The Fire Dragon (16 page)

“My thanks.” Bellyra took the tubes. “I was sorry to hear about Branoic's death. You have my sympathies.”

“My thanks, Your Highness.”

“I had hopes that he'd take you away from Dun Deverry. My husband honors his men highly, after all, and what he wouldn't do for us, he might have done for one of them.”

Lilli tried to answer, but her mouth had gone too dry. Bellyra continued with her slow scrutiny.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Lilli,” the princess said at last. “It's truly not your fault. I just can't stand the sight of you, is all.”

With that she slammed the door shut. Lilli stood in the hallway and trembled for some while before she could summon the breath to leave.

Maddyn led his straggling procession into Dun Deverry late on an afternoon when clouds hung heavy in the western sky. Light the color of beaten copper slanted under the swelling thunderheads and made them blaze over the black towers and walls of the dun. As they rode through the last gate into the ward, Maddyn was hoping that the storm would break soon. The heat seemed to have turned the air too thick to breathe.

Servants swarmed out of the broch, and grooms came running. As Maddyn dismounted, he saw Grodyn the chirurgeon limping across the ward with his stick for support. Pages scurried at the old man's orders to help the wounded men down. Lady Lillorigga, with young Prince Riddmar at her side, stood waiting in the doorway of the main broch. As Maddyn hurried over, he noticed that her skin looked oddly pale except for the hectic red upon her cheeks. I wonder if Nevyn knows about this, he thought. When he started to kneel, she stopped him.

“Don't, Maddo,” Lilli said, and her voice quivered with tears. “If the gods had been kinder I'd have been a silver dagger's wife, and I shan't have his comrade kneeling to me.”

“My heart aches for you, my lady,” Maddyn said, “and for my own grief as well. I'd ridden with Branno for many a long year.”

“I know.” Lilli raised one arm and wiped her eyes on
her sleeve. “But it was Wyrd, and what can we do about that?”

“Naught, truly.” Maddyn reached into his shirt and brought out the two silver message tubes. “One of these is for you, but I can't read the names upon them.”

Lilli took them, slid one parchment out, then handed it and the tube both back to him.

“This is for the princess,” she said. “It's odd how when there's a choice of two things, one always chooses the wrong one.”

Her voice twisted with such bitterness that Maddyn heard a tale's worth of meanings in her words. “So it is,” he said. “Is the princess in the great hall?”

“She's not. I suppose I could take that letter to Elyssa to give to her.”

“Or you could just take it up to the women's hall.”

“I can't.” Lilli looked away. “But you know, I think our princess would like to see you. Maybe you can distract her a bit. Let me just find Elyssa.”

While Lilli went upstairs, Maddyn and the rest of the escort sat themselves down on the riders' side of the great hall. Servant lasses brought them ale, then hovered around them, asking after various men who'd gone to the battle. For some it was a sad asking, because their men had been slain, but most could laugh and rest easy, knowing they'd ride home again soon. Maddyn kept watch on the great staircase while he prayed that Bellyra would be well enough to come down.

In but a little while his vigil was rewarded. With Lady Elyssa beside her the princess appeared at the top of the stairs. Bellyra wore a pair of green dresses, and her richly embroidered head scarf pulled her honey-colored hair back from a face gone pale and gaunt. Barely thinking, Maddyn rose and hurried to the foot of the stairs. Bellyra was frowning a little, concentrating on taking each step down as if she were exhausted, so carefully, so sadly, really, that he longed to pick her up and carry her down in his arms. When the women were about halfway down, Elyssa waved,
gesturing that he should come up to meet them. He knelt two steps below them and offered Bellyra the message tube.

“From Nevyn, my lady,” Maddyn said.

“My thanks.” Bellyra took the message, slid it halfway out of the tube, then slid it back. “I'd hoped for a word from my husband.”

Maddyn winced. “He was much distracted, Your Highness. The battle wasn't long over.”

“I see.” She glanced at Elyssa. “You know, I feel rather faint.” In a rustle of crisp linen she sat down on the step directly above him. “But I want to hear what Maddyn can tell me about the prince. Is he truly well?”

“He is, my lady. Victory becomes any man.”

“The messengers told me about Braemys's withdrawal. I'm so glad there was but the one battle, but they also told me Maryn's going to be chasing down bandits or suchlike.”

