Sword of Fire

by Katharine Kerr

  “Assessing a fine on a man with not a coin to his name is a waste of time.” She spoke in a pleasantly high but firm voice. “Since no violence took place, I suggest he be transported to the Desolation.”

  Wilyn’s face drained to a ghastly sort of white. He swayed a little as he knelt. Alyssa felt a brief pang of sympathy. The Desolation, those newly settled lands just north of Cerrgonney, was a wild, harsh place, known for horrendous winters.

  “Or,” the priestess continued, “labor on one of Haen Marn’s own farms for some few years would also erase that debt.”

  “Please, my lady!” Wilyn’s voice wavered and swooped. “I’ll gladly work for Haen Marn. Please!”

  The priestess smiled and nodded her agreement.

  “Done then,” Kov said. “Wilyn, you will labor for a farmer who needs the work for two years and a day. Until then, your horse and gear, your sword and dagger will remain here in trust. You will receive a signed receipt for these things. I would advise you not to try wandering away from the farm. One of the raven spirits will be keeping an eye on you.”

  Wilyn swallowed several times before he spoke, but his voice had regained its strength. “Very well, your lordship.”

  “You’ll eat better than you would on the long road, anyway,” Kov said with a grin. “Think of it as a blessing.”

  Wilyn tried to smile but failed.

  At a gesture from Perra, Alyssa turned away. The lady led her to a small side door, and they went out together.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Perra said, “that we need someone here to speak for the people who are being accused. Very few crimes happen at Haen Marn, but we’re responsible for the town, too.”

  “I see. That’s a truly novel idea, my lady, but it strikes me as a good one. Well, for what my opinion’s worth.”

  “You seem to have thought a good deal more than I have about such things.” Perra smiled at her. “So, as I said, should you need a place in life, come back to us here.”

  “My thanks.” Alyssa curtsied as deeply as she could. “My humble thanks.”

  Perra returned to her work, and Alyssa met up with her two silver daggers. Benoic was jesting about the future ahead of Wilyn, and Cavan was grinning as he listened to a long ramble about mucking out cowsheds. At least we don’t have to worry about that pair any longer, Alyssa thought. But there might be other men after the bounty.

  The bounty. A new thought struck her hard. Ye gods, how are we going to get Cavan into Cerrmor? Her clumsy ruse of the wounded Valyn would fail miserably around men who knew him from his noble-born days. Cerrmor, as the second most important city in the kingdom, usually did have some of the noble-born visiting there for various reasons. Leaving him on the road somewhere would be even more dangerous, for her, as well as for him.

  Simple thievery accounted for one of those dangers. When Alyssa turned over Dovina’s draft at the treasury on the island, the amount of coin shocked her, far too much for the small pouch she’d brought with her. The bursar was no stranger to the situation, apparently, because he handed Alyssa a plain cloth pouch from a box of them on his worktable.

  “You’re not leaving Haen Marn alone, are you?” he said.

  “I’m not. I have two silver daggers waiting right outside the door.”

  He smiled and bowed.

  Alyssa collected her guards, and together they went down to the pier, where the dragonboat waited. She noticed a thick cloud of flies swarming around something lying on the beach, maybe fifteen yards from the pier, so many flies that they looked like a pillar of smoke. The stench of whatever it was drifted toward them.

  “Lord of Hell’s arse!” Benoic said to the boatman. “What is that? Dead fish?”

  “Naught so clean.” He paused to swallow heavily, as if he choked back the urge to vomit. “I’ve sent for a couple of pages to take it away and bury it, but the lads are in no hurry to follow the order.”

  “Can’t blame them. But what—”

  “It’s the remains of that red-haired halfwit. The cursed beast what ate him appeared a little while ago and vomited up that pile. Bits of clothes, it looks like. I saw summat that gleamed like silver. Maybe that dagger of yours.”

  Cavan and Benoic exchanged a weary glance.

  “Like a cat with hair in its guts,” the boatman said to Alyssa. “You’ve doubtless seen that.” He was looking at her with concern, as if he expected her to faint.

