The Fire Dragon (10 page)

“It had to be the Cantrae men, Your Highness,” one of the scouts said. “Naught but an army could raise that dust, and the gods all know there's not enough men left for more than one.”

“Just so,” Maryn said, grinning. “How far away were they?”

“From our camp, Your Highness?” The scout thought for a moment. “Well, at least a day's travel for an army that size, but not a cursed lot more, I'd say. We watched for a bit longer, too. The dust didn't seem to come nearer.”

“Looked like it were shrinking a bit,” the second scout volunteered. “And I thought, I did, they be settling down for the night's camp.”

“Good.” Maryn stood up and glanced at the noblemen. “I doubt me if we'll see battle on the morrow.”

“Most likely not,” Gwerbret Ammerwdd said. “But I say we should stand ready for it anyway.”

The rest of the noble-born nodded, muttered a few words, and glanced back and forth among themselves. Nevyn was aware of Gwerbret Daeryc, watching him with one eyebrow raised. Nevyn smiled blandly in return. He had nothing to add to the scouts' report, not at the moment, at least.

Late that night, when the camp lay asleep except for the night sentries, Nevyn went into his tent and summoned his body of light. He rose straight out through the tent's roof into the etheric plane, where the stars hung down close, it seemed, as huge glittering silver spheres. With the scout's report to guide him, he travelled fast over the red and glowing countryside below. Eventually he saw on the horizon a strange light, a flickering expanse of yellows and oranges, shot through with dancing reds, that looked just like a wildfire burning across a grassy plain would have looked in the physical world. He knew, however, that here on the etheric he was seeing the massed auras of Braemys's army.

Although he now had a reasonable idea of their distance, he decided to risk going closer. The army had set up camp on his side of Loc Glas and the river that flowed south from it. He could approach them with no danger from the seething water veils, and Braemys had no dweomermas-ter in his retinue. Unchallenged, Nevyn floated over the horse herd, drowsing at tether in a meadow. The tents lay just beyond. Nevyn rose up high for an overview; while he had no time to count them, he could tell that this force was a good bit smaller than Maryn's.

Something about the camp struck him as odd. He let himself drift on the etheric flow, hovered like a hawk on the wind while he tried to think. The rational faculties function sluggishly, if at all, out on the etheric. Still, he studied the camp and stored up images of it before he turned back and returned to his tent.

As soon as he was back in his body and fully awake, he understood what he'd seen. No carts. No packsaddles, either,
stacked at the edge of the meadow. With the first streak of grey dawn, he got up and trotted through the sleeping camp to Maryn's tent. He found the prince awake, standing outside and yawning.

“News, Your Highness,” Nevyn said. “Braemys has left his baggage train behind. His men must be carrying what food they can in their saddlebags. He's marching for a quick strike.”

Maryn tossed back his head and laughed. “Good,” the prince said at last. “Today might see the end of this, then.”

“Perhaps. I can't help but wonder if Braemys has some tricky maneuver in mind.”

The camp went on armed alert. Under Oggyn's command, the contingent of spearmen assembled the provision wagons, extra horses, servants, struck tents, bedrolls, and suchlike out in a meadow, then stood guard round the perimeter. The army saddled and bridled their horses, then donned armor, but rather than tire their mounts, they sat on the ground beside them to wait. Since the prince had sent some of his silver daggers out as scouts, they would have ample warning should Braemys be making a fast march to battle. In the dust and shouting that accompanied all these preparations Nevyn slipped away from camp. He walked about a mile back west to a copse of trees he'd spotted earlier. The matter of Braemys's missing wagon train irked him.

In the shelter of an oak he lay down on the ground, crossed his arms over his chest, and went into trance. During daylight the etheric world glowed, pulsing with life, and the blue light shimmered and trembled all round him. The sun, a vast blazing sphere, shot huge arrows of gold down upon the earth. The reddish auras of grass and trees writhed and stretched out long tendrils of etheric substance to capture the gold and feed upon it. In all this confusion Nevyn could barely sort out east from west. He rose up high, where he could comprehend the view and pick out roads and rivers from the general splendor. With the silver cord paying out behind him, he travelled back east, heading for the spot where he'd seen Braemys's army.

