Sword of Fire Read online

  “Here!” Ladoic frowned at the sleeping ferrets. “You’ve not been giving them wine again, have you? You know that upsets your mother.”

  “So I told him,” Adonyc said. “Twice.”

  Gwarl winced. Ladoic cuffed him on the side of the head. “Don’t,” the gwerbret said. “You know how she carries on if one of the cursed things dies. I will not have her troubled, you stupid young cub!”

  Gwarl nodded and cringed. Ladoic hit him again, but not very hard.

  “I shall go attend upon Mother,” Dovina said. “I’ll leave the drunken weasels with you lads, like matched with like.”

  Adonyc swore under his breath. The dogs lifted their heads for a look around in case interesting trouble was brewing. The ferrets woke and yawned with a waft of stink.

  “Just go,” Ladoic said to Dovina. “I’ll send one of the servants up with the cursed ferrets.”

  “Better make that one of the men,” Gwarl said. “Someone who owns a pair of leather gloves.”

  When Ladoic bellowed an order, a skinny servingman hurried up to the dais. He wore striped breeches and a red and brown vest over his shirt. His lower jaw was bruised blue and purple, and another bruise marked his forehead—from hitting the cobblestones, Dovina assumed.

  “Ah, Ogwimyr!” Dovina said. “You must be the fellow who started the riot in the old marketplace.”

  “Naught of the sort, my lady!” The servingman made a small bow in her direction. “It was that cursed silver dagger’s fault, attacking an innocent man. He was all fired up, I suppose, by that wench.”

  “Truly? I’ve heard a very different account of the trouble.”

  “We’ve already thrashed all that out!” Ladoic stepped forward. “None of your affair, Dovva!”

  “Well, Father, but I’m rather interested—”

  “I don’t give the fart of a two-copper pig if you are or not! I’ve too much on my mind at the moment to—” He paused and took a deep breath to calm his voice. “My apology, but I don’t care to discuss it now. Mayhap later. My men are searching for the wretched silver dagger, and once we haul him in, we’ll hear his side of it.”

  “Well and good, then.” Dovina curtsied. “I’ll go attend upon Mother.”

  He smiled, pleased, and she headed for the stone stairs winding around the wall. Ogwimyr followed with an armload of struggling ferrets. About halfway up he yelped in pain as one of them bit him. Dovina made a mental note to get the weasels some extra meat from dinner.

  The women’s hall occupied half of the next floor up, across the landing from the gwerbretal apartments. When Dovina opened the door, her mother’s maidservant, Magla, hurried over to take the ferrets.

  “Don’t bother to curtsy,” Dovina said to her. “You’ve got trouble enough. Gwarl fed them wine again.”

  Magla, young and plump with raven-dark hair, sighed in annoyance and hauled the wriggling ferrets in.

  “How is Mother?” Dovina dropped her voice to a whisper.

  “Having bad days again. We’ve had the herbwoman in twice. She helps, but naught seems to cure.”

  “It’s that inflammation of the womb. It lies very deep. I just wish she’d let us take her to Haen Marn.”

  “I’m just so afraid, my lady, that the journey would kill her.”

  “So is she, and truly, it’s a long way away.”

  Magla sighed in agreement.

  Bardek carpets lay thick on the floor of the semicircular room, and bright tapestries hung all along the curved wall. On little tables sat silver figurines and, here and there, showy enameled jars and dishes, filled with dried rose petals and spices in a vain attempt to hide the smell of ferret. In the midst of the color and sparkles, Lady Rhosyan was sitting in her favorite cushioned chair over by a window that looked out onto the rose garden far below. Like her sons she had pale eyes and high cheekbones, though her hair had gone mostly gray. Four children, one of them born dead, and two miscarriages in her first fifteen years of marriage had left her thin, ill, and, blessedly enough, incapable of conceiving again. Most days, like now, she could be found semi-reclining with her feet upon an embroidered footstool. Dovina smiled, sincerely this time, and leaned over to kiss her mother’s cheek. Rhosyan patted her hand in welcome.

  “So he dragged you home, did he?” Rhosyan said. “Poor darling! But I do think you’ll like this new suitor.”