  “Many a time,” she said, “but mice don’t carry silver daggers. It can’t have been good for the poor thing’s digestion.”

  The boatman started to reply, then merely looked sicker than ever.

  “Which one of us?” Benoic said to Cavan. “Do you have your dice with you? Mine are in my saddlebags.”

  “Mine, too, but I owe you for making me hold my wretched tongue during the hearing.” Cavan turned to the boatman. “Can you wait a bit?”

  “If you’d like. But don’t linger. I want to get away from that, I do.”

  “Alyssa?” Cavan said. “Do you have a kerchief I could borrow?”

  “Here.” She fished it out of her kirtle and handed it to him.

  “My thanks.”

  Cavan tied the kerchief around his head to cover his nose and mouth. He walked down to the stinking heap on the sandy shore. Some, at least, of the flies fled at his approach. He waved at the rest with his left hand and with his right drew his sword. He used the point to poke around in the shredded cloth until he’d gotten the silver dagger free of the mess. When he flipped a human bone out of the way, Alyssa lost her nerve and almost her stomach. She turned away and kept her gaze firmly on the guesthouse across the water. She heard splashing and a few curses before Cavan returned to the ferry with wet boots but a reasonably clean silver dagger.

  “You’re the senior.” Cavan handed it to Benoic.

  “I’ll take it to the nearest smith when I can.” Benoic frowned at the dagger. “Look! The leather wrap on the hilt’s eaten nearly through, but ye gods, this is witch’s metal!”

  Alyssa forced herself to look at the blade as he held it up—shiny and unmarked, not a trace of the etching that the acids of the beast’s stomach would have made on ordinary steel.

  “Not witches!” the boatman said. “Dwarven work, and don’t you lads forget it.”

  “We won’t.” Benoic grinned at him. “We can go across now, good sir.”

  The boat deposited them safely on the landside pier without any interference from the beasts of the lake. As they walked off to dry land, Alyssa glanced back at the island. A pair of pages with shovels were marching toward the mess on the shore. The flies had returned.

  “You’ve got the strongest guts of any lass I’ve ever met,” Cavan said.

  “I suppose I should thank you. I never thought I’d need them, and I wish I didn’t.”

  Both silver daggers laughed, but in a kind sort of way. Alyssa glanced around and pointed to one of the polished wooden benches.

  “Let’s sit down. I’ve got the coin for your hire,” she said. “At least so far. I still need to get to Cerrmor.”

  “I shan’t be leaving you,” Cavan said.

  “If you have need of me, I’ll stay on, too.” Benoic made her a bob of a bow. “When will we be leaving Haen Marn?”

  “I’m not sure. The man who’s in charge of their bookhoard is preparing a letter for me and a copy of the book, and then Lady Perra has to sign and seal it. You know, once we have it, I’m not even sure which road to take.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Benoic said. “I know this stretch of country fairly well.”

  “Good,” Cavan said. “I don’t.”

  Both men looked at her, but all she could do was shrug to show her ignorance. Goddess help! she thought. I’m as much of an outcast now as they are!

  At dinner that night, Alyssa found her next move in the elaborate
game of carnoic she was playing with her wyrd. She found a place at one of the students’ tables, while Cavan and Benoic ate with the other men at a table across the great hall. She had just been served when, much to her surprise, Rommardda and her leopard friend strolled over.

  “May I join you?” Rommardda laid her hand on the back of the empty chair next to Alyssa’s.

  “Of course!” Alyssa started to stand in order to curtsy, but Rommardda stopped her with a little wave of her other hand.

  The elder woman sat down, arranging her skirts under her, and Cathvar lay down beside her chair. A servant hurried over with a bowl of steaming vegetables and set it down with a little bow.

  “Are there any bones from the kitchen tonight?” Rommardda said. “No fowl, only meat bones.”

  “I’ll see, my lady, and bring some for his esteemed spottiness if there are.”

  Rommardda grinned, and Cathvar thumped his tail once on the floor. The servant hurried off again.

  “I swear, my lady,” Alyssa said, “that Cathvar understands our talk.”

