The Red Wyvern: Book One of the Dragon Mage (32 page)

“Well, there! You see?” Oggyn said. “Our little Boars-woman has found a way to get herself to the battle.”

“What?” Nevyn snarled. “What could she possibly—”

“Who knows? But I think she should be placed under close guard.”

“Like a criminal? After she’s risked so much to help the prince’s cause?”

“The matter could be presented as a move to protect her.”

Nevyn stopped himself from snarling again. Oggyn’s moist mouth smiled inside his beard, as if at a victory.

“And how will Tieryn Peddyc and his men take that?” Nevyn said. “Or his overlord, for that matter?”

Oggyn’s smile disappeared. He turned on his heel and marched off, leaving Nevyn fuming behind him. Caradoc, who’d been watching from a little distance, strolled over.

“What a generous nature he has,” the captain remarked. “So mindful of the niceties of honor.”

Nevyn relieved his feelings with a string of oaths. Caradoc laughed.

“I just don’t understand why he’s so suspicious of the lass,” Nevyn said. “There’s naught she can do that would injure Maryn’s cause.”

“It’s not the lass, my lord. It’s you. You’ve got more influence over the prince than any man alive. Oggyn’s jealous. Needs to feel like he’s bested you in somewhat, even a little thing that should be beneath his notice.”

Nevyn opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again.

“Him and that Tieryn Gauryc both,” Caradoc went on. “I see him and Oggyn with their heads together now and again.”

“Indeed? Interesting. You’re right, of course, about Oggyn. He’d love to have more of the prince’s favor, and that means I need to have less. But Gauryc?”

“I don’t know what’s griping his soul so badly. I could ask around.”

“Would you? I should be most grateful.”

Nevyn had servants set him up a small tent some few feet in front of the door into Lilli’s, so that he’d see anyone entering and leaving there. He’d just finished moving his things into it when Caradoc returned, bearing news. They walked a little away from the camp down toward the outer wall to get some privacy.

“Here’s the gossip, my lord,” Caradoc said. “And men who sneer at women for being gossips should sew up the rip in their own brigga first—I’ve seen a lot of bare bum today. Gossip about this, gossip about that! Ye gods! But the rumor that matters to us wins the tourney, like. When Maryn’s high king, it runs, he’ll bestow the Cerrmor gwerbretrhyn upon you. Gauryc rather fancies that rhan for himself or his eldest son.”

“That’s ridiculous! I’m much too old, and I don’t have heirs. I’m not likely to get any, either.”

“Oh here, my lord! If you were Gwerbret Cerrmor, would your age matter one whit to a noble-born lass? For that matter, here’s young Lilli, an exile with no dowry. She can’t afford to be fussy, like, and they’ve all seen her walking with you in the gardens back home.”

“Ye gods! They think I’m courting her? Well, that would indeed give our Gauryc somewhat to worry over.”

“Like a terrier with a rat.”

“My thanks, captain. I’ll do some thinking and see if I can lay their minds to rest.”

“Why? Let them chew on it awhile. It’ll keep them out of trouble, like. A terrier that’s got a rat won’t go killing chickens.”

Nevyn laughed while Caradoc stood grinning, his hands shoved in his brigga pockets.

“And speaking of the Lady Lillorigga,” Caradoc went on. “The prince wants to talk with her as soon as she’s rested. He’d like you to escort her.”

“I will, of course. Huh. That’ll give our terriers another nice juicy rat. Freshly killed.”

That night, in front of his pavilion Maryn held a council of war. Off to one side he had the servants lay a small fire and tend it to provide light without too much heat, while he sat in a chair with Oggyn and Nevyn standing behind him and the gwerbretion and Caradoc as well sitting on the ground in front of him. At the prince’s request, Nevyn summarized what Lilli had told them earlier.

“So there’s a bolthole, sure enough,” Nevyn finished up. “But it doesn’t open anywhere as convenient as the king’s bedchambers. It’s a long walk from that side ward she described to the main gates, and between the main gates and us lie two rings of open ground as well.”

“It would be better, then,” Maryn said, “if we took the next ring uphill before we used the bolthole. I doubt if they’ll fight hard for it. It just encloses empty land.”

“That’s a good point, Your Highness,” Caradoc put in. “I’ve been doing some thinking. This dun was built as much for show as for defense. Why, by the hells! It would take ten thousand men to man these walls all proper, like.”

