Days of Air and Darkness Read online

  “Well, there. If Beryn does manage to dispose of me, Cadlew will inherit through Ylaena, and Beryn will regret the day he ever made an enemy out of my friend.”

  “I believe it, Your Grace. From what I’ve seen of Lord Cadlew, he’d get you a splendid revenge, but I’d just as soon he didn’t have to. I’ve been thinking about the precautions we should take once we reach the gwerbret’s dun. I haven’t forgotten that fellow in Caenmetyn who tried to hire me to kill you.”

  “For all we know, Beryn’s planning on attacking us on the road. If he’s got one of his men watching the dun from a distance, he’ll know when we’re riding out and lay another ambush in the forest. That reminds me—where’s Jill?”

  “Up in the women’s hall, Your Grace. She told me earlier that the local gossip was truly interesting, whatever she means by that.”

  Like Dwaen, Jill had been wondering if Beryn was going to try another ambush, but the combined warbands, followed by six packhorses laden with gifts of food for the gwerbret’s hall, reached Caenmetyn without incident. Although Gwerbret Coryc’s provincial demesne was a poor one by gwerbretal standards, his dun walls rose imposingly enough round a huge central broch surrounded by four squat half-brochs and a cobbled ward. While Dwaen, with Cadlew and Rhodry along for witnesses, went to the great hall to lay his formal complaint, Jill helped the servants haul all their gear up to the tieryn’s chambers in the main tower. While they worked, she made friends with one of the manservants and got him to introduce her to the various servitors, particularly to the head groom, a stocky fellow, mostly bald, named Riderrc.

  It was easy for her to use her horse, a beautiful golden gelding of the breed known as Western Hunter, to get a friendly conversation going. While they discussed Sunrise in particular and horses in general, she could ask casual questions about the various important officials in the dun, particularly the chamberlain, the most important of all.

  “He’s a decent enough lord, I suppose.” Riderrc sucked his teeth in a meditative way. “Fussy about every blasted detail, but no one bribes him for a favor, I tell you.”

  “Amazing! Many a chamberlain’s got rich selling access to his gwerbret.”

  “Our Tallyc would choke rather than take lying silver.”

  “Interesting. Well, I’d best be getting back upstairs.”

  But Jill went to the kitchen hut, which was as big as a small house. In the thick smoke, two cooks were frantically yelling at a squad of kitchen maids, while the chamberlain himself supervised the carving of a whole hog, and serving lasses and pages dashed around filling baskets with bread and bowls with stewed cabbage. In that madhouse, a would-be poisoner could slip all manner of things into the food and drink, but on the other hand, it would be near impossible to ensure that only Dwaen and his retinue ate the tainted servings. Jill hoped, at least, that the murderer would draw the line at poisoning the gwerbret, his entire household, and several hundred riders just to finish off one man. For a few minutes, she hesitated, wondering if she should tell Rhodry where she was going, then realized that she wouldn’t be able to get him alone to tell him privately. With a glance at the lowering sun, she trotted off to the main gates, pausing only to identify herself to the guards so they’d let her back in, and headed out into the town.

  It took her some time to find the thieves’ tavern again, curiously uncrowded for the dinner hour. She got herself a tankard of dark ale and stood chatting with the tavernman while she jingled a couple of coppers in one closed hand.

  “Do you remember the night that me and my man were in here? We were sitting right over there, and this fellow in a long gray cloak came in.”

  “Remember it I do. I thought he was a strange one to be coming into a place like this.”

  “Just so. You don’t happen to know who he is, do you?”

  “I don’t, but he must have been a master craftsman, all right. There was fine wool in that cloak of his.”

  “Or maybe a scribe or suchlike? He had soft hands, and he smelled like temple incense.”

  “So he did.” The tavernman spat into the straw to help his concentration. “Never seen him before or since, so he can’t live here in town. I’ve lived in Caenmetyn all my fifty years, I have, and I know everyone in it.”

