A Time of Omens. Katharine Kerr
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dear Goddess, do let it be an omen. It would be a splendid one, coming just like that. O dear Goddess, I do want to live to grow up.’
She felt the tears pressing behind her eyes, hot and shameful. With a toss of her head she willed them away and ran for the door and the staircase. She should be in the great hall to welcome the merchants who’d brought her this treasure, she decided, be there and smile upon them and show them her favour, so they’d feel well-rewarded beyond the coin her chamberlain would pay over.
By the time she reached the great hall, Tieryn Elyc, Lord Tammael the chamberlain, the seneschal, and the two stewards were already standing round the table of honour up on the dais with three merchants in checked brigga, two quite young, the other very old indeed, with a mop of thick white hair and a face as lined as an old burlap sack. Since everyone was arguing about paying for the iron no one noticed her make her entrance. Down on the floor of the hall servants rushed frantically round, trying to assemble enough ale-tankards for the mercenary troop as the men strode in, laughing and talking, each with a dagger-hilt made of silver gleaming at his belt. Bellyra hovered uncertainly behind Tieryn Elyc and waited for a chance to deliver her speech of thanks until, at last, the old merchant happened to look her way.
‘Ah, the Princess of the Blood, no doubt,’ he said with an amazingly deep and agile bow. ‘I do have the honour of addressing Bellyra of Cerrmor, do I not?’
‘You do, good sir.’ Bellyra drew herself up to full height and held out her hand for him to kiss. ‘You have our royal thanks for the risk you’ve run to bring us this black iron more precious than shining gold.’
‘Your highness is welcome from the bottom of my heart.’
Bellyra was annoyed to see Elyc smiling again, but the old man didn’t seem to notice.
‘And your name, good sir?’
‘My name, your highness, contains a jest, but it’s a name nonetheless. It’s Nevyn.’
‘Just like the sorcerer!’ She blushed, hating herself for blurting like a child. ‘I mean, I’ve read of a sorcerer with that name.’
Elyc was downright laughing at her by then, and she decided she hated him, too, loyal regent or not.
‘You’ll forgive the princess, good sir.’ He stepped forward to take command of the situation. ‘She’s a bit young for her position, truly, and –’
‘Too young? Oh, she’s not that, Your Grace, but unusually attentive to her lessons, I’d say. I’ve read the same book myself, I’ll wager, because there was indeed a sorcerer named Nevyn who once lived in this very city – or so I heard.’ He gave Bellyra a conspiratorial wink. ‘Perhaps that’s why my mother gave me that name, your highness, because it was famous in its own small way.’
Elyc arranged a polite smile. Nevyn bowed and made room for the two young merchants to continue their earnest talk of due recompense. Bellyra could only hope that the treasury held enough silver to pay them; she rather doubted it. By then the royal warband was piling into the hall to see what all the excitement was about. Even though it was early in the spring, some of the lords faithful to Cerrmor had already brought their warbands to court, and they too, appeared, the noble-born sitting down at tables on the dais, their men finding places on the lower level. Bellyra collared a couple of pages and told them to run tell Cook to get some sort of refreshments for the noble-born and to find the cellarer and fetch another barrel of ale for the warbands. As they trotted off she noticed that Elyc had left the discussion about payment to the chamberlain and wandered over to the edge of the dais. He seemed to be staring at one of the mercenaries sitting below. All at once he laughed and jumped down from the dais.
‘Caradoc! It is you, by every god and his wife!’
Grinning in a kind of stunned delight a man was working his way through the tables, a tall man with blond hair heavily laced with grey and hard blue eyes. Although he was filthy and unshaven from the road he moved with such a natural dignity that Bellyra wasn’t even surprised when Elyc threw his arms around him and hugged him like a brother. For the second time that day she saw the tieryn close to tears.
‘You remember me, Your Grace?’ Caradoc said.
‘Don’t talk like a blathering lackwit! Do I remember you? Would I ever forget you? O dear gods, you’ve given me one happy day at least in the midst of this cursed mess!’ Elyc paused to look over the scruffy pack of mercenaries, who had fallen silent to watch all this with understandable interest. ‘These are your men, are they?’
‘What makes you think I’d be the captain?’
‘Knowing you so well, that’s what. Come up on the dais with me. We’ll have mead to celebrate this, we will.’ Then he turned and found Bellyra hovering nearby. ‘Well, if her highness would allow?’
‘Of course, Lord Regent, provided you tell me who your friend is.’
‘A fair bargain, your highness. May I present my foster brother, Caradoc of Cerrmor, who was forced into exile by an act of honour and naught more.’
‘That’s a fancy way of putting it, Elyc, but you always were a slick one with your words.’ The mercenary bowed to her. ‘Your highness, I’m honoured to be in your presence.’
‘My thanks, captain. You and your men are more than welcome, but I don’t know if we’ve got the coin to pay you what you usually get for fighting for someone.’
‘Bellyra! I mean, your highness!’ Elyc snapped. ‘If you’d leave such things to me …’
‘Ah, why should she?’ Caradoc said with a grin. ‘It’s her kingdom, isn’t it? Your highness, I’d be honoured to fight in your cause for the maintaining of me and my men and naught more.’
Bellyra decided that she liked him immensely.
‘Done, then, captain. No doubt you and your foster brother have much to confer about, and I shall leave matters of war to you.’
Then she turned on her heel and marched off before Elyc could slight her again, only to run straight into the elderly merchant, who’d apparently been standing close by.
‘My apologies!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, I can’t do anything properly today!’
‘I think, your highness, that you’re doing a great many things properly, and besides, you didn’t knock me down or suchlike.’
‘My thanks, good sir. Everyone’s always telling me I’m doing things wrong, but they never tell what I should do. Oh, it’s so beastly, knowing everyone only wants you for your womb!’
She blushed, shocked that she could be so coarse in front of someone she’d just met, but Nevyn smiled and patted her on the shoulder.
‘It must be, indeed, but your life does have a great deal more to offer. You’ve just got to learn how to find it. Come sit at the table of honour – not way down there! Take your rightful place at the regent’s right hand.’ Nevyn pulled out a chair for her, then sat down at her left without waiting to be asked.
When Bellyra shot a nervous glance Elyc’s way she found him scowling at her, but with Nevyn for support she scowled right back and motioned him over with a wave of her hand.
‘Your foster brother is welcome to sit at our table, at your left hand, even, if you so choose.’
‘My thanks, your highness.’ Somewhat unwillingly, Elyc obeyed her indirect order and came over to sit down with Caradoc following along. ‘May I order drink for me and my guest?’
Bellyra ignored the sarcasm, nodded her approval, then turned pointedly to speak to Nevyn. The noise in the great hall picked up in a buzz of whispers and speculation at the princess’s rare appearance among important men.
‘You said you read about this sorcerer in a book, your highness?’ Nevyn said. ‘May I inquire as to which one?’
‘It was just a record book of sorts that I found