Maryn nodded a grim agreement. The noble-born sat quietly for a moment, digesting the news; then Tieryn Gauryc rose to speak.

“My prince? I’m wondering if perhaps we should just hold our siege and let hunger do the fighting.”

“A good point, my lord,” Maryn said, “but starving them out means starving half the countryside with them. How are we going to provision this army all winter long? Not without stripping every farm for miles around. I have no intention of ruling a kingdom of ghosts.”

“Ghosts don’t provision great courts, either,” Oggyn added. “If I may be so bold as to speak, my prince?”

“By all means.”

“My thanks, Your Highness. By my reckoning, we’ve confiscated all we can from the farms without stripping their seed corn or starving the men who’ll plant it. If there’s no winter wheat to ripen in the spring, what will the army be eating then?”

For the first time since he’d met him, Nevyn felt that Oggyn was an excellent fellow. The noble-born began to talk among themselves, but in a few brief words of what seemed to be agreement.

“And another thing, my liege,” Oggyn went on. “From what the men of the Ram tell me, the majority of the regent’s provisions and stores lie in the next to the last ring. If we capture those, then the situation of the royal compound becomes even more precarious.”

“An excellent point,” Nevyn said. “I recommend it to Your Highness.”

Oggyn smiled and bowed in his direction.

“Now here!” Gwerbret Daeryc scrambled up. “Are we all cooks and chamberlains, to stand around discussing bins of grain and jugs of milk?”

“Of course not, Your Grace!” Peddyc rose and stepped forward to calm his overlord down. “What truly counts, my prince and liege, is the honor of the thing.”

“Indeed, Tieryn Peddyc?” Maryn said. “And what may that be?”

“That we’re warriors born and bred, not gatekeepers!” Daeryc interrupted.

“That’s true, Your Grace.” Peddyc smiled with a rueful twist of his mouth. “And since there’s a way into the dun, I say we take it—”

“—and flush the bastards out of cover!” Daeryc broke in.

Maryn tossed back his head and laughed.

“It seems to me, then, that the chamberlain and the warrior agree.” Maryn looked round at the semicircle of lords. “What do you say, men?”

“Attack! Red Wyvern! Red Wyvern!”

Their cheers rang out like brass bells on the evening wind.

“They’re up to something!” Burcan snarled. “Listen to that!”

From a great distance the sound of cheering drifted to the dun on the night wind. The sound turned Merodda omen-cold.

“They are at that,” she said.

“Rhodi, are you well?” Burcan caught her arm. “You sound like you’re going to faint.”

“My apologies. Let’s go inside. The air out here’s turned so cold.”

With his other hand Burcan held up the lantern he was carrying and peered into her face.

“It’s quite warm, as a matter of fact,” he said at last. “Let’s get you to your chamber so you can rest.”

Yet after he’d left her, Merodda got out her scrying basin. Every time she thought of Lilli, she felt torn ’twixt joy that her only daughter was safe and bitter envy. That night she scried for Lilli in the same spirit as she’d poke a bruise to ensure it still pained her. When she thought of Lilli, nothing came. The surface of the black ink stayed black without the slightest trace of an image upon it.

When Merodda tried to pour the ink back into its leather bottle, her hands shook so badly that she let it be. This could only mean one thing, that Lilli was here at the siege where Nevyn could protect her. But why? Peddyc and the Rams knew the dun better than she did, after all. What did she know that she could bring to the Usurper, a traitor’s gift? Or was it—Merodda’s hands turned so cold that she tucked them into her armpits. No doubt this Nevyn knew of the child’s gift with omens. No doubt he wished to use it for himself, just as she had.

Her own daughter had become a knife, laid against the heart of the dun.

On the morrow morning, Lilli escorted the prince to the opening of the bolthole. As soon as she’d described the ruins to Peddyc, he’d recognized them, and now he led the prince there, along with the Ram warband and the entire troop of silver daggers. For good measure Nevyn tagged along as well.

The sky hung heavy with clouds, promising summer rain. When they rode up to the broken wall and the stump of a broch, the oppressive air muffled sound. Even the cawing of the ravens seemed far away.

“This broch’s been deserted for many a long year now,” Peddyc said. “It’s supposed to be haunted.”

“Of course,” Nevyn said, grinning. “Aren’t they all?”

Peddyc laughed, but uneasily. Everyone dismounted. The Ramsmen took over the horses while the prince, Nevyn, Lilli, and a few silver daggers, Branoic among them, walked into the waist-high weeds flourishing in the old ward. For a moment, seeing the place from a new angle, Lilli felt disoriented, but she recognized a spray of fallen stones.

