Darkspell

by Katharine Kerr

  On a day wet with autumn rain, Nevyn went up to the tower to see Mael, who was, as usual, working on his commentaries. As such projects will, this one had grown far beyond the simple introduction to Ristolyn’s thought that Mael had originally planned.

  “This aside is going to end up a cursed chapter!” Mael stuck his pen into the inkwell so hard that the reed nearly broke.

  “So many of your asides do, but good chapters, withal.”

  “It’s this question of what constitutes the greatest good, you see. For all its brilliance, Ristolyn’s argument doesn’t quite satisfy me. His categories are a bit limited.”

  “You philosophers are always so good at multiplying categories.”

  “Philosopher? Ye gods, I wouldn’t call myself that.”

  “Indeed? What else are you?”

  Mael’s face went slack in openmouthed amazement. When Nevyn laughed, he sheepishly joined in.

  “Naught else, truly,” Mael said. “For twenty years I’ve thought myself a warrior, chafing at the bit like a warhorse and lusting for the freedom to fight once again. I’ve been deluding myself for at least ten of them. Here, I wonder if I even could ride to war now. I can see myself, sitting there on horseback, wondering what Ristolyn meant by the word end’ while someone knocked me right off mine.”

  “You don’t look displeased.”

  Mael wandered over to the window, where the rain slashed down as silver-gray as his hair.

  “The view from here is a different one than I ever had before. You don’t see things as clearly in the dust of a battlefield.” Mael leaned his cheek against the cool glass and looked down. “Do you know what the cursed strangest thing of all is? If I didn’t worry so much about Gavra and the children, I’d be happy here.”

  Nevyn felt a dweomer-touched slap of knowledge. It was time for Mael to be released. Because he had accepted, he could go free.

  “Tell me somewhat. If you were free to do so, would you marry Gavra?”

  “Of course. Why shouldn’t I? I’ve no place at a royal court anymore. I could legitimatize our children, too—if I were free to do so. Truly, I am a philosopher. I’ll even debate the hopeless and the impossible.”

  When he left Mael’s chamber, Nevyn was considering the weather. Since it rarely snowed along the seacoast, travel was a possibility, though an unpleasant one, all winter. He went straight to his chamber and contacted Primilla through the fire.

  Gavra’s shop occupied the front half of a house just across the street from her brother’s tavern. Every morning, when she came out to set to work, she would look around at the shelves stacked with herbs, the barrels, the jars, the dried crocodile hanging under the eaves. My house, she would think, and my shop. I own it all, just me. It was a rare woman in Cerrmor who owned property in her own name rather than in that of a husband or brother—in fact, it had taken Nevyn’s personal intervention to allow her to do so. With winter coming, bringing her plenty of customers with fevers and congested lungs, chilblains and aching bones, her business was prospering. She also had another pressing matter to contend with: Ebrua’s betrothal. Although she herself had let love rule her, she was determined to make a solid, conventional, arranged match for her daughter.

  Fortunately, the lad that Ebrua herself favored was a decent lad of sixteen, Arddyn, the younger son of a prosperous family who dealt in tanned hides. After she discussed the formal betrothal with the lad’s father, she went up to the dun to consult with Mael. In a way the trip was foolish; he’d never met Arddyn’s family and had seen his daughter only from a great distance. But Mael listened gravely, turning his brilliant mind to the problem with such intensity that she knew he wanted to pretend, as she did, that they had some kind of normal life together.

  “It sounds like a good match for people like us,” Mael said at last.

  “Oh, listen to you, my royal love. People like us, indeed!”

  “My lady forgets that I’m naught but a humble philosopher. Here, when I finish my book, the priests at the temple will have fifty copies written out by the scribes, and I’ll get a half of a silver coin apiece. That, my love, is my sole fortune in the world, so let us hope that Arddyn’s clan won’t be greedy about the dowry.”

  “I think they’ll take her interest in my shop, and maybe a bit of silver.”

  “Blasted good thing. It’s an unlucky lass who has a philosopher for a father.”

