Authors: Katharine Kerr
As silently as she could, she sat down next to him and worked the whistle free from the straw. She could steal it now, slip out into the night, and be gone to Evandar’s country before he even woke for an argument. No doubt Timryc would arrive on the morrow to nurse her charges; she could even scry and make sure of that, then leave in perfect conscience. Yet as she watched her human lover sleeping in the light of a guttering candle, she wondered if she wanted to return to Evandar. She felt not the slightest guilt at having betrayed him, if indeed betrayal was even the proper word. The fleshy, sweaty love she’d just shared with Rhodry was so different from anything she’d ever experienced with Evandar that she simply couldn’t equate the two. They belong in different worlds, indeed, she thought to herself. And I? I suppose I belong in this one, no matter what I may want or think, no matter how it aches my heart.
Eventually she would return to the world and the Westlands, once her work was done, her service to Evandar’s host all paid. Although she would always see life as a burden, no matter what compensations it might offer from now on, she could thank Rhodry for making her remember
that she belonged to the life of the world. In the meantime, too much depended upon her, not merely Evandar’s happiness but his soul, and that of his daughter and all their kind as well, for her to linger in the lands of men. No matter what doubts she might have, she loved Elessario and Evandar both too well to condemn them.
In his sleep Rhodry stirred, sighing, burrowing his face into the crook of his arm like a child. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to stay with him a little while, riding the Deverry roads, but she knew that he would only come to bore her, and the fine thing they’d shared would grow tarnished. She would leave Rhodry behind, but she refused to be a thief. She tossed the whistle onto his shirt, put the candle out with a snap of her fingers, then lay down to cuddle next to him for their last few hours together.
Some hours after dawn, Dallandra woke to find Rhodry already gone, and the whistle with him. She threw on her clothes and hurried outside to find the ward empty and silent. Inside the great hall, a page informed her that Erddyr and his ritual escort, including Yraen and Rhodry, had already ridden out, heading for the settlement ground just as dawn was breaking.
“Shall I bring you some food, good dame?”
“My thanks, but I’d best tend the wounded first.”
“Oh, Timiyc the chirurgeon’s doing that. He and one of his apprentices rode in just as the men were leaving.”
Again she felt her relief as a rush of tears. She wiped her face on her sleeve while the page watched, all solemn-eyed.
“Then I’ll have some breakfast, lad, and my thanks for the news.”
It took Dallandra a few hours to settle matters at the dun, discussing her patients with Timryc, making her farewells. Just as she was riding out the gates, Lord Comerr’s chamberlain came rushing after with a sack of silver coins, which he insisted she take with his thanks before she rode on. By the time she could no longer see the towers from the road, the sun was at its zenith. Out in the middle of pastureland she found a stream, running through the shelter of trees. She set her horse and mule out to graze, then treated herself to a bath elven style, in the fast-running clean water instead of some dirty wooden tub.
Once she was dressed and dry, she sat on the bank, watched the sun dappling the ripples as it broke through the branches of the trees, and thought of Evandar. This time he came. She felt his presence first as a sound, as if someone called her name from a great distance; then she had the same sensation as a person reading in a chamber who feels rather than sees someone step silently through the door. In a rustle of leaves and branches he walked out from between two trees, and no matter what she might have done with Rhodry the night before, she felt herself smiling as if her face would split from it at the sight of him. Laughing, he folded her into his arms and gave her one of his oddly cool kisses. He smelt clean, like the stream water, not like flesh at all.
“You look pale, my love,” he remarked in Deverrian. “Is somewhat troubling your heart?”
“I’ve just spent a ghastly week or two, truly, tending men wounded in battle, and more than a few of them died, no matter how I tried to help them.”
“A sad thing, that.”
She knew that he felt no honest compassion, but that he would mimic it for her sake was comfort enough.
“Rhodry still has the whistle,” she said. “He wouldn’t give it up. He says he wants to have a talk with you, and that you’ll have to come fetch it back yourself.”
Evandar laughed with a flash of his sharp white teeth.
“Then a talk he shall have. I like a man with mettle, I do. Imph, I suppose I’d best stay here in this world. If I go back with you, I might miss him entirely.”
“True spoken. Here, where were you? I called for you—well, last night it would have been here, whatever that might have been in your country.”
For a moment he looked puzzled.