Nevyn was expecting to meet up with the enemy, and indeed, he overtook them some miles closer to Maryn than he'd left them the night past. The army straggled over a long stretch of road, and thanks to this loose formation he could see that not a single wagon followed the riders. He swung north to keep clear of the tangled mass of auras and physical dust, rose higher in the blue light, and saw off on the horizon northward a glow. It appeared as a dome of pale light, mostly yellow, shot here and there with red. On the etheric, with his physical body and its correlates far behind him, he was hard-pressed to tell just how close it might have been.

Isn't this interesting? Nevyn thought. A second force, perhaps. He angled away from the road and headed toward the pulsing dome of light. As he travelled, he noted landmarks below that might, once he'd returned to his normal intellect, give him some idea of distance and location. The dome itself never seemed to move or change its size. Once he drew close, he could see why. Not a second force, but Braemys's missing baggage train spread out over long-deserted fields. It was enormous, as well, a good many times larger than Maryn's—even though Braemys was leading a far smaller army. When Nevyn dropped down closer for a look, he saw many small auras, pale and trembling, among the larger glows: frightened children, he realized with a shock. Many of the large auras belonged to women, as well. What were they doing there? And why north, what must have been a good long distance north? A puzzle, all of it.

Nevyn hovered for a few moments, memorizing the lay of the camp and the land around it both, then turned and headed back south. Sped by his curiosity, he saw the landscape below unrolling as fast as a Bardek scroll dropped by a careless scribe. In what seemed like a few moments he once again hovered above Braemys's army, which had stopped marching and stood in the road. Nevyn could feel the tug of the silver cord that connected him to his body; he was tiring fast, and staying too long in the etheric offered danger even to a master of dweomer such as he. But at the same time he felt an urgency to stay, some deep intuition from his
innermost being. Like a hawk on the wind he hovered above the army and saw a small group of men sitting on horseback out in a meadow. Braemys and his lords, I'll wager!

The thought caught him like a gust of wind and blew him to the cluster of men on horseback, but he was too late to join their conference. The lords all drew their swords, black smears of death in the golden auras, clashed them together as if sealing an oath, then turned their horses and trotted back to the waiting army. Once again Nevyn felt the tug of his silver cord. When he glanced down he saw his body of light growing dangerously thin. He focused his will and began to capture etheric light, wrapping it in long silvery blue strands around himself. His simulacrum soaked it up as cloth soaks water, and once again he felt strong and solid.

By that time the army below had begun to move. In an instant Nevyn understood why he'd forced himself to stay: the column was splitting itself into two parts. One, with the Boar banners at its head, was heading fast off to the southwest—to circle round from the Red Wyvern's flank? Most likely. Only when that second column was well under way did the remains of the army set out westward again. At its head fluttered banners carrying the crossed sword device of Lughcarn. This time, when Nevyn felt the silver cord hauling at his body of light, he gave in to the impulse and sped back west to his body and Prince Maryn. He had some news for the council of war now, good and proper.

All that same day, Lilli had been restless. She would read a page in the book only to realize that she'd comprehended not one word of it. In the middle of the morning she gave up on her studies and headed downstairs. She was crossing the great hall when a boyish voice hailed her, and she turned to see Prince Riddmar trotting over to her. His pale-haired resemblance to Maryn struck her like an omen. If one day she had a son by the prince, he would look much like this, no doubt.

“Good morrow, Lady Lilli,” Riddmar said. “Are you going out for a ride or suchlike?”

“I thought I'd just have a bit of a walk. Why?”

“Oh, I'm bored.” The boy pulled a long face. “It's so wretched, not getting to go to the war. I wanted to ride down to the lake, but Lady Elyssa told me I couldn't go alone.”

“And quite rightly, too. You're too valuable to risk to some traitor or Cantrae spy.”

“That's what my brother said.” Riddmar sighed with deep drama. “May I walk with you?”

“Of course. I'm just going for a stroll.”

Although Riddmar had lived in the dun for some months, he still had a great deal of trouble sorting out the warren of walls and towers that made up Dun Deverry. As they walked, Lilli pointed out various landmarks and showed him the main paths through the confusion.

“Some of these buildings and suchlike look so clumsy,” Riddmar remarked at one point. “Like that odd tower you can see from the main ward.”