  As Gavra was leaving the dun, she met Nevyn, who companionably slipped his arm through hers and escorted her down to the shop. Since the children were making the evening meal in the kitchen, they could talk in private. Nevyn laid a couple of big logs in the hearth and lit them with a snap of his fingers.

  “Chilly today,” he remarked. “I’ve got somewhat truly important to tell you. I think I have a very good chance of getting Mael released.”

  Gavra caught her breath with a gasp.

  “Don’t tell him yet,” the old man went on. “I don’t want to raise his hopes only to dash them, but you need to know. You’ll have much to settle before you leave.”

  “Leave? Oh, here, is Mael going to want me to go with him?”

  “Now, if you ever doubted that for a minute, then that’s the first stupid thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

  Suddenly Gavra had to sit down. She perched on a stool near the fire and wove her shaking hands together.

  “I’m afraid there’s no choice but to send him back to Eldidd,” Nevyn said. “Do you want to go?”

  She looked at the shelves, at the room, at everything she’d worked for so long to have. She’d be leaving her married daughter behind, too, and what was Dumoryc going to say when she introduced a stranger as his father?

  “I suppose I do.”

  Nevyn raised one bushy eyebrow.

  “Well, ye gods,” she went on. “Eldidd? It’s a long way from here. But what would Mael do without me? He’d starve. Or do I flatter myself unduly?”

  “Not in the least, and you know it blasted well.” The old man paused for a grin. “It’s likely that you’ll end up living on the western border of Eldidd, and there’s not a decent herbwoman out there for miles, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Truly? What do the folk do for their ills?”

  “Rely on what lore’s been passed down in their clans, most like, some of it good, some of it murderous. You know the sort of thing. ‘My gram always used foxglove tea for warts.’ They’ll do it even though old gram left a trail of corpses behind her. There’s a real need for a woman like you.”

  Gavra hesitated on the edge of a retort, but she knew he’d found the best lure of all.

  “I see. But it’ll be so much hard work, building up a new practice, educating people …”

  “Hah! If you had a life of leisure, what would you do?”

  “Go mad, most like. Oh, very well, Nevyn, you win.”

  “Imph. I wasn’t aware we were fighting a duel.”

  Gavra laughed, then went on thinking aloud.

  “Well, let’s see. If I build up a new practice for Dumoryc, I can leave Ebrua this one—and the shop! It would be a splendid dowry. We could write the marriage contract exactly as we wanted it if I did that. She’ll never have to worry about her in-laws turning her out in shame just to snag her dowry.”

  “Just so.”

  “Eldidd begins to sound interesting.” She looked up with a smile. “And, of course, I love my man, too. I’ll simply have to go with him.”

  For a variety of reasons Nevyn decided to secure Mael’s release in the spring. For one thing, the kings of the Wild-folk warned him that the winter would be full of bad storms. The most pressing reason, however, lay with Mael himself, who would refuse to leave his imprisonment until he saw his book properly copied, a task that would take months. While the scribes down at the temple of Wmm worked on the book, Nevyn worked on the king, whose honor was the councillor’s biggest ally.

  Generous man that he was, Glyn found Mael a profound embarrassment, too pathetic to murder no matter h
ow legal a murder it was, especially now that the learned priests praised him as a brilliant scholar and an ornament to the kingdom. When he judged the time was right, Nevyn asked Glyn outright about releasing Mael and letting him return quietly to Eldidd.

  “It would be best, councillor, truly. Try to scheme out some reason for his honorable release. May the gods blast me if I’ll have Eldidd sneering at my weaknesses, but I can’t stand the thought of that prince moldering up in the tower any longer.”

  In the end it was the Pyrdon rebellion that provided the necessary reason. Since Eldidd desperately needed a quiet summer if he was to bring his rebels to heel, he offered Glyn gold to refrain from raiding. Not only did Glyn take the bribe, he solemnized the occasion by offering to release his captive in return for a token ten horses. After many an exchange of heralds and some peculiar stalling on Eldidd’s part, the deal was set and signed. Only then did Nevyn tell Mael of his good fortune, when winter was already lightening into spring.