  “That would be a welcome change. Have you met him?”

  “I’ve not, but I’ve got a portrait of him.” Rhosyan raised a pale hand and waved vaguely in Magla’s direction. “Put my little furry babies in their den and bring me that little picture.”

  By the time Magla found the picture among the clutter, other servants had brought up Dovina’s luggage and gone again. Dovina retrieved her reading-glass from a saddlebag and studied the portrait, a small thing that barely covered her outstretched hand. It showed a dark-haired young man with a face certainly not handsome but pleasant enough, with wide eyes that, as far as she could tell, were gray. What intrigued her, however, was the stack of books on the small table beside him. The artist had unfortunately represented their titles with squiggles of paint, not words.

  “I’ve had lots of reports of Merryc from women I know at court,” Rhosyan said. “They tell me he’s much interested in the history of the kingdom. And in breeding horses, of course, but then, one expects that in a young lord.”

  “Does he have land, then? Or is he mostly interested in marrying mine?”

  “None of his own, but he’s not the usual land-hungry younger son. His mother despaired of ever marrying him off because he absolutely demands an educated wife.”

  Dovina lowered her reading-glass and gaped.

  “Well?” Rhosyan grinned and raised an eyebrow.

  “Ye gods,” Dovina said. “This trip to Cerrmor might be worthwhile, after all.”

  “Having those letter pouches going to and fro has certainly been a great help when it comes to arranging marriages! I have written to his mother—Lady Amara of the White Wolf, that is—you know her.”

  “Of course I do! Well, if this fellow’s one of her sons, he might not be as bad as I feared.”

  “Just so.” Rhosyan paused and looked toward the door. “What is it?”

  A maidservant from the great hall staff took two steps into the chamber and curtsied. “My lady, you have a visitor. Lady Taclynniva of Lady Rhodda Hall. Are you receiving?”

  “Most assuredly,” Rhosyan said. “Do show her straight up, and then fetch Bardek wine and some little cakes.”

  The maidservant curtsied again and left.

  Dovina sat down on a nearby chair and considered strategies. Dressed in a walking costume of blue, green, and pale tan, Lady Tay swept into the women’s hall in a storm of tartan shawl and skirt.

  “You little weasel!” Lady Tay said to Dovina. “Did you truly think you could get away with this?”

  Rhosyan rolled her eyes and sighed. “And what has my beloved daughter done now?”

  “Worked a most elaborate ruse, Mother.” Dovina rose and curtsied to Lady Tay. “I knew we couldn’t keep it hidden forever. May I ask how my lady found out?”

  “Sirra—that’s Alyssa’s poor mother—came to me this morning, worried to distraction about her daughter. One of the gwerbret’s men came to the bakery to ask about Alyssa.”

  “It’s a cursed good thing we got her out of Aberwyn, then.”

  “Dearest,” Rhosyan put in, “don’t say cursed like that. It’s so common.”

  “My apologies, Mother.”

  “If I may finish? When I found out Alyssa had disappeared, I managed to loosen Mavva’s tongue with a few threats.” Lady Tay scowled at Dovina. “None of which I intended to carry out, mind.” She divested herself of the shawl, which she tossed over the back of a nearby chair. “Not that she held out long. She’s quite sincerely worried
about Alyssa.”

  “I’m not. She’s most resourceful, and we did supply her with an armed guard.”

  “A silver dagger! A wretched silver dagger, and now her honor is utterly ruined. Everyone will think the worst, whether it’s happened or not.”

  Rhosyan cleared her throat. “Would you two please sit down and explain?”

  “Of course, Mother.” Dovina hesitated and gazed across the room. Although she could see things at a distance more clearly than things close by, still her weak eyes refused to focus on the edge of the door. “Is that door closed?”

  Rhosyan glanced its way. “It’s not. Magla!”

  Her maid hurried in from the ferret chamber. When Rhosyan pointed at the door, she walked over and jerked it open. Skinny Ogwimyr staggered into the room. Rhosyan got up and gave him an iced smile.

  “Has my lord sent you to me?” she said. “What does he wish?”

