Sword of Fire Page 30

  Dovina was waiting in her suite, though Mavva still slept. As Alyssa had suspected, Dovina already had a scheme in mind.

  “Father’s invited Tieryn Bryn to come here and eat breakfast with him and Merryc. They should be arriving shortly. Nallyc’s joining them, and Bryn’s councillor whats-his-name, and Merryc’s uncle, too. The guesthouse has private rooms for this sort of thing. We can march in before they start eating.”

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say we.”

  “Scholars together forever!” Dovina grinned at her. “And besides, if I’m there, Father won’t be able to bite you.”

  It took Alyssa a moment to realize that Dovina had made a joke. She managed to laugh.

  * * *

  For all her jesting, Dovina was as nervous as Alyssa, though for Cavan’s sake. She knew her father well enough to know that at the worst, he’d treat Alyssa with cold courtesy—have us both tossed out, she thought, though politely. She had no idea what he’d do in answer to the petition. At the same time, she could see no other way to get her father to lift the bounty. Arguing would only turn him stubborn, or even more stubborn, as she phrased it to herself. While she couldn’t see why her friend had wanted to marry an exile and a silver dagger, Dovina would do her best to make sure Alyssa’s choice stayed alive.

  When they went down to the great hall, a servant directed them to the private room. They followed other servants, laden with plates of sliced ham and fresh bread, into a sunny chamber, hung with fine tapestries of hunting scenes. Windows looked out onto the long lawn behind the guesthouse. The men sat at a round table near the windows. At first only Merryc noticed Dovina and Alyssa; the others seemed to have assumed they too were servants. He turned in his chair and started to greet them, but Dovina laid a finger on her lips. He smiled and said nothing.

  Alyssa took a deep breath—Dovina could hear it quite clearly—and stepped forward.

  “Your Grace!” Alyssa said. “I am a subject of yours from Aberwyn. It aches my heart to disturb you, but I have little choice. I call upon my right to petition the gwerbret.”

  Ladoic slewed around in his chair. The servants and councillors froze, the other lords sat stone-still as well. Alyssa curtsied to them and to the gwerbret. Ladoic looked her over, then noticed Dovina standing off to one side. He quirked an eyebrow. She mouthed a “Please listen.”

  “Very well.” Ladoic turned to Alyssa. “You are?”

  “Alyssa vairc Guildmaster Avar.”

  “I’ve heard your name. One of our rabble-rousers.”

  “One of the worst, Your Grace, but I’m here on a private matter.”

  Ladoic laughed, just a mutter under his breath, but a good sign nonetheless.

  “You’ve placed a bounty on the head of Cavan the silver dagger, an exiled son of Caddalan of Lughcarn. I’ve come to claim it.”

  “Now that’s a surprise! How did you capture a man like that?”

  “He’s my husband, Your Grace.”

  Tieryn Bryn had taken a sip of ale. He snorted and nearly spat it out but managed to swallow in time. Dovina noticed Gwerbret Verrc kick him under the table. Councillor Nallyc froze with a slice of bread halfway to his mouth. Bryn’s councillor pursed his full lips into an O. Ladoic himself showed only a mild surprise.

  “But you’d turn him over to me?” Ladoic said. “He must be a cursed bad husband.”

  “He’s a splendid husband, Your Grace,” Alyssa said. “Our laws say that I can’t turn him over to you unless we’re all in Aberwyn. But I can lay claim to the bounty wherever you may be. And once I do, it’s mine and belongs to no other.”

  “True spoken.”

  “So, Your Grace, I have to take him to Aberwyn to hand him over and receive the coin.”

  Ladoic abruptly understood. His eyes narrowed in anger. Dovina’s whole body tensed in a fear so strong that she couldn’t speak. Alyssa waited, as calm as if she were merely studying the tapestries behind him on the chamber wall. For some moments Ladoic kept staring at Alyssa as if he couldn’t believe her effrontery. She returned his scrutiny with the same modest calm. Suddenly he laughed, a pleasant bellow of sheer delight.

  “Well done, lass. Very well done!” He turned to the other lords. “You see what kind of folk I have in Aberwyn? It’s no wonder I’m proud of the place, eh?”