  “He does, at least for simple sayings, and especially if it concerns food.” She reached down and stroked the leopard’s head. “He’s quite intelligent.”

  The servant returned with a bowl containing scraps of meat and two large bones from legs of mutton, which Cathvar accepted with a gracious nod of his head. For a little while they ate in silence, or at least, the two women did. Cathvar slurped and munched and now and then cracked a bit of bone.

  “This afternoon,” Rommardda said abruptly, “I was poking around in some ancient parchments from the Herald Guild. They’ve taken to storing important records here for safekeeping. I came across summat that should interest you.”

  “Indeed, my lady? I’m grateful you’d take the time.”

  Rommardda picked up her goblet of watered wine and considered it for a moment before she spoke. “In your studies you must have come across the various controversies about the Maelwaedd line of gwerbretion. Their connections to the Westfolk, that is.”

  “I have.”

  “When the line finally died out, back a hundred years or so ago, the High King and the Council of Electors awarded the rhan to the Western Fox. Or I should say, when they thought that it had died out. Childbed had certainly failed the Maelwaedds, not a new heir in sight. What they didn’t know, however, was that there was another possible claimant. Since he never came forward, one can hardly blame them.”

  Alyssa laid down her table knife and turned in her chair. She had the feeling that she was gaping in shock and made an effort to look dignified.

  “Quite a surprising bit of news, innit?” Rommardda said. “Here’s another. That claimant’s still alive, and he has a son.”

  “He must be a man of the Westfolk, then.”

  “He is, one of their heralds. His name is Maelaber. He’s not from a pure Westfolk line, mind. His mother was Gwerbret Rhodry Maelwaedd’s daughter—you’ve heard of him?”

  “I have indeed. I attend Lady Rhodda Hall.”

  “Of course! Well, Maelaber’s Rhodry Maelwaedd’s daughter’s son. She herself had Westfolk blood, because her father was a half-breed. Not that anyone knew it at the time.”

  “But the son was illegitimate, wasn’t he?”

  “Not by the laws of the Westfolk. Still, your point is an important one. I doubt very much indeed that he could ever win a suit in the High King’s courts. But the news of his very existence might be of great use to you and your cause.”

  Alyssa nodded. Her mind was racing, putting together ideas, scraps of wording, and proper rhetorical figures she might use in a speech. If Ladoic refused to give in about the courts, they could perhaps bring suit over his right to rule—but what would that do to Dovina? The cold doubt made her come back to the moment. Rommardda was waiting for an answer.

  “Forgive me, my lady! Of great use, indeed! A nice tough bit of gristle for His Grace to chew upon. It would be in his best interests to settle our suit as quickly as possible.”

  “Just so.”

  “I’m ever so grateful to you for this information. A thousand thanks!”

  “You’re most welcome. In return, will you listen to a bit of advice from a nosy old woman? A thing that’s not truly any of my affair, but I worry.”

  “I should be glad of your wisdom. I’ll wager it’s about Cavan.”

  “You are bright, aren’t you?” Rommardda smiled, then turned serious again. “Indeed. I know him well. He’s a good lad at heart, but he’s too quick with his temper and his sword. I doubt me if he’d ever stoop so low as to beat a woman, mind. But he’s bound to get himself into trouble over and over again, and any woman who loves him will be sharing in that trouble.”

  For a moment Alyssa felt close to tears. The very depth of her disappointment showed her just how dangerously fond of him she’d become.

  “You’ll be much better off with a man of your own kind,” Rommardda continued. “A guildsman who knows the value of an educated wife. Or even, for that matter, a bard, a man who understands your love of learning.”

  Alyssa found her voice at last. “I’ve always thought I’d never marry at all, my lady. I truly do understand your concern. I share it. If I didn’t, I probably would have been stupid already, foolish enough to—well, no doubt you can guess.”

  “Indeed I can. Hold to your resolve, dear. Cavan cannot help being the man he is.”

  Alyssa was about to speak when Cathvar raised his head and growled. A man was making his way through the crowd toward Rommardda. In the uncertain lantern light it took her a moment to recognize Travaberiel. Ap Maelaber! That’s the heir’s son! Apparently Cathvar had recognized him as well, because the leopard returned to his mutton bones.