  When Nevyn went up to the tower room, he found Mael caressing a copy of his book, leather bound and neatly written in the spiky temple hand. The prince was so eager to show it to him that it took almost half an hour before Nevyn could get to his real business.

  “The real marvel is that the king’s going to subsidize another twenty copies,” Mael finished up. “Do you know why?”

  “I do. It’s his way of solemnizing your release. He’s setting you free next week.”

  Mael smiled, started to speak; then his face froze in disbelief. His fingernails dug into the soft binding of the codex in his hands.

  “I’ll be riding with you as far as the Eldidd border,” Nevyn went on. “Gavra and your son will meet us outside Cerrmor. Ebrua will stay here, but then, you can hardly blame her. She loves her husband, and she’s never even met you.”

  Mael nodded, his face so pale that it looked like snow.

  “Oh, by the gods of both our peoples!” he whispered. “I wonder if this caged bird remembers how to fly.”

  Although Prince Ogretoryc and his wife now lived in a splendid suite of apartments at court, they had never forgotten the times when Primilla had been the only person to pay court to them, and they were usually willing to receive her in those moments they set aside for craftspeople and merchants. The prince was a tall young man with raven-dark hair and cornflower-blue eyes, good-looking in a rough sort of way and inclined to be expansive as long as he wasn’t crossed. This particular morning Primilla brought him a present, an expensive little merlin for his favorite sport of hawking. The prince immediately took the bird on his wrist and chirruped to it.

  “My thanks, good dame. He’s a lovely little bird.”

  “I’m most honored that he pleases his highness. When I heard about his highness’s father being released, I thought a celebratory gift was in order.”

  His eyes suddenly dark, Ogretoryc began paying great attention to the merlin, who turned its hooded head his way as if recognizing a kindred soul. In her chair by the window, Laligga moved restlessly.

  “Of course,” she said with a carefully arranged smile. “We’re ever so pleased about Mael’s release. But how odd to think that my father-in-law’s become a scribe.”

  Ogretoryc shot her a sideways glance that could have meant any number of furious things.

  “My thanks for the gift, good Primilla,” he said. “I’ll take him straightaway to my falconer.”

  Since it was clear that the audience was over, Primilla curtsied and withdrew to the public area of the royal great hall, crowded with various suppliants and the merely curious. As she talked with the councillors and scribes she knew, she picked up a number of hints that a good many important people would be glad to see Mael reinstated in his old place and his son reduced to being merely the heir. Perhaps it was for reasons of sentiment or honor that they felt so. Perhaps. Primilla sought out Councillor Cadlew and asked him outright why some were eager to see Mael return as liege lord of Aberwyn and Cannobaen.

  “You seem vastly interested in Mael’s affairs,” Cadlew remarked.

  “Of course. The guild needs to know where to spend its gifts. We don’t care to curry favor from the wrong lord.”

  “True spoken. But, here, don’t spread this any further, will you? The princess Laligga’s given herself airs ever since her husband became Aberwyn. There’s more than a few who’d enjoy seeing her in a reduced state. And there are some widows, too, who’d fancy themselves consoling a prince in his later years.”

  “So. This is all a woman’s matter?”

  “Far from it. The princess has offended more than the ladies in residence, and the widows have brothers who see a chance at influence.”

  “I see. Do you think Mael will be reinstated?”

  “I hope not, for his sake. It would doubtless be very dangerous for his continuing good health, and you won’t get one more word out of me, good dame.”

  What she had was quite enough. Primilla made sure to contact Nevyn immediately, because she had no desire to see Mael come home only to be poisoned by his kin.

  From the window in Mael’s chamber, the ward of Dun Cerrmor looked as tidy and small as a child’s toy. Little horses trotted across barely visible cobbles; tiny men strode around and disappeared into little doors. Only the loudest noises drifted up to his window. That afternoon Mael was leaning on the windowsill and studying the familiar view when he heard the door open behind him.

  “Glyn, king of all Deverry, approaches,” the guard sang out. “All kneel.”

  Mael turned and knelt just as the king strode in. For a moment they studied each other in a kind of bemused shock. They both had aged so much since their last brief meeting.

