Authors: Katharine Kerr
“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 with 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,” Cara-doc 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 fall 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.
“Thirteen, 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 on 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.”
“So they can’t, true enough.” He forced out a smile of his own. The captain had insisted that he keep the truth to himself until they were miles from the dun. “Where’s young Branoic?”
“Here, sir.” Branoic came up, leading his horse into line. The lad was grinning as broadly as if they were going to some royal entertainment. “Let’s hope our enemies can fight well enough to give us some sport, huh? Ye gods, I thought I’d go mad this winter, shut up in the dun with naught to do but loll around and dice.”
“Listen to him!” Aethan rolled his eyes heavenward. “I’ll wager we get our fill of blood soon enough.”
The words stabbed Maddyn like an omen, but he kept smiling.
“Aethan, do me somewhat of a favor, will you? Ride with our young Branno here, and keep an eye on him.”
Although the lad bristled, as if to say he didn’t need such help, Aethan forestalled him with a friendly punch on the arm.
“I will, at that, at least until the fighting starts. Then he can keep an eye on me.”
They laughed, both as excited as young horses turned into pasture after a winter in the stables. The sight of them together wrung Maddyn’s heart for reasons that he hated to put into words, the one dark and grizzled, his oldest friend, the other blond and young, so new to his life that
winter, and yet it seemed that he’d known Branoic for a hundred years. When the captain started yelling orders, the moment passed, but still, as they rode south, laying their false trail, Maddyn found himself brooding over it. It was a dangerous thing for a fighting man to care so deeply for his friends, especially when they were starting out on the bloodiest road they’d ever ridden.
“What’s so wrong with you?” Caradoc said abruptly. “Your bowels stopped or suchlike?”
“Oh, hold your tongue!”
“Listen to him! Feisty today, aren’t we?”
“My apologies, Carro. I hate lying at the best of times, and these are the worst. Saying farewell to Clwna, and her and the other women thinking well be back in an eightnight or so—it ached my heart.”
“They’ll have to live with the truth just like the lads will. Listen to me, Maddo. Today we start a ride ordained by the gods themselves. Our petty little troubles are of no moment. None. Do you understand me?”
“I do, at that.” He shivered suddenly, just from the quiet way that Caradoc spoke of such grave things. “Well and good, then. A man’s Wyrd comes when it comes.”
“So it does, and ours is upon us now.”
Maddyn turned in the saddle to look at him and wonder all over again just who Caradoc had been, back in his other life before dishonor sent him down the long road. It occurred to him that at last he was going to find out—if, of course, they all lived long enough to ride through the gates of Dun Cerrmor.
Branoic was surprised at how little ground the silver daggers covered that afternoon. Even though the spring days were short, they could have made some twelve miles before sunset, but instead they stopped for their night’s camp on the banks of the Elaver just some five miles from the dun. Branoic tethered out his horse and Aethan’s while the elder man carried their gear to a campsite and drew them provisions from the pack train. As glad as he was to be out of the dun and riding, Branoic’s mood was dark that evening, and he swore at the horses for ducking their heads and grabbing grass while he was trying to change bridle for halter. He was disappointed, that was all, heartsick that he
was stuck in Pyrdon instead of riding behind the true king on his journey to Cerrmor—or so he told himself. Since he’d never been an introspective man, the excuse rang true enough.
When he went back to the camp he found the troop settling in. Some men were spreading out their bedrolls; others were cursing flint and tinder as they struggled to light a fire. He found Maddyn and Aethan by a fire that was already blazing; although no one was sure why, it was common knowledge that fires always lit easily for the bard. As he walked up he felt his heart pounding in the strange way it did lately, a fearful sort of wondering as he looked over the campsite until he saw that Aethan had indeed dumped his gear there along with his own and Maddyn’s. That he would be allowed to camp with them was so welcome, such a relief, really, from his fear that he’d be put somewhere else, that he briefly thought of going elsewhere just to pretend that he didn’t care. Maddyn looked up with an easy smile, and he broke into a jog, drawn by that smile like a thirsty man to water.