  When Jill returned to the gwerbret’s palace, she snagged a page and sent him up to the women’s hall with a message. Before they’d left Dwaen’s dun, she’d asked Ylaena to write her a note to the gwerbret’s lady, Ganydda, giving Jill a formal introduction. The lad returned quickly enough and escorted her up to the reception chamber, littered with a profusion of heavy furniture and silver oddments. At each long window hung a curtain of Bardek brocade in the gwerbretal colors of green, silver, and yellow. Ganydda, a slender woman with graying hair, startled-looking blue eyes, and prominent teeth, greeted her kindly and had a servant lass bring a cushion so that Jill could sit near her feet.

  “The lady Ylaena speaks highly of you, Jill.”

  “My thanks, my lady, though doubtless she flatters me unduly.”

  “How well spoken you are! You must forgive an old woman’s curiosity, but whatever possessed a pretty lass like you to ride off with a. silver dagger? He’s awfully handsome, of course, but honestly, my dear! It must have been quite a scandal.”

  “Not truly a scandal, my lady, because you see, my father was a silver dagger, too. I had no position or anything to lose.”

  “Really? How fascinating! You must tell me all about it.”

  Although Jill normally parried such questions, that night she chattered about true love in general and Rhodry in particular until she could see she’d won the lady’s confidence—although she avoided telling her why Rhodry was riding the long road. At that point, she could work the talk round to Tieryn Dwaen’s current troubles.

  “My heart absolutely goes out to Slaecca, losing her husband to that drunken little—well, in a drunken little brawl,” Ganydda said. “And now to have her son threatened is really too much to bear. I pray that things won’t come to open war.”

  “It must be sad for Lord Beryn’s wife, too, the poor lady, seeing her husband put himself in danger after losing her only son.”

  “Well, perhaps it would distress her.” Ice formed in Ganydda’s voice. “One must always think the best thoughts one can about people, mustn’t one? But then, there’s no doubt that Mallona’s had a hard enough life. My dear Jill, wait until you see Beryn puffing and snorting at my husband’s court, and he’s a good bit older than her, you know.”

  “Truly? Lady Slaecca never mentioned that.”

  “She’s so charitable, isn’t she? But he is, and I’ve often wondered why she only had that one pregnancy, if you take my meaning.”

  Jill smiled and arched one eyebrow.

  “Oh dear, what if worst comes to worst?” Ganydda went on with a certain relish. “I wonder what poor dear Mallona will do. I can’t see her fitting into the temple life, I just simply can’t.”

  “Doesn’t she have a brother to go back to, my lady? The Lady Ylaena mentioned one.”

  “Um, well, a brother of a sort. Let me see, what did happen to him? He was the youngest son of a poor clan, you see, and so he ended up living just like a commoner, and his mother was so upset. He received a small inheritance from an uncle, and he became a merchant—can you imagine it—some said he was actually running a brothel down in Cerrmor, but I never believed it for a minute. People will say the nastiest things sometimes.”

  “But what about all her other brothers, then?”

  “Well, you see, when this Graelyn—I believe that was his name—betrayed the honor of his blood, Mallona was the only one who spoke on his side, and she and her kin no longer speak, for all that it’s been ten years now. I think her father arranged the match with Beryn as revenge of a sort, although I shouldn’t say that. I mean, he might have thought it a perfectly good match. After all, you can’t tell one old man that another doesn’t have much life left, if you take my meaning.”

  When J
ill managed to make her escape from the lady’s side, she headed upstairs to Tieryn Dwaen’s chamber. On her way, she met a serving lass carrying a tray with a silver flagon and goblets upon it.

  “Here, Silver Dagger,” she called out. “You’re with the tieryn’s party, aren’t you?”

  “I am. Shall I save you a few steps and carry that up?”

  “Would you? Some fellow from his grace’s retinue handed it to me and said to deliver it, but with all these guests, I’ve got so much work to do.”

  “Of course you do. Rude of him.”

  Dwaen, Cadlew, and Rhodry were all sitting in the reception chamber of the suite, the two lords in chairs, Rhodry on the floor by the door. When she brought the mead in, Cadlew rose with a small bow and took the tray from her.

  “Splendid idea, Jill. We found a water jug in one bedchamber, but that won’t do a man any good.”

  “Well, my lord, I’m afraid you don’t dare drink this mead. I’ve got the feeling it’s been poisoned.”