“The one that leans so badly? Your brother told me that it was built that way on purpose, so defenders could drop rocks down on attackers.”

“Oh. That makes sense, truly.”

All at once Riddmar blushed and looked away.

“What's wrong?” Lilli said.

“Er, ah, well, I was just—well, remembering somewhat my brother told me.”

“About me?”

The boy blushed again, betraying the answer.

“What was it?” Lilli said. “Everyone knows I'm his mistress. You don't need to be embarrassed.”

“I know that.” Riddmar looked down at the hard-packed dirt of the ward. “It was just an odd thing.”

“What?”

“Well.” Riddmar began drawing lines in the dirt with the toe of one boot. “He said he hoped that I never loved a woman the way he loves you.” He looked up. “I don't understand that.”

“He should be more careful of what he tells you.”

“I've not made you angry, have I? I'm sorry. He sort of
blurted it out one night when he wanted me to go away so he could—could visit you.”

“I'm not angry. Just weary all of a sudden. Here, let's go back to the great hall. I need to rest.”

As they were walking up to the main broch complex, Elyssa came trotting out, lifting her skirts free of the muck as she hurried across the cobbles. She saw them, waved, and waited for them to catch up to her.

“There you are, Your Highness,” Elyssa said to Riddmar.

“I stayed in the dun,” Riddmar said. “Just like you told me.”

“My thanks for that. The captain of the fortguard's looking for you. He wants to give you another lesson in swordcraft.”

“Splendid!” Riddmar broke into a grin.

“He's down at the royal stables, the one the silver daggers use when they're here.”

“My thanks.” Riddmar made her a sketchy bow and did the same to Lilli. “I'll be in his company if you have need of me.”

The young prince turned on his heel and ran off, heading across the ward to the stable complex. Elyssa watched him go with a shake of her head.

“He's a fiery young colt,” Elyssa said at last. “Which is all to the good.”

“He'll need that spirit when he's Gwerbret Cerrmor. He's so awfully young. Shouldn't there be a regent for him?”

“Well, Prince Maryn will hold that rank formally, but of course, he'll be here in Dun Deverry. No doubt one of the councillors will go.”

“It would be splendid if Nevyn were appointed to Cerrmor. Then I could go with him.”

“Away from the prince?”

“Just that.” Lilli laid her hand at her throat. “Don't you think I know the grief I'm causing our princess?”

“It's not you who's doing the causing. But it's honorable of you to consider her grief. Not many lasses would.” She paused, her mouth twisting. “None of the others did.”

“No doubt. But it's not just the princess. Sometimes I want naught more than to get free of Maryn.”

Elyssa made an odd little gasp—out of surprise, Lilli assumed.

“Lyss, I feel like I've got a fever, and it's burning me up. No doubt if I had to go to Cerrmor I'd weep and carry on for days, but then I could recover.”

“I see.” Elyssa studied her for a long moment. “You truly mean that, don't you? You know, the prince is not a man to force himself upon a woman who refuses him.”

“I know that. It's just when I see him, I can't think of anything but him. It's horrid, actually.”

“It must be, at that.” Elyssa considered for a moment. “Would you like to see the princess?”

“I would, truly. How is she?”

“Much the same. Every little thing makes her weep, and she's so tired, so tired. Not even her needlework distracts her, and she's not been able to put one word into her book. A visit might cheer her a bit.”

They went inside and climbed the staircase up to the women's hall, but Degwa met them at the door and motioned for silence.

“She's sleeping,” Degwa whispered. “At last, and I'd not wake her.”

“Of course not,” Elyssa said. “Lilli can come again later.”

Degwa stepped out and shut the door to the hall behind her. For a moment they all stood together out in the corridor. Degwa cocked her head to one side and considered Lilli with a nasty little smile.

“I gather,” Degwa said, “that you have a brooch that once belonged to me.”

Elyssa waved a hand and made a little clucking sound, which Degwa ignored.

“I do,” Lilli said. “But you may have it back, if you'd like. I took it only because I thought you didn't want it.”

“Well, I don't, at that.” Degwa held her head high in the air. “The Boar's leavings should go to a Boar, no doubt.”