  The others nodded and murmured a word or two. Merryc looked close to laughing out loud. Ladoic turned back to the petitioner.

  “No doubt it’ll be a long time before you and he see Aberwyn again, eh? Am I right?”

  “You are indeed, Your Grace. But since I’m a guildsman’s daughter, I’ll point out that during that long time, you get to keep the coin.”

  Ladoic chuckled and smiled. “Very well, Alyssa vairc Avar,” he said. “I accept your claim.”

  Dovina felt her jaw slacken of its own accord and her mouth fall open. She shut it again.

  “My thanks, Your Grace.” Alyssa curtsied to him. “My very humble thanks! I shall tell everyone I meet how generous and noble you are.”

  “No need for flattery! Cavan the silver dagger is now under my protection until you and he return to Aberwyn.” Ladoic turned to the men at the table. “Let’s see, the formula runs how? I think it’s because the bounty has been assigned. Let no one give him or his wife a jot of trouble.” He nodded at Councillor Nallyc. “Do we make a public proclamation or suchlike?”

  Nallyc looked so stunned by what had just occurred that it took him a long moment to answer. “We ask His Grace, Gwerbret Daiver, if we may consult with the mayor, I should think.”

  “Of course you may,” Verrc said. “Matters of law always come first in Cerrmor. The city will lend you a herald. Mayor’s a fair bit sharper than he acts sometimes, and he’ll go along with it, I’m sure.”

  “Excellent,” Ladoic said. “We should attend to that today.”

  “Your Grace?” Merryc put in. “I’ll be glad to act as your messenger. Cavan’s an old friend of mine.”

  “Mine, too,” Bryn said. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Take the official messages back to your father,” Ladoic said. “And tell everyone you meet along the way. Very well, Goodwife Alyssa. You may leave our presence in safety. Your husband had better stay in his den at that embassy until Lord Merryc’s spoken with the mayor. We want word to get about.”

  “Your Grace is ever so generous.” Alyssa curtsied first to him, then to Verrc, then again to Bryn and finally Merryc. “I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.”

  Dovina started to follow Alyssa out, but Ladoic rose from his chair and signaled to her to linger a moment. As soon as the door shut behind Alyssa, the whispers and the talk broke out among the men who’d witnessed the scene. The servants looked as if they would burst from having to hold their tongues. Ladoic caught Dovina’s hand and led her a little apart.

  “Hah! Speechless, I see. Probably the first time in your life.” He chuckled to himself. “Your friend has almost as much spirit as you do.”

  “So she does, Father.” Dovina found her voice at last. “I’m so glad you find it acceptable.”

  “How could I not admire her, eh? The sheer unmitigated gall of the lass, but ye gods, it served her well. Reminds me of you. No wonder you’re friends, whether she’s a commoner or not.”

  “Just so. And she had the laws as her shield.”

  “You would say that!” But he continued smiling. “You’d best go join your friend. Merryc will probably tell you later what we’re going to discuss here. Good lad, that one.”

  “I rather think so, too, but of course, I’m not quite ready to agree to the betrothal. A lass must know her own heart before she commits herself.”

  Ladoic snorted. “Get along with you! We’ll talk later.”

  * * *

  Once the two women and the servants had all left, the men got down to di
scussing the matter before this impromptu council: what to do if indeed the other gwerbretion started an armed rebellion. Merryc looked at Bryn and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “I was indeed approached,” Bryn said. “I weaseled in the hopes of learning more. But as far as I can tell, no one truly wants an armed rebellion. They’re hoping that if they hint and threaten, Gwardon will back down.”

  “The Prince Regent,” Verrc put in, “isn’t going to back down on anything.”

  “I know, Your Grace, which is why I weaseled. Maybe I’ll hear more that way.”

  For a few moments they all ate in silence. Finally Ladoic wiped his mustache on his sleeve and put down his table dagger.

  “The only one of us who could afford to arm a true rebellion would be Caddalan. Maybe it’s a good thing he’s a miser, eh?”

  Everyone laughed but dutifully.