  “As of today,” Glyn said at last, “you’re a free man.”

  “My humble thanks, Your Highness.”

  Glyn glanced once around the chamber, then left, taking all the guards with him. Mael stared at the empty doorway for a long time, until at last Nevyn appeared in it.

  “Get up, my friend,” the old man said. “It’s time to try your wings.”

  As Mael followed him down the dark winding stairway, he stared at the walls, stared at the ceiling, stared at every person they met. When they went out into the ward, the sunlight rushed over him like water. He looked up and saw the wall of the dun rising above him, not below, and suddenly he was physically dizzy. Nevyn caught his arm and steadied him.

  “The mind’s a strange thing,” the old man said.

  “So it is. I feel bewitched or suchlike.”

  At first the noise and confusion were overwhelming. It seemed that the entire ward was filled with men, shouting, laughing, leading horses by in a great clatter. Maidservants hurried back and forth with buckets of water, loads of firewood, armfuls of foodstuffs. The bright red and silver colors of Cerrmor were everywhere, troubling his recluse’s sight. Yet after a few minutes Mael’s dizziness turned to greed. He walked slowly, savoring every sight, from a splendid lord on horseback to a pile of old straw by the stables. When one of the king’s boarhounds graciously allowed him to pat it, he was so pleased that he felt like an idiot child, whom everything delights because he can place a value on nothing. When he remarked as much to Nevyn, the dweomerman laughed.

  “And who’s to say that the idiot child’s not the wisest of us all?” Nevyn said. “Let’s go along to my chambers. Gavra should be joining us soon.”

  But Gavra was already waiting in Nevyn’s sparsely furnished reception room. Mael ran to her, swept her into his arms, and kissed her.

  “Oh, my love,” he said. “I’m afraid to believe this. I keep thinking we’ll wake on the morrow and find it only a cruel dream.”

  “It blasted well better not be, after all the trouble I’ve gone to over the shop! Getting it transferred to Ebrua gave me such a headache that I had to take some of my own herbs.”

  Nevyn estimated that it would take them about four days to reach the Eldidd border where, or so it had been arranged, an honor guard from the Eldidd court woul
d be waiting for him. Yet on the third night, when they were making camp about ten miles west of Morlyn, a different sort of party came to meet them: Primilla and two young men, carrying quarterstaves. With a shout of greeting Nevyn hurried over just as they were dismounting, and Mael trailed after him.

  “What’s all this?” Nevyn said.

  “Well, I’m afraid I’ve come with some possibly ominous news.”

  “Indeed?” Mael broke in. “Is the court going to want me poisoned?”

  “I see the philosopher remembers his old life as a prince very well indeed,” Primilla said. “But I’m not sure if he’s in any true danger. It’s merely that it’s never wise to take unnecessary chances. We came to escort you to a safe place until I’m quite sure we can meet the court on our terms, not theirs.”

  “My thanks, then,” Nevyn said. “I haven’t saved the lad’s life from the rope only to lose it to a vial of poison.”

  “Don’t worry. We’re going to slip through the woods as sly as foxes, and then—” She paused for a smile. “And then hole up like badgers.”

  All week, since the farmers had been bringing in wagonloads of firewood to pay their spring taxes to the Cannobaen light, Avascaen was up and around long before sunset, helping them unload the wood and stack it in the long sheds. On that particular day, when he saw dust coming down the road, he assumed that another wagonload was on the way.

  “Here come the lads,” he told Egamyn. “Run and see which shed’s got the most room left.”

  With a sigh for the tedium of it all, Egamyn strolled slowly away while Avascaen swung the creaking, complaining gates open. With his hand still on the rusty bar, he froze and stared at the party in the road. Riders—pack mules—that strange woman with the blue hands—and behind them—it couldn’t be—it had to be, gray hair or not. With a shout bordering on a sob, Avascaen raced out into the road to welcome Prince Mael home. When he caught the prince’s stirrup as a sign of fealty, Mael bowed to him from the saddle.

  “Look at us, Avascaen! When I rode away, we were both lads, and now we’re all gray and grizzled.”