“Oh, he'll ride home before that campaign, Your Highness. He needs to claim the kingship as soon as he secures Cantrae.”

“Ah. That's somewhat to hope for, then. I'll send letters back with you.”

Bellyra stared down at her hands, lying in her lap. When Maddyn looked at Elyssa, he found her pointedly looking elsewhere.

“My heart aches to leave you again,” he whispered.

Bellyra managed a smile. “I wish you weren't leaving, but the messages—”

“Anyone can carry those. If you want me here, I'll stay. Owaen will be glad to have me gone.”

“And what about our prince?”

Maddyn hesitated, searching for words. “Ah well,” he said at last. “He gave me leave to stay here, you see, should I want to.”

“Why?” Bellyra looked up, her eyes anger-bright. “To comfort his little mistress if
she
needed it?”

Maddyn winced again.

“So I thought.” Bellyra's voice trembled. “I'll just steal a little happiness for myself, then, out of his ever-so-generous gift to her. Do stay, Maddo. I'll be glad of your company.”

“I will, then.”

She smiled, just faintly, then scrambled up and turned to Elyssa with a wave of the letter she held.

“No doubt Nevyn will want a reply,” the princess said. “I'll read this and compose an answer.”

“Very well, Your Highness,” Elyssa said. “The men from the escort can carry it back.”

Maddyn stayed kneeling until they'd climbed the stairs and gone. For so many years, through so many dangers, his loyalty to Prince Maryn had shaped his life—his heart and soul, really. It was odd to think that a woman's unhappiness had destroyed it.

After the parley with Braemys, Prince Maryn and Gwerbret Ammerwdd sent some of their weaker vassals home to tend to their own affairs, then divided the remaining forces between them. Maryn ended up with some eight hundred men—his silver daggers, several of the northern lords including Nantyn and his men, the riders due him as Gwerbret Cerrmor, and half the Cerrmor spearmen. With their much-reduced numbers, they could now make better speed, some eighteen miles a day on the flat, though hilly country would take its toll on the wagons when they reached it. The messengers sent by Princess Bellyra caught up with the prince some ten miles east of Glasloc, half a day's march from the lands belonging to the Boar clan.

The army had camped in a stretch of fallow fields just at the edge of a straggling forest. With a few hours of sunlight left in the day, Nevyn took a cloth sack and his digging tools and walked into the young trees to look for herbs, but he found mostly weeds and brambles. In the shade of a few of the larger trees he did see young bracken pushing their curled shoots through the green-covered ground. The land had been cleared once, he supposed, then allowed to go wild again, doubtless as a result of the war. About a quarter mile into the second growth, he found proof of his theory in the form of a remnant of low stone wall, overgrown with mosses.

Beyond stood the last remnant of the wild forest that had covered the entire area back when Nevyn had been young and a prince himself. As he leaned onto the top of the wall and contemplated the ancient oaks, he realized exactly where he must be. Within that forest lay the cairn that marked Brangwen's grave. He'd seen it last some twenty years ago, though he'd approached it from the other side. The shadows lay deep in the forest; sunset lay close at hand. With a shake of his head he turned and made his way back to camp.

As he was walking back to his tent, Owaen hailed him.

“Messengers rode in, my lord,” Owaen called out. “The prince has letters for you.”

“My thanks!” Nevyn said. “I'll go fetch them.”

There turned out to be two personal letters for Nevyn—one from Princess Bellyra, one from Lilli. The princess had sent only the briefest of notes, acknowledging his earlier message. Lilli's letter supplied the reason. She had written it herself in her big blocky letters rather than trust her meaning to a scribe.

“My dear master,” it began, “I am writing about the princess. Her illness still lies upon her, and it aches my heart to see. Maddyn the bard did cheer her somewhat upon his return with his songs, but in only a few days she fell into a deeper sadness than ever. Lady Elyssa is beside herself with worry, saying that this fit of madness is worse than the last. Is there some herb I might brew to lift some of her clouds? I would be ever so grateful for any advice upon this matter.”

The letter continued with comments upon her studies and some gossip from the dun, then ended with a line that brought tears to his eyes.

“I think about Branoic every night at sunset and weep for him. I understand now why bards call grief a monster that gnaws at your heart.”

