Deverry #06 - The Westlands 02 - A Time of Omens Read online

  Nevyn slipped the lead plate into his pocket, lest melting it cause Maryn some harm. He gathered his gear and loaded up his mount, then untied the horse and led it about a quarter mile down the river, where he tethered it out in safety. When he got back to the lodge, he found that the fire had already leapt from the hearth to smolder in the woodpile. With the Wildfolk pulling as he pushed, Nevyn got the rotting log that bore the corpse free of the ground and hauled it inside. He positioned the corpse and log as close to the fire as possible, then laid the mutilated baby on the desecrated breast of the man who’d tried to save it. Although he felt more like vomiting than ever, he forced himself calm and raised his hands over his head to invoke the Great Ones.

  “Take them to their rest. Come to meet them when they go free.”

  From the sky outside, booming around the lodge, came three great knocks like the claps of godly hands. Nevyn began to shudder, and in the fire, the flames fell low in worship.

  Even though Nevyn had asserted, and quite calmly, too, that there was no danger, none of the silver daggers were inclined to believe him. After the men had tethered out the horses and eaten dinner, Caradoc gave orders to scrounge all the dry wood they could find and build a couple of campfires. Maddyn suspected that the captain was as troubled as any man there by this talk of a haunt and wanted the light as badly, too.

  “Full watches tonight, lads,” Maddyn said. “Shall we draw straws?”

  Instead, so many men volunteered that his only problem was sorting out who was going to stand when. Once the first ring of guards was posted, some of the men rolled up in their blankets and went to sleep—or at least pretended to in a fine show of bravado—but most sat near one fire or another, keeping them going with sticks and bits of bark as devotedly as any priest ever tended a sacral flame. After about an hour, Maddyn left the prince to Caradoc’s and Owaen’s care at one of the fires and went for a turn round the guards. Most were calm enough, joking with him about ghosts and even making light of their own nerves, but when he came up to Branoic, who was posted out near the herd of horses, he found the younger man as tense as a harp string.

  “Oh, now here, lad! Look at the horses, standing there all peaceful like. If there was some fell thing about, they’d warn us.”

  “You heard what Nevyn said, and he’s right. There are some things horses can’t know. Maddyn, you can mock me all you like, but some evil thing walks this stretch of country. I can practically smell it.”

  Maddyn was about to make a joke when the knocks sounded, three distant rolls booming out like thunder from a clear sky. Branoic yelped like a kicked dog and spun round to point as a tower of pale silver flame shot up through the night. As far as Maddyn could tell, it was coming from the old hunting lodge. Even though they were over a mile away, Maddyn saw the river flash with reflected light as it seemed that the flames would lick at the sky itself. Then they fell back, leaving both men blind and blinking in the darkness. In the camp, yells and curses broke like a rainstorm. Around them horses neighed and reared, pulling at their tethers.

  “Come on!” Maddyn grabbed Branoic’s arm. “Somewhat’s happened to Nevyn.”

  Stumbling and swearing, they took off upriver, running because it would take too long to calm and saddle horses. Just as Maddyn’s sight was finally clear someone hailed them: Nevyn himself, leading his horse along as calmly as you please.

  “Ye gods, my lord! We thought you slain.”

  “Naught of the sort. I did get a little carried away with that fire, didn’t I? I’ve never tried anything quite like that before, and I think me I need to refine my hand.”

  Nevyn refused to say anything more until they reached the camp. Shouting for answers the men surrounded him until Maryn yelled at them to shut up and let the councillor through. It was a good measure of the prince’s authority that they all fell back and did so. Once Nevyn reached the pool of firelight, he mugged a look of mild surprise.

  “I told you I’d lay the haunt to rest, lads, and I did. There’s naught more to worry about.” He glanced around with a deliberate vagueness. “If someone would take my horse, I’d be grateful.”

  Owaen grabbed the reins and led the trembling beast away to join its fellows.

  “Oh, come now, good councillor.” With all the flexible courage of youth Maryn was grinning at him. “You can’t expect to put us off so easily.”