  “There are other kinds of rebellion, my lords,” Nallyc pointed out. “A refusal to pay taxes, for instance, or allow the king’s men access to their cities.”

  “A cursed sight better than open warfare,” Bryn said.

  “It would turn to fighting soon enough, my lord.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  “Is there aught we can do about it?” Ladoic said. “Now, I mean.”

  The consensus, after a long and heated discussion, was that they couldn’t. Watch and listen, try to sound out other lords who might be of the same mind as themselves—small things, but at the moment, nothing better presented itself.

  When the meeting broke up, Bryn and Merryc left together. They walked outside and lingered on the steps of the guesthouse.

  “I was thinking,” Bryn said, “that we should stand Cavan a tankard or two. Once it’s safe for him to leave the embassy grounds, anyway.”

  “Splendid idea,” Merryc said. “Why don’t you send your page with a message? I’m on my way to the mayor’s. I’m just cursed glad there’s summat we can do for our old friend.”

  “Me, too. Trust Cavan to marry a lass like that! She may be a baker’s daughter, but ye gods, she’s got the heart of a Bardek lion!”

  “She’ll need it, married to him.”

  The mayor had a public office above a tavern, which turned out to be closed when Merryc arrived. The barman, however, hinted that his lordship might well find Mayor Eddel at home.

  The mayor and his family lived in apartments supplied by the city at the top of the civic broch down near the harbor. A tall tower rose four stories high in the midst of smaller, squatter towers of varying heights. Since he often ran unofficial errands for his uncle, Merryc knew the complex. He was expecting to wait for some long while in the public reception area down below, but as soon as he gave his name, a clerk escorted him up the four stories of a narrow winding staircase.

  “Ye gods!” Merryc gasped. “These stairs!”

  “You get used to them after a bit, my lord. Cursed good thing, too.”

  Eddel opened the door himself, a typical Cerrmor man with high cheekbones and narrow-set blue eyes. Although he’d lost most of the usual Cerrmor blond hair, he was on the young side of forty. With a bow he ushered Merryc inside to a small, sparsely furnished greeting room—a couple of plain chairs, a small table, and, on the wall, a sea-green cloth banner decorated with the device of the mayor’s office, a pair of grappling badgers. The room, and Merryc could assume the entire set of chambers, smelled of frying onions.

  “I was hoping you’d honor me with a visit, my lord,” Eddel said. “Come sit down.”

  “My thanks.” Merryc removed a small toy horse from one of the wooden chairs, then sat.

  “Ah, the children!” Eddel said. “Don’t pick up after themselves no matter what the wife says to them.” He brushed some indeterminate crumbs off the seat of the other chair before he sat down. “I’ve been a bit worried, my lord, I don’t mind telling you, about all these noble lords and gwerbretion turning up in my city.”

  “I know the folk here don’t much care for the noble-born.”

  “Excepting your clan, of course. You’re all family, like, and none of you swagger and sneer. But be that as it may, I hear things, you know, from those what wait upon the other kind.”

  “No doubt. Angry words? Threats?”

  “Just that. Talk of war, my lord. And it’s my job, like, to keep this city safe.”

  “Let me be blunt. There’s talk of a rebellion against the Prince Regent, but so far it’s only talk. It should have naught to do with Cerrmor. A matter of honor, mostly, a dangerous matter, but a thing among the noble lords only.”

  “So far, eh? These things tend to get out of hand.”

  “You’re right enough. My uncle and I will be working to contain it. So will another gwerbret, one I can’t name at the moment.”

  “Well and good, then. Free city or no, Cerrmor’s bound to supply archers to the Marked Prince should he call upon us. I need to know when to summon a muster. It’ll take us a day, like, to get everyone ready to go.”

  “I understand that. It’s fifty archers, innit?”

  “A hundred in times of open war, my lord. Fifty if the prince chooses to accept fewer.”

  And their provisions, Merryc knew, meant another thing to assemble, as well as weaponry from the armory. “Wouldn’t hurt to put them on alert. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll send you a message if I can’t come myself.”

  “My thanks, my lord. Very fair of you.” Eddel paused, thinking, then shrugged. “Now. What brings you to me?”