  “Naught, my lady, naught.” His face had gone quite pale. “I, er, well, we did wonder if your weasels be well and, er, all that.”

  “Quite well, my thanks. They’ll sleep off my son’s cruelty.”

  Ogwimyr bowed low, then turned and scampered away. Dovina hoped that he’d trip and fall down the stairs, but they heard no thump and yelping. He’ll bear watching, Dovina thought. I wonder if he’s spying at Father’s order? Mayhap just to see if he can learn summat he can trade for Father’s favor.

  Magla shut the door with a small smile and curtsied.

  “Well done,” Rhosyan said and seated herself.

  Lady Tay continued looking at the closed door with narrow eyes. “I wonder,” she said. “That fellow fits the description Alyssa’s mother gave me. The man wasn’t a town marshal, she told me, but he was wearing the gwerbret’s livery. A nasty little skinny sort.”

  “It easily could be Oggo, then,” Rhosyan said. “Now, Dovva, what is all this?”

  “Do you happen to remember my friend, Alyssa?”

  “I do. I met her at your collegium’s fair. Do sit down, Dovva! It makes me nervous, seeing you hovering like that.”

  As they settled themselves, the maidservant returned with the refreshments. She laid the tray on a small table and retreated to allow Rhosyan to pour.

  “You may go, lass,” Rhosyan said. “And do make sure that the door is well and truly shut, will you? My thanks.”

  The maidservant did so. Lady Tay accepted a goblet half full of white wine, then added water from the silver pitcher on the tray. Dovina took a cake to nibble while Lady Tay finished the tale of Alyssa’s escape and Dovina’s plan for the book. Much to Dovina’s relief, her mother laughed.

  “It would do no harm,” Rhosyan remarked, “to gyve the falcon of gwerbretal pride.”

  “Gwalch and then valch,” Dovina echoed the rhyme. “That’s a nice rhyme and figure, Mother.”

  “My thanks, but your scheme is utterly daft! It’s going to take a fair bit more than one old book to change your father’s mind.”

  “Or the mind of any other powerful man,” Lady Tay said.

  “No doubt.” Dovina paused to brush a few cake crumbs from her dress. “It’s but the tip of the knife that’s going to cut the meat. The Cerrmor Advocates Guild will be able to sharpen the blade when Alyssa gives them the precedent. And we had to have the ancient book, my lady. My father won’t be the only man to accuse us of forgery without it.”

  “Perhaps so.” Lady Tay took a small sip of wine. “But I still think it’s daft.”

  “I fear me that I agree,” Rhosyan said. “Your father’s peers will have summat to say about all this.”

  “It’s not the gwerbretion who matter, Mother. It’s the Cerrmor guild and the Prince Regent.”

  “The guild will doubtless seize upon it with howls of glee,” Lady Tay said. “The prince is another matter.”

  “Then I’ll have to think of summat else. This is just the first thrust in the duel.”

  “Goddess help!” Rhosyan rolled her eyes. “Dovva, your schemes are always as tangled as a child’s first knitting!”

  “I tried the simple one first. But remember, Alyssa’s been to Haen Marn before. They know her there.”

  “And does she realize what this little jaunt might cost her?” Lady Tay said. “Her honor, if naught else.”

  “She’s a guildwoman, my lady. She has greater freedom in these matters than we do.”

  “True, I suppose.”

  Rhosyan leaned forward in her chair. “Her father’s the head of the Bakers’ Guild, isn’t he? That’s probably enough to ensure her a marriage to a man of her own class no matter what happens.”

  “I’d always hoped she’d do better than that,” Lady Tay said.

  “If she wants to marry at all,” Dovina said. “Couldn’t you find her a position at the collegium, if worst comes to worst?”

  “Oh, certainly!” Tay’s voice turned heavy with irony. “And put the child out in fosterage, you mean?”

  All three women winced and fell silent. The worst, indeed, Dovina thought. But with the thought came an idea.

  “A chair of rhetoric might be endowed for her,” Dovina said, “if the right people could be persuaded.”

  “If you can find a weapon to extort the coin from your father, you mean?” Rhosyan lifted one eyebrow and smiled.