  “Well, perhaps not.” The old man thought for a moment, but Maddyn was sure that he had his little speech all prepared and was only pretending to hesitate. “To lay a haunt you’ve got to burn its corpse. So I made a huge fire and shoved the ghastly thing in. But I stupidly forgot about the corpse-gas, and up went the whole lodge. I hope your father won’t be vexed, my liege. I’ve destroyed one of his holdings, old and decrepit though it was.”

  Much to Maddyn’s surprise, everyone believed this, to him, less-than-satisfying tale. They wanted to believe it, he supposed, so they could stop thinking about these dark and troubling things. Later, when most of the men, including the prince and the captain, were asleep in their blankets, Maddyn heard a bit more of the truth as he and Aethan sat up with the old man at a dying fire.

  “You’re just the man I want,” Nevyn said to Aethan. “You rode for the Boar up in Cantrae, didn’t you? Take a look at this pewter roundel. Is that pig the same heraldic device or some other version of a boar?”

  “It’s the gwerbret’s, sure enough.” Aethan angled the bit of metal close to the last blazing log. “The curve of those long tusks gives it away, and I’ve been told that pointed mark on the back is the first letter of the word apred.”

  “So it is. That settles it, then. There was at least one Boarsman in that lodge this winter—although, truly, he could have been someone who was ousted from the warband, I suppose, and brought his old gear with him.”

  “I can’t imagine any of the lads I used to ride with treating a dead man that way.”

  “Ah. Well, the man this belonged to might well have been the man who was killed. He was murdered for trying to do an honorable thing. I did find out that much.”

  “You talked with the haunt?” Maddyn found it hard to speak, and Aethan was staring horrified

  “Not to say talked, but I asked questions, and he could nod yes or no.” The old man gave him a sly grin. “Don’t look so shocked, lad. You were mistaken for a ghost yourself once, if I remember rightly.”

  “True enough, but I wasn’t exactly dead.”

  “Well, while this poor fellow was a good bit less alive than you, he wasn’t exactly dead either. He is now, and gone to the gods for a reward, or so I hope.” Nevyn considered for a moment, frowning at the roundel. “Tell me somewhat, Aethan. When you rode for Cantrae, did you ever hear any rumors of witchcraft and dark wizardry? Did anyone ever say that so-and-so had strange powers or the second sight or suchlike?”

  Aethan started to shrug indifferently, then stiffened and winced, like a man who shifts his weight in the saddle only to pinch an old bruise.

  “An odd thing happened once, years back. I rode as a guard over the gwerbret’s widowed sister, you see, and once we went out into the countryside. It was late in the fall, but she insisted on taking a hawk with her. There’s naught to set it on, say I, but she laughed and said that she’d find the game she wanted. And she did, because cursed if she didn’t fly the thing at a common crow, and of course the hawk brought it right down. She took feathers from its wings and its tail and threw the rest away.” He was silent for a long moment. “And what do you want those for, say I, and she laughed again and said she was going to ensorcel my heart. And she did, truly, but whether she used the wretched feathers or not, I wouldn’t know. She didn’t need them.” Abruptly Aethan rose to his feet. “Is there aught else you want from me, my lord?”

  “Naught, and forgive me for opening an old wound.”

  With a toss of his head Aethan strode off into the darkness. Maddyn hesitated, then decided it would be best to leave him alone wi
th his ancient grief.

  “I am sorry,” Nevyn said. “Did Aethan get thrown out of the warband for courting the gwerbret’s sister?”

  “He did, but things came to a bit more than fine words and flowers, or so I understand.”

  “Ah. I saw the Lady Merodda once. She was the most poisonous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I wonder, lad. I truly wonder about all of this. Here, keep what you just heard to yourself, will you? The men have got enough to worry about as it is.”

  “And I don’t, I suppose.”

  “Oh, here.” Nevyn chuckled to himself. “As if you weren’t burning with curiosity.”

  “My heart was ice, sure enough. Well, my lord, I’m about snoring where I stand, and I’d best get some sleep.”

  Once he lay down in his blankets, Maddyn drifted straight off, but he did wake once, not long before dawn, to see Nevyn still sitting up and staring into the last embers of the fire.