“Around here, Your Highness,” she said. “If you’ll follow me?”

“Gladly, my lady,” Maryn said, bowing. “But we’ll send one of my men ahead, just in case someone desperate’s found the shelter.”

Without incident, though, everyone trooped round the side of the broken broch. The gaping entrance to the stone steps lay just where Lilli expected it.

“Down there, Your Highness. There’s a cellar and then a heavy door.”

“Splendid!” Maryn started forward, but Nevyn caught his arm.

“My liege, please.” The old man sounded weary. “Do let your guards precede you.”

While the prince and five of the silver daggers poked around in the cellar, Nevyn and Lilli sat down on a hunk of broken wall to wait. Overhead the skies were growing darker; the ravens had fallen silent and flown off to hide from the coming rain. Lilli felt sweat trickling down her back. She wiped her face on the long sleeve of her riding dress.

“Ugly sort of day,” Nevyn remarked.

“It is, my lord. I keep thinking of Brour. The last time I saw him was just there, heading off west with a peddlar’s pack.”

“And now he’s dead. A sad thing, truly.”

All at once it struck Lilli that Nevyn had never doubted her dweomer-produced knowledge that Brour was dead. Her mother would have probed like a judge.

“I wish she hadn’t had him chased down and killed,” Lilli said. “My mother, I mean. All he wanted was to get away.”

“I assume she was afraid of what he knew about her. I—” Nevyn hesitated.

From the cellar came a most unroyal whoop of triumph. With muck and dust all over his shirt, Prince Maryn emerged into the ruined ward. A cobweb gleamed in his golden hair.

“Cursed heavy door,” the prince said, grinning. “How did you get it open, Lilli?”

Hearing him use her nickname made Lilli blush, though she couldn’t say why.

“I didn’t, Your Highness. My tutor did that.”

“Ah, I see.”

“My liege?” Nevyn said. “Where are your guards?”

“Following the tunnel down a ways. Caradoc’s as grim as you are, Nevyn. He wouldn’t let me come along.” Maryn glanced around, saw a chunk of fallen stone, and sat upon it. “I told him not to go too far. Here, Lilli, you don’t think anyone else knows this secret?”

“I don’t, Your Highness.”

“Why?”

“My liege,” Nevyn broke in, “there was considerable dweomer involved in its finding.”

Maryn started to speak, then merely stared at Lilli, his lips half-parted in sudden awe. She felt her face burning again, cursed it, and looked down at the ground. Bevyan always said you should lower your eyes if royalty looked straight at you, anyway.

“Well, then,” Maryn said at last. “No doubt the secret’s safe enough. When we get back to camp, you can tell us where this opens out. Could you draw a map in the dirt?”

“I’ll be glad to try, Your Highness.”

“You know,” Nevyn broke in again. “Peddyc and Daeryc and all the Rams and suchlike know Dun Deverry quite well. They can tell us what we need. I think Lilli should return to Cerrmor.”

“But is it safe?” Maryn said. “Even on a river barge? There are marauders all around, Nevyn, all those deserter warbands, and some of them have lost their lords, most likely, and turned into brigands.”

“Huh.” Nevyn considered this for a long moment. “True enough. I’d forgotten about that.”

Lilli looked back and forth between them, struck by how casually they spoke when there were no noble-born around to hear them. She wondered if Nevyn was of royal blood himself, to speak to the prince so boldly.

“What do you say, Lilli?” Nevyn said. “There’s grave danger either way, to stay or go home.”

“As long as my prince has need of me, I’ll stay.”

Maryn smiled at her, and it seemed that the day turned bright. For a moment she felt that she might slip into trance, as if his magical power and grace blended to drug her senses. All at once she realized that Nevyn was watching her with grim eyes. She looked away, fumbling for something to say, but the silver daggers saved her by appearing at the top of the steps.

“My liege?” Caradoc said. “It never does turn narrow. We can get a good lot of men down here if we want to.”

“Splendid!” Maryn jumped up with a toss of his golden head. “Let’s get back to camp and do some scheming.”

Lilli hung back and let him stride off in the company of his men. Nevyn slipped an arm through hers as they walked after.

“Some beautiful things are dangerous,” he remarked.

“Do you mean the prince, my lord?”

“I don’t. I mean the princess.”

Their eyes met, and he raised one bushy eyebrow.