  Her feeling was confirmed when Rhodry dipped the corner of a rag in the mead, tasted a scant drop of it, and immediately washed his mouth out with the aforementioned water.

  “Crude,” he remarked. “Cursed crude. No one in their right mind would have drunk more than one sip of this.”

  “Ah, by the great hairy balls of the Lord of Hell!” Dwaen was decidedly pale. “Why would someone go to all this trouble to poison the stuff, then?”

  “Why did they put that rat in your bed, Your Grace? To make you squirm, to drag it out and make you wonder when they’ll finally kill you.” Rhodry glanced at Jill. “Think I should go berate the chamberlain?”

  “It won’t do any good, and spreading the news around might do harm. You could go down to the great hall and find out how easy it is for someone to get into the broch.”

  Rhodry did just that, but he came back with the discouraging news that it was remarkably easy, even at night, for any well-dressed man who was generous with his small coins. Merchants and travelers did it all the time, mostly to gawk at the dun and maybe to get a glimpse of the gwerbret or his wife. At times, even, after a particularly lavish feast, the gwerbret summoned the town poor into the ward to be given the leftovers. Jill and Rhodry both agreed that the only way they were going to keep strangers away from the tieryn was to raise a general alarm and have the gwerbret put the dun on full alert, a plan that Dwaen outright forbade, much to Cadlew’s annoyance and Jill’s relief. Rousing the dun would give her whole game away.

  Since it would be several days before Lord Beryn would arrive at court to answer the formal charges, Rhodry resigned himself to keeping a close watch over the tieryn and hoping for the best. As the tedious time crawled by, he grew annoyed with Jill for leaving the whole job to him. It seemed that the only time he ever saw her was at meals; she was always off talking to the servants, gossiping with the women in the dun, or wandering around town where, for all he knew, she might well be in danger. By the end of the third day, he was ready to shake her. They finally got a few minutes alone after dinner.

  “Just where were you this afternoon?” Rhodry snapped.

  “Talking with the head of the merchant guild. It took me all day to bribe my way in to see him.”

  “What did you want to do that for?”

  “And then I went to the temple of Nudd to talk to the priests. Every merchant who comes through town stops to pray there.”

  “So what? What do merchants have to do with anything?”

  “Lots, my sweet love. I think me you’re going to be surprised.”

  “I don’t want to be surprised, blast you. I want to know right now what you’re up to.”

  “All right. Here come his grace and Lord Cadlew now. Let’s see if they’ll ask the gwerbret a favor for me. I want to speak to our prisoner again.”

  Since his own curiosity was running high, Dwaen was willing to do just that, and Coryc himself was more than willing to grant Jill’s boon for the same reason. With four of the gwerbret’s men along for a guard, they all trooped out to the gaol, a long, squarish stone shed, half of which served as a general dungeon for beggars, drunkards, and suspected thieves, and half as private cells for more unusual men. Inside one of these tiny rooms was their prisoner, sitting on a heap of fetid straw. When a guard opened the door, he rose, setting defiant hands on his hips.

  “If you persist in refusing information,” Gwerbret Coryc said, “I’ll have you hanged.”

  Stubbled and dirty, the prisoner ducked his head in a submissive nod. Several days of bad food and living with the results of same had erased his contemptuous confidence.

  “This shouldn’t take long, Your Grace.” Jill stepped forward. “Would you have the guard see if he’s been flogged recently?”

  Although the prisoner fought and squirmed, a pair of guards pinned him and pulled his shirt up with little trouble. In the torchlight, they could all see the fresh pink scars, about ten of them, crisscrossing his back.

  “Very well,” Jill said. “Now, lad, I’ve got just one question for you. Who’s Lady Mallona’s lover?”

  Although for a brief moment Rhodry thought she’d gone daft, the prisoner yelped like a kicked dog, and ail the color left his face.

  “So.” Jill favored him with a smile. “I thought she had one, truly. Was it you? You’re good-looking when you’re clean.”

  “It wasn’t, by every god of my people. I wouldn’t have a thing to do with her when—” He broke off with a foul oath.

  “So, she was sniffing round you, was she? It’s no wonder you refuse to talk. One word, and you start giving everything away. Very well, then, hold your tongue a while longer. I’ll nose him out sooner or later.”