“Ah! I’d gone to the islands to see how Jill fares. She’s been ill, it turns out, but now she’s well again and learning much new dweomer lore. She’ll be growing wings like one of us next, if she keeps on this way.”
“That’s a dangerous thing for a human being to try to learn. I wonder how skilled her teachers are, and if they know the differences from soul to soul.”
Evandar laughed aloud.
“I’d wager a great deal that they do, my love, but you
look like a mother cat chasing her kittens away from danger! Get on your way back, then. I’ll take your horse and follow our Rhodry down. I doubt me if I’ll tell him what he wants to know, but maybe he’ll have a riddle or two to trade.”
“Well and good, then.” She paused to kiss him on the mouth. “And you promised me you’d return that stolen mule and all its goods, didn’t you now?”
“So I did, so I did. I’ll summon one of my people straightaway, I promise you.”
“My thanks. Meet me by our river.”
With him so close beside her, she could use his particular dweomer to breach the planes. She floated onto the surface of the stream and dashed along the rippled road, saw the fog of the Gatelands opening out, and stepped up and through. She had just time to turn and wave to Evandar, standing on the streamside, before the fog shut her round. At her neck hung again the amethyst figurine. She kept walking through the misty landscape beyond the gate until she could be sure that Evandar and the lands of men lay far behind her. Then she sat down on a cold, damp hillside and wept for Rhodry Maelwaedd, whom most likely she’d never see again.
The neutral ground turned out to be a day and a half’s ride from Lord Comerr’s and down in the plains on the Deverry side of the Pyrdon hills. Out in front of the walled dun of a certain Tieryn Magryn, whose chief distinction lay in his lack of ties to either Comerr or Adry, the gwerbret’s warband had set up camp in a meadow lush with spring grass. As soon as Lord Erddyr and his escort dismounted, a hundred men surrounded them—all in the friendliest possible way, but Yraen knew that they were being taken under arrest to keep them away from Lord Nomyr and his riders. Some of the gwerbret’s men took their horses; others escorted them on a strict path through canvas tents. At the far end, a few hundred yards from the hill of the dun, stood a long canvas pavilion, draped with the green and blue banners of the gwerbrets of Dun Trebyc to cover the rips and weather stains. A tall blond man in his thirties, Gwerbret Drwmyc sat in a chair carved with the eagle blazon of
his clan. Behind him stood two councillors, and a scribe sat at a tiny table nearby.
Kneeling at the gwerbret’s right side, Lord Nomyr was already present; his honor guard sat in orderly rows behind him. With a wave at his men to settle themselves, Erddyr knelt at the gwerbret’s left. The gwerbret’s men stood round the scene with their hands on their sword hilts, ready for the first sign of trouble.
“It gladdens my heart to see you both arrive so promptly,” Drwmyc said. “Now. Lord Erddyr, by whose authority do you come?”
“Comerr’s himself, Your Grace. He gave me his seal and swore in front of witnesses to abide by the settlement I make in his name.”
“Well and good. Lord Nomyr?”
“By the authority of Lady Talyan, regent for her son, Lord Gwandyc, Adry’s heir. She too has agreed to abide by his grace’s arbitration.”
“Well and good, then. Lord Erddyr, since you’re the one who called upon me, speak first and present your tale of the causes of this war.”
Erddyr recited the story of the dispute of the cattle rights and many another cause of bad blood between Adry and Comerr. When he was done, Nomyr had the chance to tell a slightly different version. Back and forth they went, working through the actual events and battles, while their men grew restless. To the riders, this judgment seemed a pitiful way to end the fighting, a coward’s out, and tedious. While the two lords wrangled over Tewdyr’s raid on Erddyr’s dun, the warbands leaned forward, staring at each other narrow-eyed and hostile. Yraen noticed four of Nomyr’s guard studying Rhodry in barely concealed fury. He elbowed him and pointed them out.
“Adry’s men,” Rhodry whispered. “Hawk blazon.”
Yraen was profoundly glad that the gwerbret’s warband stood on the watch for trouble. While the two lords argued furiously, the hot summer day turned the pavilion stifling, another spur to ill temper. At last the gwerbret cut the argument short with a wave of his hand.
“I’ve heard enough. I intend to set aside all charges of misconduct during the actual fight, because for every
wrong on one side, there was one on the other to countercharge it. Will their lordships agree?”
