The Fire Dragon. Katharine Kerr
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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.’
Degwa stomped off, her wooden clogs loud on the stone floor, and hurried down the staircase. Elyssa rolled her eyes to the heavens.
‘Ye gods!’ Elyssa whispered. ‘My apologies, Lilli.’
‘There’s no need for you to apologize. Ah well, Decci is what she is, and that’s true for all of us.’
When she returned to her chamber, Lilli opened her wooden chest and found the brooch that had once been her mother’s. She sat down in her chair and held the silver knot up, letting it catch the sunlight. Why was she keeping it? she wondered. Her mother – a murderess, a sorceress who had used Lilli’s own gifts ruthlessly for the clan’s advantage. And yet Merodda had put out considerable effort to save Lilli from a horrible marriage; at times she had been kind as well, for no reason other than that Lilli was her daughter. A token for those good things, Lilli decided. That’s why I keep it.
Thinking of her blood kin made Lilli remember Braemys, her cousin, her half-brother, and once, too, her betrothed. Dark thoughts gathered, that he was likely to die in the coming fighting. But what if he won the battle? What if Maryn were killed instead? One or the other of them would have to die to settle the feud between them. Deverry men always settled feuds that way, with the death of one or the other. With the brooch clasped tight in one hand, she rose and walked to the window. Outside the sky blazed with gold light, streaked with pink and orange against the darkening blue.
‘Dear Goddess,’ Lilli whispered. ‘Let Maryn be the victor. I beg you.’
And she wondered if she would ever get free of him.
Just at sunset the scouting parties returned to Maryn’s camp. Armed with Nevyn’s report, Maryn had sent Branoic with some of the silver daggers to the southeast, while a squad from Daeryc’s men had ridden straight east. Neither party had seen either half of Braemys’s army, which meant that the enemy was, most likely, making camp for the night.
‘I’ll wager they march here tomorrow, your highness,’ Branoic said. ‘This Braemys – he’s young, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders.’
‘So your betrothed told me once,’ Maryn said. ‘She knew him well, after all.’
‘I take it his highness discussed the matter with her?’
‘I did, truly. Why wouldn’t I?’
Branoic said nothing more, but his slight smile had turned dangerous. For a moment the two men stared at each other, their eyes narrow, their jaws tight-set, Maryn standing with his plaid cloak draped over one shoulder and his hands set on his hips, while Branoic, his clothes dust-stained, knelt at his feet. The other scouts, waiting behind Branoic, took a step back, but Maryn’s servant stopped, dead-still, at the mouth of the tent behind him. Nevyn felt a cold warning run down his back and strode forward, ready to intervene. His movement brought them both to their senses. Maryn forced out a smile and turned it impartially upon all of the waiting men, including Branoic.
‘Well done,’ the prince said. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your fires.’
‘My thanks, your highness.’ Branoic rose and bowed. ‘It’s been a long day’s ride.’
In the company of the other scouts Branoic strode off into the sea of tents. Maryn’s servant sighed aloud and darted away. Nevyn raised an eyebrow at Maryn, who shrugged.
‘My apologies,’ Maryn said. ‘I need to watch my tongue.’
‘A wise thought,’ Nevyn said.
‘That’s the worst of it, isn’t it? Being the prince, I mean. I’m not allowed to lapse like ordinary men.’
‘Even ordinary men need to watch their tongues now and again.’
Maryn gave him a sour smile, then turned and without another word ducked into his tent. In the gathering twilight Nevyn walked back to his own. The worst danger for the kingdom would arrive tomorrow with Braemys’s army, but the worst danger for the prince and those who loved him was waiting back in Dun Deverry.
Deep in the night, once the astral tide of Earth had settled into a steady flow, Nevyn scried again, and once again he found the two halves of Braemys’s army, one to the south, one to the east, camped under the stars without tents or campfires. They had sacrificed everything for speed. If Maryn had lacked the presence of a dweomermaster, he and his army would have found themselves caught between two forces like a bite of meat between two jaws.
As it was, of course, they were warned.
Well before dawn Maddyn woke. He sat up in the silent darkness of his tent and considered the odd sensation troubling him. In a few moments he realized that, for the first time in days, he felt hungry. Somewhere near at hand Branoic had left him a chunk of bread on just this chance, but he could see nothing but a triangle of lighter dark at the tent’s mouth.
‘Curse it all!’
Cautiously he got to his knees and began feeling the ground at the head of his blankets.
Behind him he heard a rustling and a sound that might have been a whisper. A silver glow cast sudden shadows. When he twisted round he saw his blue sprite, glowing like the moon and grinning at him.
‘My thanks,’ he said. ‘And there’s the bread.’
Branoic had left it wrapped in cloth upon his saddle, the only thing in the tent that would serve as a shelf. Maddyn found a covered tankard of watered ale nearby as well. With his sprite for company, Maddyn began dipping the bread in the ale and eating the moist bits, but he’d not got far into the chunk before he realized he was making a mistake. He tried a sip of plain ale and felt his stomach burn and twist.
‘So much for that.’
Maddyn wrapped the bread back up, then lay down again, but it took him a long while to sleep with his stomach cramping and complaining. When he finally dozed off, he dreamt of Aethan, lying dead on the battlefield, and woke in a cold sweat. This time, at least, dawn light streamed into the tent. From outside he heard voices, talking softly; then someone pulled the tent flap to one side and stuck his head in: Nevyn.
‘Ah,’ Nevyn said. ‘You’re awake.’
‘More or less, my lord.’ Maddyn sat up, then clutched his aching stomach with both arms. ‘I tried to eat somewhat in the night.’
‘With bad result, I see. The prince wants to see you.’
‘I’ll come out.’
Much to his relief, Maddyn found that he could crawl out of the tent with some effort and then, with Nevyn’s help, stand up. The prince had already donned his chain mail shirt, but the hood lay on his shoulders, and he wore no helm. In the dawn light his hair gleamed as if the sun itself were honouring him.
‘Don’t try to kneel or bow,’ Maryn said. ‘How do you fare?’
‘Not so well, your highness, I’m afraid.’
‘You