The Fire Dragon (15 page)

For a moment they considered each other. When Nevyn opened his etheric sight, he saw the young lord's aura gleaming a steady gold, shot with red. Rage, no doubt, but not treachery. Satisfied, Nevyn closed the sight down.

“Gwerbret I am of that city,” Maryn said at last. “But I hold a bit more rank besides. I take it that you refuse to swear fealty to me as the rightful high king in Dun Deverry.”

“I do.” Braemys looked him straight in the face. “But who reigns in the Holy City is no longer a concern of mine or of those to whom I owe protection.”

Maryn blinked, caught off guard. Braemys smiled, just slightly, and went on speaking.

“I wish to remind you of the terms you laid me, Your Grace, before the summer's fighting. You told me that I had two choices, to swear to you or leave your lands forever. Very well. My clan, those few of our vassals who hold loyal, my retainers, the farmers who have served my clan, my artisans and my servants, my warband and the warbands of my vassals—” Braemys paused for breath. “They're all waiting for me to the north of here with their possessions and livestock. We shall quit your lands forever, just as you demand.”

“What?” Maryn blurted. “Where will you go?”

“North,” Braemys said. “North of Gwaentaer lies unclaimed land. It's rough country, I hear, full of hills and
rocks. You need not fear I'll found a rich kingdom there to threaten you or suchlike.”

“That's daft!”

Braemys merely smiled for an answer. It was daft, Nevyn thought, but rather splendidly so, a wild gesture of a very young lord. When Maryn glanced his way, as if for advice, Nevyn shrugged.

“Lord Braemys seems to have thought this all out,” Nevyn said. “If he wishes to withdraw from your jurisdiction, then no law of the land will stop him.”

“Just so.” Braemys turned solemn. “Our ancestors left the Homeland, didn't they, rather than wear the harness the Rhwmanes had all laid out for them? Do you think I'm not as brave as they?”

“I know naught about you at all.” Maryn had recovered himself and spoke with dignity again. “But you tell the truth about our ancestors.”

“Just so. Will you keep to the terms you gave me, or go back on your sworn word and prevent us from leaving?”

“Never will I go back on my sworn word.” Maryn sounded on the edge of snarling.

“So I've heard, Your Grace, that you're a man with a fine sense of honor.” All at once Braemys tossed his head back and laughed. “I gambled on that, didn't I?”

“Just so,” Maryn snapped. “And you've won.”

“My thanks.” Braemys made him a half bow from the saddle. “There remain, Your Grace, the terms of my clan's withdrawal. Shall we have our heralds and councillors discuss them?”

“By all means, my lord, by all means.”

The terms took another full day of negotiations, but in the end things worked out thusly. Gwerbret Ammerwdd with his warband and his direct vassals with their warbands would escort Braemys and his followers north to the border, whilst Maryn and the remainder of his men would push on east. The prince would proclaim Cantrae and the Boar clan lands to be attainted; then he would dispose them upon some loyal vassal of the high king—after Maryn was proclaimed as such. The politicking that winter, Nevyn knew,
was going to be nearly as fierce as the battles of the summer, and Maryn agreed.

“We'll fight one war at a time,” Maryn said. “That's all any man can do.”

“Just so,” Nevyn said. “But start weighing every word you speak now. An idle saying can sound like half a promise to a greedy man.”

“Unfortunately, that's true spoken. I'll be as cautious as a cat in a bathhouse.”

One last request made by Braemys was too honorable to be refused. He had men under his command who had been wounded too badly to travel north. Maryn agreed easily that he would add those men to his own and have their wounds tended.

On the morrow, while the heralds finished the last few details of the settlement, Nevyn set out to fetch the Boar clan's wounded. Tieryn Anasyn of the Ram offered to bring his warband along for an escort. They assembled some wagons for the worst injured and some horses for the rest as well as the usual medical supplies. In the sunny morning, they plodded along a path that ran uphill beside a stream. The foam-flecked water gurgled cheerfully around black rocks. The wagons creaked along behind the riders, and now and again one of the teamsters started a song and his fellows joined in. The sense of peace achieved made Nevyn himself smile, though the task ahead wasn't going to be a pleasant one. If the Boar's herald had given them good directions, they would reach the wounded men's camp in a few miles.