“On my part, I will.” Nomyr bowed to his liege lord.
Erddyr debated for several minutes.
“And I, too, Your Grace,” he said at last. “After all, my wife came to no actual harm, and Tewdyr’s dead.”
“Done, then.” Drwmyc motioned at the scribe to record the agreement. “We can turn now to the disputes of cause.”
Adry’s four men looked at each other and risked a few grim whispers. Nomyr glared and waved at them to be silent.
“What troubles your men, Lord Nomyr?” Drwmyc said.
“They used to ride for Lord Adry, Your Grace, and his lordship’s death troubles them.”
“By the gods themselves!” Drwmyc lost patience with ritual courtesy. “The death of so many lords troubles us all, but men do die in battle.”
“Begging his grace’s pardon.” A heavyset blond rider rose to his feet and made the gwerbret a bow. “Never did we mean to disturb his grace’s proceedings, but we’re all shamed men, Your Grace, and that’s a hard thing to bear in silence. Our lord was killed by a cursed silver dagger, and Lord Nomyr called the retreat before we could avenge him. How can we live with that?”
With a ripple of trouble coming, the warbands turned toward the speaker.
“You’ll have to
live
with it,” Drwmyc answered. “If you retreated on order of your lord’s faithful ally, then no man can both hold you shamed and himself just.”
“We hold ourselves shamed, Your Grace. It’s a bitter thing to choose between disobeying the noble-born and letting your lord lie unavenged. And now here’s that silver dagger, sitting in your court with honest men. It gripes our souls, Your Grace.”
Yraen grabbed Rhodry’s arm and pulled it away from his sword. Nomyr swung round to face the rider.
“Gwar, hold your tongue and sit down,” Nomyr snarled. “We’re in the gwerbret’s presence.”
“So we are, my lord. But begging your lordship’s pardon, I swore to Lord Adry, not you.”
When his three companions rose to join him, everyone
around went tense, murmuring among themselves. The gwerbret rose from his chair and drew his sword, holding it point upward, a solid symbol of justice.
“There will be no murder in my court,” Drwmyc snarled. “Gwar, if the silver dagger killed your lord in a fair fight, that’s the end to it.”
The four men tensed, glancing at one another, as if they were debating their choices. Since their honor lay buried in a shallow grave with Lord Adry, they were likely to leave Nomyr’s service and hunt Rhodry down on the roads no matter what the cost to themselves. Rhodry pulled away from Yraen’s restraining hand and got to his feet.
“Your Grace,” Rhodry called out. “I’m the silver dagger they mean, and I’ll swear it was a fair fight. I’ll beg your grace to settle this here and now under rule of law. I don’t care to be hunted on the roads like a fox.” He turned to Gwar. “Your lord died by the fortunes of war. What do you have against me?”
“That you killed him for a piece of silver! What do you think? A good man like him, killed for a cursed bit of coin.”
“I didn’t kill him for the coin. I killed him to save my life, because your lord was a good man with his blade.”
“You wouldn’t have been on the field if it weren’t for the coin.” Gwar paused to spit on the ground. “Silver dagger.”
Yraen and Renydd exchanged a glance and rose to a kneel, ready to leap up to Rhodry’s defense if Gwar and his lads charged. Drwmyc’s hand tightened on his sword hilt when he saw them.
“No one move,” the gwerbret said. “The first man to draw in my court will be taken alive and hanged like a dog. Do you hear me?”
Everyone sat back down, even Gwar, and promptly.
“Good,” Drwmyc continued. “Silver dagger, are you appealing to me?”
“I am, Your Grace, under the laws of men and gods alike, and I swear upon my very life to abide by your decision. Either absolve me of guilt or set me some lwdd to pay for Lord Adry’s death.”
“Nicely spoken, and so I shall.” The gwerbret considered for a moment. “But on the morrow. I have one matter before me in malover already, you know.”
“I do, Your Grace, and never would I set my own affairs above those of honorable men.”
When Yraen stole a glance at Gwar and his friends, he found them looking as sour as if they’d bitten into a Bardek citron. Apparently the last thing they’d expected from a road-filthy silver dagger was eloquence.
“Until I hold malover upon this matter of the silver dagger and the death of Lord Adry, his life is sacrosanct under all the laws of Great Bel,” the gwerbret said. “Gwar, do you and your lads understand that?”