  “Just that, Mother. I’ve always managed before. Let me think on it. We poor weak females have to use what weapons we can.”

  Lady Tay snorted in disgust. “Don’t simper! Your father’s not in the chamber at the moment.” She glanced Rhosyan’s way. “I trust my lady feels no need to pass this information along?”

  “Of course not. He never listens to what I say, anyway, so why should I bother?”

  “True spoken.” Lady Tay considered the situation for some moments. “I hope she and her silver dagger stay safe, is all. I gather that the situation with that border feud is growing dangerous.”

  “Indeed. Ladoic’s very concerned. I can tell because he’s gotten quite nasty lately.” Rhosyan glanced at Dovina. “You know what it means, when he bellows and snarls at us and the servants.”

  “I do, truly. I took that into account when we were laying our plan.” Dovina hesitated, then spoke carefully. “A question for you, Mother. Did Father truly think Cradoc would die?”

  “He didn’t,” Rhosyan said. “He was horrified when it happened. All along he kept saying that the bard was bound to give up soon, or that his guild would force him to eat.”

  “It should have been obvious that they wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t be quite so sharp-tongued, dearest. Please?”

  “My apologies, Mother.”

  Lady Tay made a small coughing sound, as if to remind them of her presence where she couldn’t help but overhear.

  “About this silver dagger,” Lady Tay said. “Do you know anything about the man?”

  Dovina considered telling her that Cavan was one of Gwerbret Lughcarn’s sons, but she feared that her mother might let the information slip. Father listens to her more than she realizes, Dovina reminded herself.

  “I don’t know for certain,” she said instead, “but I suspect him of being noble-born.”

  “That’s hardly a recommendation when it comes to behaving well around lasses.”

  “Just so,” Rhosyan said. “Let’s hope that Alyssa stays her usual sensible self, and that the silver dagger behaves honorably toward her.”

  Lady Tay snorted in profound skepticism and held out her goblet for more wine.

  * * *

  Circumstances were forcing Alyssa to be sensible where Cavan was concerned. As they traveled from inn to inn on their way north, every innkeeper relegated him to the stables like one of the horses while she shared a decorous chamber with other women. She knew that she should be pleased. A love affair, a bastard child—her life in the collegium woul
d end in dishonor and shame. But at times as they rode together, and the sun caught his hair and turned it gold, and he smiled at her as warmly as the sun, the memory of that kiss in the marketplace rose to trouble her.

  Whenever they passed a shady copse or sheltered wall, she would notice him looking at these possible trysting spots with longing. She was always tempted to suggest they stop and rest while they ate their midday meal, but always—at least so far—she’d resisted. Besides, they were never truly alone on the road. Pilgrims returning from Haen Marn passed them, some still ill, but most healed. Others heading for the holy island caught up with them, then left them behind in their hurry.

  Canal boats glided up and down near the towpath, but now and then, out in the middle of the canal, a galley shot by with its rowers working hard at the oars. Whenever the rowers wore the colors of the Fox clan, Cavan always pointed them out, and Alyssa would wonder if some of those boats carried messages branding herself and Cavan fugitives. One Aberwyn boat they sighted, however, bore a different kind of burden. Prominent in the prow lay a long box-like shape draped in black. She could just make out a second drape, a narrow banner in the Bear clan’s colors of blue and dark yellow.

  “Young Lord Grif, I’ll wager,” Alyssa said. “Going home to his father in honorable return.”

  “So it looks. Huh. I’d guess that war’s inevitable now.”

  “A very good guess, I’d say. And if the Westfolk choose to join in, who can say how bad it will be? I wish I could talk with Dovina. Maybe we can find another silver dagger to ride messages.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ll run across several.” Cavan paused for a sigh. “They’ll have come hoping for a hire, and it looks like they’ll find one.”

  * * *

  As she usually could, Dovina had managed to wheedle her father into giving her a few pieces of information about the trouble with the Bear clan. That evening, when she lingered in the great hall with him after a particularly good meal, he unburdened himself further. The Westfolk were indeed involved, the matter was growing more dangerous daily, and no doubt it would explode like a dwarven fire arrow when Lord Grif’s body arrived home.