city gates.”

  With a bow he hurried off. Dovina noticed Lady Rhonalla of Abernaudd’s carriage just across the road from them. Rhonalla and her companion, Lady Gratta of the Stag clan, sat primly in the back, guarded by a pair of armed footmen. When Dovina waved, Rhonalla waved back.

  “Oooh,” Mavva said. “What a simpery little smile she has!”

  “I want to keep her off-balance,” Dovina said. “Let her think we suspect naught.”

  “Just so,” Amara said. “Until we’ve gathered more evidence.”

  Silver horns sounded just outside the gates. The murmuring crowd fell silent. The herald called out in a booming voice, barely audible to the crowd except to those directly below. Dovina could just make out “Who demands entrance here?” and some phrase about “garbed in royal markings” or perhaps “garments.” No one could hear the answer except the herald and the guards on the wall.

  “Does the mayor of Cerrmor grant entrance?” the herald called out.

  The mayor said something inaudible.

  “Done, then!” the herald said. “Open the gates to Prince Gwardon of the Gold Wyvern, regent for our most honored High King, Maryn the Sixth!”

  The workers set to at the winch handle. Silver horns called out again as the gates creaked and groaned and finally, with a great spray of dust, opened. The crowd cheered as the first contingent of the prince’s escort, some twenty-five riders, came in at a stately walk. In the first rank rode two flag-bearers, one with the device of the gold wyvern of the royal line, the other with the prince’s personal device of a silvery-blue dragon. Behind them rode the prince himself on a golden gelding to match Merryc’s. He was younger than Dovina had expected, perhaps in his late twenties at the most, with raven-dark Eldidd hair and, as far as she could see with her weak eyes, a charming grin. He waved to the crowd, bowed from the saddle to Lady Rhonalla, then paused his horse briefly at Amara’s carriage for a bow to her and the other women. That close Dovina could see that his eyes were Eldidd dark blue.

  “Merro!” he called out. “Come ride with me!”

  “Done, my liege!” Merryc bowed to him, then urged his horse forward to fall in beside the prince’s mount.

  The prince rode on, followed by the remaining twenty-five riders of his allotted escort, with Merryc at his side. Mavva ducked her head this way and that to look between the passing horses.

  “Rhonalla looks like she could spit gall and vinegar,” Mavva said eventually. “I wish you could see her face, Dovina. Sour as sour and twice as vicious. Hah! Now she’s smiling again. Lady Gratta must have said summat to her about putting on a good face for the crowd.”

  Amara chuckled under her breath. “No doubt. She only got a bow from the prince, while Clan Daiver received a great deal more. Ah, good, look! Here come some of his servitors. The fellow riding the chestnut mare is his chamberlain. I shall ask him about the reception as soon as we all get back.”

  “Will you invite Rhonalla?” Dovina said.

  “Of course. We need to keep an eye on her.”

  “Is the prince going to stay in your town house, my lady?” Mavva said.

  “He has a town residence of his own, but he can only stay in it a single night at a time. Cerrmor guards its privileges very carefully. He has servants there year round, of course.” Amara winked. “Unkind souls might call them spies, but I’d prefer to say that the prince likes to stay abreast of local news.”

  Mavva shook her head with a little shudder. “I’m glad I’m marrying a priest and not a noble lord, but really, Dovina, this marriage looks absolutely perfect for you.”

  All three of them laughed. The coachman clucked to his team, and the carriage turned into the road to head back to the guesthouse.

  * * *

  The Marked Prince’s Cerrmor town house had once belonged to the gwerbretion of Cerrmor. It sat discreetly near the north gate, a squat tower complex in the old style in the midst of a cobbled ward. The outer walls held barracks and stables for his warband on those occasions when he was spending his one allowed night in the city. When they rode into the ward, the men dismounted and, at an order from the captain, took Merryc and the prince’s horses off to stable them along with their own.

  “I’m assuming you’ll dine with me?” Gwardon said.

  “I should be honored, my liege,” Merryc said.

  Although Merryc and Prince Gwardon had been friends since boyhood, they were still bound by rank. Gwardon expected full courtesies, though at times he himself dropped them, only to pick them up again when circumstances changed.

  They went inside to the great hall, the entire ground floor of the broch with room enough at its tables for over a hundred men. The table of honor sat on the usual dais across from the door. Gwardon sat down at the head and yelled at a servant to bring bread and ale. Merryc waited to sit until Gwardon gave him leave to take the chair at his right hand.

  “I need to thank you for those letters you sent,” Gwardon said. “We’re dealing with a nasty little mess from the sound of it. A tangle of gwerbretal vipers.”

  “Very nasty, my liege. Let’s see, we have Aberwyn and Abernaudd here in the city and then Lughcarn some four miles away. He just happens to be visiting his cousin.”

  “Of course, a mere coincidence.” The prince grinned, then let it fade. “Abernaudd I can understand. What happens in Eldidd concerns him. I summoned Standyc and Ladoic, so that fault is mine. Lughcarn makes four. And the Stag clan—let’s not forget them—their rhan’s not far from Cerrmor.”

  “True spoken, my liege. So the trouble isn’t just confined to the western border, is it?”

  “Though it did start there. Who’s left on the border? Pyrdon, for one, though I’ve not heard a word about him or from him when it comes to this matter.”

  “His
law courts are said to be the most justly run in the entire kingdom.”

  “Which is significant, truly. What about Cengarn? How long before he just happens to be visiting someone in the vicinity?”

  “His son’s on the way, and his youngest sister’s here already, Lady Rhonalla.” Merryc reminded himself that she was Gwardon’s cousin and spoke carefully. “My mother tells me, my liege, that she’s been sending off daily letters to her brother.”

  “If that’s all she’s doing, we should be grateful. No nasty gossip?”

  “That, too.”

  “When we were young, we used to play a game summat like carnoic, but made easy for children. There were lots of pieces, all different colors, on the board. If you were playing with Rhonnie, you had to memorize exactly where yours were at all times. Should you be distracted or have to leave the game for a moment, she’d move a couple of your pieces into a less advantageous position. What’s the old saying? If the foal limps, the horse will go lame?”

  Merryc allowed himself a polite snort of laughter. A servant appeared with tankards of ale and a basket of bread on a tray. She set everything down in front of the two men, curtsied deeply, and hurried away. Gwardon took a chunk of bread and a tankard and waved at Merryc to help himself.

  “What kind of gossip?” Gwardon said.

  “So far, mostly about me and the woman I may be betrothed to.”

  “May be?”

  “She’s not said me yea or nay yet, but then, she’s the canny sort.” Merryc smiled at the thought. “I’m hoping she’ll accept me. Dovina of Aberwyn.”

  “My congratulations! I hope she does, too. This could be very useful, you having a link to the western border.”

  “More than a link, my liege. She has land of her own in Eldidd. Near some village or suchlike named Cannobaen.”

  “Better and better! I’ve heard of Cannobaen. It has ties to Wmmglaedd and to that Westfolk town further west, Mandra I think its name is. But about that gossip, if it gets too poisonous, I’ll have a word with Rhonnie. She loves to curry favor with royalty, which generally means with me. It’s one of her better vices.”