“It's honorable of young Braemys,” Anasyn said, “worrying about his wounded this way.”

“It is,” Nevyn said, “and I was glad to see it in the lad.”

“I only wish his honor had taken him off to Cerrgonney before the battle and spared us all such grief.”

“Indeed. Some of the dead are men I mourn for.”

“My heart grieves for my sister, losing her betrothed.”

“So does mine. Branoic's one of the men I was referring to.”

“I thought he might be. I only wish I could have broken
the news to her myself, but she's a warrior's daughter. She'll heal.”

“Just so. At least she has her dweomer studies to keep her position at court secure.”

“Oh, I never doubted that it would be.” Anasyn turned in the saddle and smiled at him in a weary sort of way. “If naught else, she could serve the princess as one of her women.”

Nevyn suddenly realized that Anasyn had no idea that his beloved little sister was the prince's mistress. Some men would have rejoiced at the influence this would give them at court, but Anasyn had been raised to treat his womenfolk with scrupulous honor and respect.

“Did you have much chance to talk with Lilli before we left?” Nevyn said.

“I didn't,” Anasyn said. “I rode late to the muster, and she seemed much distracted by somewhat.”

“Er, she was, truly.”

“Do you know why?”

Nevyn sighed, considering. Anasyn would eventually discover the truth no matter what he did.

“Well, my lord,” Nevyn said at last, “her fortunes have become quite complicated. She was betrothed to Branoic, and I truly do think she loved him, but the prince took quite a fancy to her.”

Anasyn's face turned scarlet. His hands tightened on his reins so hard that his horse jerked its head up. With a foul oath Anasyn relaxed the reins again.

“I can see why no one told me.” Anasyn's voice growled. “Was she willing?”

“Of course! Our prince would never force a woman, never.”

“Forgive me. I know that's true.”

“Lilli's very young, and she was flattered. Maryn could charm fish out of the sea if he set his mind to it.”

“No doubt.” Anasyn hesitated, thinking. “I'll discuss it with her when we return to the dun, then. My thanks for the truth.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way.

Some miles from the Wyvern camp the path brought them to the grassy rise mentioned by the Boar clan's herald. As they walked their horses up the slope, Nevyn suddenly realized that something was wrong. He could hear birds squawking, and just as he was about to point this out to Anasyn, a flurry of ravens rose, squabbling among themselves as they circled the hill only to settle again out of sight.

“Oh by the gods!” Anasyn snapped. “This bodes ill.”

When they crested the rise they could look down the grassy slope to the camp below, or to what once had been a camp. Spread out across the flat lay corpses, all tumbled around, some half-dressed. Nevyn saw not a single wagon or tent, not a horse, either. Anasyn turned in the saddle and called out to the men behind them.

“Don't bring the wagons up! There's no need.”

With ten of his men for a guard, Anasyn and Nevyn rode down the slope. Birds rose and a cloud of flies as well. Nevyn dismounted, dropped his horse's reins to make him stand, then jogged into the camp. The stench of rot in the hot sun nearly overwhelmed him, but he steeled himself and went on. He could see that every single man there had had his throat cut, no doubt on the day before, while their lord still bargained for their safety. More slowly Anasyn followed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What?” Anasyn snapped. “Who did this? Braemys? Was this his idea of a jest or taunt or suchlike?”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Nevyn said. “It's the bandits, I'd wager. Remember his amnesty to men who'd lost their lords? Some of them doubtless were good men and loyal to their new warband, but others—”

“The ones that broke and ran during the battle. They couldn't loot on the field, so they took what they wanted here.” Anasyn shuddered convulsively. “Well, no doubt our liege will be hunting them down soon enough.”

When, after their return to camp, Maryn heard the story, he fulfilled Anasyn's prophecy, vowing to round up the bandits as soon as he'd been invested as high king.

“The cowards!” Maryn snarled. “Pisspoor bastards, more
dogs than men! I'll hang the lot if it takes me the rest of the summer.”

“Good,” Nevyn said. “It turned my stomach. Tieryn Anasyn had his men bury them properly.”

“That gladdens my heart. Ye gods, I hope that our own wounded fare well!”

“That thought had crossed my mind. I'm glad Your Highness doubled the size of that escort.”