  On the morrow a subdued troop of silver daggers rode straight home to Dun Drwloc. That night Nevyn summoned Maddyn and Caradoc to the king’s private chambers for a conference. Casyl had a map of the three kingdoms, drawn in great detail by the priests of Wmm, and, as he remarked, it had cost him far more than the weight of its thin parchment in gold. While Nevyn and the king chewed over the problems involved in getting Maryn to Cerrmor, Maddyn stared fascinated at the map in the flaring candlelight. Although he couldn’t read, he could pick out the rivers and the mountains, the Canaver and the Cantrae hills where he’d lived his early life, the long rivers of central Deverry running down from the northern mountains, and, finally, the Aver El, the river with the foreign name whose source lay in the lake just outside the window of the conference room.

  All the borders of the kingdoms and their provinces were there, too, marked in red. Even without letters Maddyn could see that it was going to be a long ride and a dangerous one from Loc Drw down to Cerrmor. As long as the prince was in Pyrdon, he was safe, but the Pyrdon border lay a good hundred miles from the border of the Cerrmor holdings. Part of his journey, therefore, would have to lie through hostile Cantrae lands.

  “It aches my heart that some enemy knows of Maryn’s Wyrd.” Casyl’s voice brought Maddyn back to the present meeting. “What matters the most, of course, is where their lands are, and whether or not the prince is going to have to pass through them, though I can’t help wondering just who they are, and where their loyalties lie.”

  “I strongly suspect, my liege,” Nevyn said, “that their loyalties lie only to themselves, but I’ll wager they’re not above selling information to whomever can buy it.”

  Caradoc nodded in a grim agreement.

  “There’s mercenary troops, and then there’s mercenary spies,” the captain pronounced. “I’ve come across a few of the latter. Fit for raven food and naught else, they were. All the honor of stoats.”

  “If that’s the case,” Casyl went on, “then I’ll wager the chief buyer for their foul goods is the king in Cantrae.”

  “Don’t forget, my liege, that Cerrmor is doubtless boiling over with intrigue at the moment,” Nevyn said. “For a long while now there have been omens of the coming of the true king as well as much speculation as to his name. I’m sure that by now Maryn’s bloodlines are well known there. And then we’ll have a good many ambitious men who won’t see why the omens couldn’t apply to them or their sons—with the right trimming and fitting, that is.”

  “Just so.” The king traced out the Pyrdon border with his fingertip. “There could be several different enemies laying for our prince. Here, Nevyn, do you know who’s regent down in Cerrmor? Or has the fighting over the throne already begun?”

  “I fear the latter, my liege, but I don’t truly know. If you’ll excuse me, I intend to find out.”

  The king nodded a dismissal, taking this hint of dweomer with a casual indifference. It was odd, Maddyn thought to himself, just how easily one did get used to dweomer, as if it were the natural order of things and a world without magic the aberration. Maryn was practically jigging where he stood in sheer excitement. Although Maddyn could sympathize—after all, the lad’s Wyrd lay close at hand—he was also worried, just because he could remember being fifteen and sure that he would never die, no matter what happened to other men. He knew better now, and he had no desire to see his prince learn as he had: the hard way. It seemed that the captain agreed with him.

  “If the Cantrae king comes out in force, my liege,” Caradoc said, “there aren’t enough men in Pyrdon to keep our prince safe.”

  Casyl winced.

  “Forgive my bluntness, Your Highness, but—“

  “No apologies needed, Captain. The point is both true and well taken. What do you suggest? I can see that there’s somewhat on your mind.”

  “Well, my liege, maybe our enemies, whoever they are, know that the prince will be trying to reach Cerrmor, but they still have to find him on the road. I suggest that you send a troop of picked men, the sort you’d choose to guard the prince, down the east-running road. Then, a while later, we leave, heading toward Eldidd, say. The prince goes with us—as a silver dagger. Who looks in a dung heap for a jewel?”

  “Just so.” Casyl nodded in slow admiration. “Just so, Captain.”

  “Oh, splendid!” Maryn broke in. “I’ve always wanted to carry one of those daggers. Have you looked at one close up, Father? They’re truly beautiful.”

  “So they are.” Casyl suppressed a smile. “One thing, though, Captain. I understand that you left Cerrmor in some disgrace. Will you be endangering yourself by returning?”