Nevyn rolled the letter up and slipped it into his shirt to keep it safe. Was there any advice he could give her about helping Bellyra recover? When he did think of a possible
remedy, it required no mighty magicks or even herb lore. The next morning, while they waited for the first scouts to return, Nevyn took the prince for a little stroll into the forest edge.

“If I remember rightly, Your Highness,” Nevyn said, “there's a proper road just beyond this stretch of forest.”

“Splendid!” Maryn said. “I'll send a couple of men to scout it out. Is there a path through here?”

“I think so. I'm fairly sure I know this spot. If I'm right, there's a grave marker along in here somewhere.”

Sure enough, in a short walk's space they came to a neat stack of stones, some four feet high, in the midst of a small clearing. Just beyond it they could see a worn dirt path through the trees.

“Is this the grave?” Maryn said. “It looks like a cairn.”

“It is, and of a noble-born lady,” Nevyn said. “I heard the story from a gamekeeper years and years ago, my liege. The lass was betrothed to a prince, but she died before they could marry.”

“A sad Wyrd, then.”

“Made sadder because he spurned her, or so the story runs, and there was naught she could do but throw herself away on an unworthy man. Noble-born women have so little power over their own lives.”

“True spoken.” Maryn nodded absently, looking away into the trees.

Nevyn paused to wonder if he were wasting his breath, but the thing needed saying, he decided, whether the prince chose to listen or not.

“I was remembering the days when I was your tutor,” Nevyn said. “We studied the laws, the history of the great clans, the Dawntime. But we never touched upon how a man might comport himself around the women of his household. I begin to think that was an oversight on my part.”

Maryn whipped his head around and glared at him, his mouth tight-set.

“I see you see my line of thought,” Nevyn said calmly.

“Lady Lillorigga is your apprentice.” Maryn's voice grated close to a growl. “I understand that you need to have her welfare at heart.”

“I wasn't talking about Lilli.”

“Oh.” Maryn relaxed. “My apologies.”

“The woman I fear for, Your Highness, is your wife. Those fits of madness—”

“Well, they trouble me, too. Ye gods, don't you think I realize that they've appeared after every child? There are three heirs to the throne back in Dun Deverry now. That's enough for safety's sake. I see no reason to put her at risk again.” Maryn shook his head sadly. “I'm fond of her, truly I am, but there are other women. I'm not some animal who can't control himself.”

It took a moment for Nevyn to parse the prince's meaning—quite the opposite conclusion from the one he wanted drawn. Maryn smiled briefly.

“She need not fear my attentions any longer,” Maryn said. “It's a sad thing, because she always seemed to like them well enough. But this madness—” He shuddered, deeply and sincerely. “The poor woman!”

Before Nevyn could gather his wits and speak, Maryn nodded to him and walked away, heading back to camp, leaving him to scowl at the unhearing stones.

“Well, I made a botch out of that!” Nevyn muttered. “Naught to be done about it now, I suppose.”

Long shafts of golden sunset fell among the trees and gilded the mossy stones that marked Brangwen's grave, so like the new cairn that marked Branoic's. Nevyn found himself wondering what body this soul would wear in its next life. He could only wait and hope to see, if indeed, the Lords of Wyrd should grant that once again their paths would cross.

Travelling on the Cantrae road did indeed prove faster than picking their way by farmers' paths. The army rode steadily northeast. Every now and then they passed a farm, ringed by ditches and wooden fences, where dogs would bark hysterically from behind closed gates. The owners had fortified themselves against the noble lords more than bandits,
Nevyn supposed. They rode through long meadows as well, where in the distance they could see trails of rising dust where the famous horseherders of Cantrae were driving their stock far beyond an army's greedy reach. The one dun they passed stood empty—not a chicken nor a chair remained. Some lord had chosen to follow Braemys, Nevyn assumed.

Some two days later the army rode up to Cantrae, a compact walled town that once had sheltered a thousand souls. Maryn halted the army in a meadow some hundred yards from the stone walls. Nevyn joined him as he and the silver daggers rode a cautious hundred yards farther on. Once they'd left the army's noise behind, they could hear the wind sighing and the river chortling as it ran through the portcullis that guarded its channel through the walls. They rode up to the open gates and paused just outside. In their clear view down the main street of the town, all the way to the market square, no one and nothing moved.