The bandits, however, must have ridden in some other direction, for they spared the Wyvern men. Maddyn had been leading his ragged procession of wounded riders, wounded horses, and wagons as fast as they could go—no more than some ten miles a day, by his rough figuring. No one could stay in the saddle for long, but the men in the carts fared worse, bounced, rattled, and thrown about by every stone in the road. At the end of each day's travelling the healthy men of the escort would bury those who had died, and in the morning, before they set out west again, they would bury anyone who had died in the night.

It was no wonder then that messengers from the prince caught up with them. In the middle of an afternoon Maddyn was riding at the head of the line when he heard someone shouting at the rear of it. He yelled for the halt, then turned his horse and jogged back. By the time he reached the last wagon, the dust around their line of march was beginning to settle. He could see another cloud of dust on the road, coming toward them. The nearest carter leaned over the side of his wagon.

“Be they enemies?” he called out.

“I hope not,” Maddyn called back. “Wait—there's just two of them. Can't be enemies.”

As the two riders trotted up, Maddyn could see that one of them was wearing, tied over his mail, a tabard appliquéd with the red wyvern, a piece of clothing that identified him and his companion as speeded couriers. A few more yards, and he recognized the men for silver daggers, Alwyn and Tarryc. They trotted up and stopped their horses beside his.

“So,” Maddyn said. “You're riding for Dun Deverry, then?”

“We are,” Alwyn said. “A cursed strange thing's happened, Maddo.”

“Not more fighting?”

“Not that at all.”

“What's Braemys doing, then? Running for Cantrae as fast as he can?”

“He's not.” Alwyn was trying to suppress a smile, and Maddyn realized that he was building up to some sort of jest. “He's travelling north.”

“Oh, is he now? And why might that be?”

Alwyn paused, grinning. By then the other men in the escort had walked their horses back; they all leaned forward in their saddles to listen.

“Lord Braemys,” Alwyn said, “is heading for Cerr-gonney.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, now, it seems that our prince gave him a choice, like, to swear fealty or leave the royal lands forever. So he's packed up his people and women and children, and a lot of cattle and sheep and suchlike, and he's leaving.” Alwyn paused for effect. “Gwerbret Ammerwdd's escorting him to the border. Braemys has handed Dun Cantrae over to Prince Maryn, down to the stones and the dungheaps.”

“He's daft! There's nothing up there in those hills.”

“There will be, and soon enough, most like, when he gets there.”

Maddyn shook his head in amazement. Young as he was, Braemys had a touch of genius when it came to tactics. When it came to common sense, however, he seemed more than a bit lacking.

“Ah well,” Maddyn said. “The noble-born do what they will, and there's naught for a bard like me to do but remember it for them.”

“Just so.” Alwyn glanced around at the men crowding in to listen. “Let us through, lads! We've got a fair bit of daylight left, and we need to be on our way.”

The couriers walked their horses around the straggling
wagon train, then trotted off fast, heading east to bring this peculiar news to the princess and her fortguard. Maddyn's lot followed at their usual slow pace.

To pass the time for both of them, Lilli had taken to teaching Prince Riddmar how to play carnoic and gwydd-bwcl of an afternoon. They would sit at a table in the great hall, empty except for the dogs, circling flies, and a few servants, who generally watched the game and offered bad advice to both of them impartially. When the two silver daggers arrived with messages from the army, the two gamers happened to be the only noble-born persons present. The messengers knelt at Lilli's side and proffered the message tubes.

“From Prince Maryn, my lady,” Alwyn said. “Is the princess here?”

“In the women's hall,” Lilli said. “I'll take these up.” She glanced at a lurking servant lass. “Get these men food and ale.”

As she climbed the staircase Lilli looked back and saw that Riddmar had gone to sit with the riders. No doubt he was going to badger them with questions about the fighting.

Lilli was planning on handing the messages to Elyssa or Degwa at the door, but when she knocked on the door of the women's hall, Bellyra herself opened it. She wore only a simple shift, so old that the linen was shiny, and it seemed to Lilli that she could have counted every bone in the princess's body. Bellyra paused, looking her over with dull eyes. Lilli, who was of too low a rank to speak first to a princess, curtsied, then merely waited while her breath caught ragged in her throat.

“What are those?” Bellyra said finally.

“Messages, Your Highness, from your husband.” Lilli held out the tubes. “The men that brought them are down in the great hall.”