  With a nod to the guard to lock the prisoner up again, Coryc led the rest of them out into the ward.

  “All right, Silver Dagger, you’ve got some game afoot, and you can blasted well let the rest of us know what it is.”

  “Your Grace,” Jill said, “I’ll beg you a boon. If I’m right, this crime is truly scandalous. So I don’t want to make any charge or raise anybody’s suspicions until we’re assembled in a proper court of law. Of course, I’ll tell you if you order me to, but I truly do think we should wait until your malover. Your wife will tell you that I’m trustworthy.”

  “She already has, actually. Very well. Your request’s both fair and honorable.” The gwerbret looked round with an apologetic smile, since he doubtless knew perfectly well that everyone there was burning with curiosity. “After all, Lord Beryn should arrive on the morrow.”

  Lord Beryn did indeed arrive, during the noon meal. As Dwaen’s bodyguard, Rhodry was sitting next to the tieryn at the gwerbret’s table when from out in the ward came the clatter and bustle of armed men dismounting. The enormous hall fell silent as everyone, noble-born and commoner alike, turned to stare at the door. With ten of his men behind him, Lord Beryn strode in, a tall man, raw-boned and grizzled, with sweeping gray mustaches and narrow dark eyes that darted this way and that. Rhodry figured that he was about fifty winters old. He gestured to his men to wait, then strode across the great hall and knelt, with a profound grunt, at the gwerbret’s side.

  “Now what’s all this, Your Grace? I’ve been wading through rivers of evil gossip, saying that I’m trying to kill Tieryn Dwaen of Dun Ebonlyn. It’s cursed well not true.”

  “True or not, the matter’s serious enough to warrant an inquiry.” Coryc rose to tower over him. “If both parties agree, we’ll convene the malover immediately. The priests are here and waiting.”

  “Indeed?” Beryn swung his head and glared at Dwaen. “Listen, you little coward, I’ve got every reason in the world to kill you, but if I was going to, I’d call you out to a duel like a man—if you had the guts to face me.”

  Rhodry grabbed Dwaen’s arm and forced him to sit back down.

  “Lord Beryn, I call for silence!” Coryc snapped. “Tieryn Dwaen, there’ll be no dueling in my hall.”

  With a doglike growl, Beryn se
ttled back on his heels.

  “My lord,” Coryc went on, “the tieryn has reliable witnesses. We are going to hear these witnesses in proper order, in my chamber of justice, with the priests of Bel there as well. Am I understood?”

  “You are, Your Grace.” Beryn’s voice began to shake. “Didn’t I accept Your Grace’s judgment on my son? Didn’t I stand in your ward and watch without lifting a finger when—”

  “Don’t vex yourself, Beryn.” Coryc turned and made an ambiguous gesture with one hand. “All the witnesses present? Good. Then come along, come along. I want this grievous affair settled and done.”

  The gwerbret’s chamber of justice was a big half-round of a room, hung with banners in his colors. In the curve of the wall stood two tables, one for his grace and his scribes, one for the priests and theirs. The witnesses stood on the gwerbret’s right, the accused and his supporters on his left. The rest of the hall was packed with spectators—officials, riders, servants, even a few townfolk, a quiet but jostling crowd that spilled out through the double doors into the corridor beyond. As Dwaen and Cadlew laid their deposition concerning the archer and the dead dog, the rat in the bed, Vyna’s tale, and the capture of the prisoner, the crowd stopped moving and seemed to crouch on the floor, straining to hear every word. Beryn’s color turned from sun-bitten tan to red and back again. Finally, Rhodry was called forward to tell of the attack on Lady Ylaena. He’d barely finished when Beryn broke, charging forward to stand before the gwerbret.

  “Your Grace, never would I order such a cowardly thing! How could you believe it of me, attacking a woman!”

  “His lordship forgets himself again. As of yet, I believe naught, one way or another.”

  Beryn started to speak, but just then two guards appeared, shoving their way through the crowd and dragging the prisoner along with them.

  “You!” Beryn snarled. “You little bastard! What by every god are you doing here?”

  “My lord!” Coryc snapped. “Do you know this man?”