  “If I live that long, my liege, I suppose I will. Haven’t thought about all that in twelve, thirteen years, truly.” He glanced at Maryn. “I suppose I could petition the true king for a pardon, if things came to that.”

  “You have my pardon already, Captain.” Maryn drew himself up to full height, and all at once they could see the man he’d be someday. “No doubt you’ll redeem yourself thrice over by the time I ride into Dun Deverry as king.”

  Abruptly Casyl turned away and paced over to the window. Maddyn was the only one who noticed that his liege’s eyes were full of tears.

  The next morning Nevyn came out to the barracks and fetched Caradoc and Maddyn for what he called a “little stroll.” They went down to the lakeshore just outside the walls of the dun and sat down on the rocks right next to the water. For a moment Nevyn merely looked around him, but his eyes were so heavy-lidded and strange that Maddyn assumed the councillor was working some dweomer.

  “I think we should be safe here,” Nevyn remarked, confirming his suspicions. “The presence of the water will act as a sort of shield, you see, from the wrong sort of prying eyes. Now, then. Captain, I’ve received news from Cerrmor of a sort. The capital’s in an uproar, but it’s being torn apart by despair, not politicking. The only thing that’s keeping the Cerrmor side together is the regent, a certain Tieryn Elyc, an honorable man and a shrewd one, apparently, but even he hasn’t been able to stop a great many lords from switching their loyalties to Cantrae.”

  “Elyc? That’s not Elyc of Dai Aver, is it?”

  “The very one. You know him?”

  “Did once, a cursed long time ago now. If he hasn’t changed, he’s a decent sort, truly.”

  “Well and good, then. In theory he’s charged with running the kingdom until Glyn’s eldest daughter marries and has an heir, but I doubt me if he’ll be able to impose order for that many years.”

  “How old is the lass?” Maddyn said.

  “Thjrteen, just old enough to wed this year. Our prince will have to marry her, of course, and as soon as ever he can. I’ve no doubt that her mother will see reason if only we can get Maryn there. I’m told that everyone in the city lives in terror of anarchy.”

  “Then no doubt they’ll welcome him with shouting and flowers in their hair,” Caradoc said. “Good.”

  “Perhaps, but first we have to get him there. I suggest we leave o
n the morrow.”

  Since Caradoc wanted to keep the plan as secret as possible, he and Maddyn told the other silver daggers that they were going to ride a raid on the Eldidd border to provide a distraction when the Marked Prince left for Cerrmor with his escort. No one thought to question the plan, which was a decent one in its way. In a chilly dawn Maryn and Nevyn made a great show of riding out with a hundred members of the king’s own guard and a wagon train filled with supplies and gifts for the Cerrmor lords. Ahead of them rode a herald holding the banner of Pyrdon. With them on the road went the king with an honor guard of his own—to escort them to the border, or so it was said. The queen wept openly; silver horns blared; the assembled populace cheered the young prince and his splendid Wyrd. Only Maddyn and Caradoc knew that hidden among the silver daggers’ supplies were shabby clothes and armor for Maryn, and that those coffers of gifts were empty.

  When the silver daggers assembled in the ward later that morning, only their own women came to watch. As he kissed Clwna good-bye Maddyn felt a pang of guilt; she was expecting them all home in a week or two, while he knew that it would be months before they could send for the women, if indeed they even lived long enough to do so. From his manner she seemed to pick up that something was wrong, because she kissed him repeatedly and clung to him.

  “Here, here, my sweet, what’s so wrong?”

  “I worry, that’s all. I do every time you ride to war, or haven’t you even noticed?” Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Maddo, it’s worse this time. Somewhat’s going to happen. I just know it.”

  “Whist, whist, little one. If it does, then it’ll be my Wyrd, and what can either of us do about that?”

  Although she tried to force out a smile, her lips were trembling. She gave his hand one last squeeze, then ran for the barracks. She would be crying her heart out, he knew, and the guilt stabbed again, worse than a sword.

  “Ah come on, Maddo!” It was Aethan, striding over with his horse in tow. “We’ll be back soon enough. Those Eldidd dogs can’t fight worth a pig’s fart.”