  “A request. Gwerbret Ladoic of Aberwyn has just assigned the bounty on a fugitive, a silver dagger named Cavan of Lughcarn. The man’s in town but in pledged custody. He might be seen on the streets. The gwerbret sent me to ask you for a public herald to proclaim that the bounty’s been assigned and the fugitive’s person is sacrosanct.”

  “Easily done, my lord. Let me get my keys, and we’ll go down and fetch the bells.”

  The Justice Hall occupied the second floor of the tower. An antechamber led into a high-ceilinged chamber crammed with chairs and benches enough for at least a hundred people. At one end stood a dais with a table and a free-standing cabinet. Eddel unlocked the cabinet with a big iron key. On the inside of the door hung the city’s golden Sword of Justice in its leather sheath. Eddel rummaged among the boxes and bags cluttering the shelves and at length brought out two big brass hand bells on wooden handles. He gave them to Merryc to hold while he locked up the cabinet again.

  “Now we go out on the street, my lord, and I’ll ring one of these ladies. The heralds live right round here, and if they’re sleeping, it’ll wake ’em up.”

  The bell rang loudly enough to wake the dead, Merryc decided, once he heard it clanging in the open air. Dwarven work, Eddel remarked, and as solid as always. Two heralds came running to the summons. One of them had pulled his red and white striped tabard over his head but had yet to fasten the ties at the sides, so that it flapped around him as he hurried up. The other carried his tabard bunched up in one hand and a chunk of bread in the other, part of his morning meal, Merryc assumed.

  “Very good, lads,” Eddel said. “We need a bit of news proclaimed around town.”

  The heralds may have lacked the polish of the royal staff up in Dun Deverry, but Eddel only needed to repeat the message twice for them both to have it perfectly memorized. Each took a bell and hurried off to spread the news that Cavan the silver dagger had been turned over to the proper authorities on his wife’s pledge. None were to harass, harm, or murder him or her on pain of hanging.

  “That should do it,” Merryc said. “My thanks to you, Eddel. If I hear summat definite about the rebellion, I’ll make sure you know.”

  * * *

  Cavan had spent a miserable morning waiting for Alyssa’s return. The embassy compound sported a walled garden—a long rectangle of grass around a rectangular pool, both bordered
by red and yellow roses. Cavan walked around and around on a little flagstone path until he was sick of the sight of the flowers. Now and then he met a member of the embassy staff, or the gardener or another servant, all of whom greeted him politely and smiled. He always answered the same way, but he felt shamed to realize how uneasy it made him that everyone he saw had dark skin. Some of the embassy people were so dark that they seemed to gleam in the sunlight; others were more of a reddish brown, but all of them struck him as alien. He’d grown up in the north of the kingdom, and while he’d certainly been taught about Bardek and its people, he’d seen very few of them.

  These people are saving your wretched life, he reminded himself. He returned to the guest cottage and flopped into a chair to brood until he was equally sick of calling himself a fool and a dolt. He sighed, got up, went to the window, looked out, sat down again. After some while of this it occurred to him that he was making the wait worse.

  “I should find some way of . . . summat to do with myself . . .”

  The walls had no suggestions to make. His mind returned to brooding and inevitably found his most painful loss, the rituals and lore of the Iron Brotherhood. It was in some ways an odd organization, peculiar to Lughcarn with its dangerous smelters and forges, a charity, really, dedicated to helping the workmen injured or sickened by the process of turning Cerrgonney ore into hammered steel. But thanks to visiting sages like Rommardda, the lodge had an overlay of dwimmer practices, such as regular meetings to work rituals of sorts. Ostensibly these rituals existed to bond the members of the lodge and remind them that charity was a service to the gods, just as holy as sacrifices in the temples.

  Cavan had always wondered if they meant more, if they pointed the way to something splendid and mysterious. The lodge meetings had been the light of his life, back when he was the middle son of an important noble, a lad who existed only in case his older brother died. Now he’d lost them thanks to his own stupidity and the lies of his younger brother, that stinking flea on the Lord of Hell’s balls . . . he stopped himself from thinking about Careg.