  “Ah, Trav!” Rommardda said. “I was thinking of summoning you this evening.”

  “Like a demon, eh?” Travaberiel pulled out the empty chair on the other side of Rommardda and sat down.

  “Not quite, or so I hope. Alyssa and Cavan are making ready to leave Haen Marn. I doubt me if it will be safe for them to ride straight back into Eldidd.”

  “I share your doubts, what with war brewing and all. Riding all the way to Cerrmor will take weeks, too.” Trav leaned forward to look at Alyssa. “And you don’t dare take a coach.”

  “Truly we don’t,” Alyssa said. “We’d be pulled off by some lord’s men or another’s quick enough.”

  “Just so. I’ll recommend you travel south through Westfolk country. And take a ship to Cerrmor from Mandra. That’s the town right on the coast, not far from Cannobaen.”

  “They’ll need a guide if they do that.” Rommardda cleared her throat and gave him a pointed glance. “There could be trouble of a different kind if they don’t. And someone’s got to negotiate for the ship.”

  He laughed. “Oh, very well,” he said in a moment. “I should have seen that arrow flying my way. I’ll travel with you, Alyssa, if that pleases you.”

  “It does indeed. You have my thanks, my very deepest thanks.”

  “Mine, too,” Rommardda said. “I have a letter for you to deliver, a very important letter, to your father. He should be at the horse fair.”

  “He will be. He never misses one.”

  Alyssa leaned forward to speak to him. “Do you think the Westfolk king and queen will be there? I’ve been told that they sometimes visit the fair. I’d love to meet Queen Carramaena. She’s done so much for my collegium.”

  “She’ll appear if Daralanteriel does, but I’ve no idea if he will or not,” Trav said. “She’s a marvel, truly. She looks like a human woman, but she matches our king in years.”

  “Truly? Does anyone know why?”

  “Oh, there are odd little legends and rumors.” Rommardda leaned forward. “I doubt if anyone knows the truth of that.” Her voice carried an odd sense of a warning, one which Trav seemed to unders
tand.

  “That’s true,” he said. “The folk will say the strangest things.”

  Alyssa hesitated, aching with curiosity, but she refused to be rude to people who were going out of their way to help her.

  “How interesting.” She paused for a pleasant smile. “You know, if we’re heading for the coast, I’d best send Benoic to Dovina with messages.”

  Rommardda and Travaberiel exchanged a look that once again puzzled her. It seemed Trav was asking a question, and she’d answered, but they’d not said a word.

  “I doubt me if that’s necessary,” Trav said eventually. “There’s been news. The gwerbret and his entourage will be leaving for Cerrmor in the next few days. The Prince Regent summoned them.”

  “I see. But I’ll still need to send Benoic to Aberwyn. Lady Tay will want to know how we fare. And my family! Ye gods, I should have thought of them long before this. My poor mother!”

  Rommardda said nothing, but the little twist of her mouth and raised eyebrow spoke her agreement. Alyssa winced.

  “Well, if it’ll be safe for Benoic to ride into Eldidd,” Alyssa continued. “No one will be hunting him for bounty or suchlike, but there’s the war brewing.”

  “No longer,” Rommardda said. “One of the patients who arrived yesterday told us that the Prince Regent has forbidden any warfare until he’s adjudicated the complaints.”

  “Really? How wonderful! This sounds like a good omen to me, my lady.”

  “To me, too. I think the circle around our king is finally realizing that all this feuding and bloodshed’s not in the best interest of the kingdom. What they can do about it is another matter entirely, of course.”

  “Of course. But mayhap our cause might be of more interest to them than I’d feared it would be.” Rommardda’s mention of patients arriving had jogged Alyssa’s memory. She turned to Travaberiel. “Your master?” she said. “How does he fare tonight?”

  “Not well, alas. I suspect he’ll be leaving us for the Otherlands soon. Not this night. Perhaps the next, the healers tell me.”

  “That saddens my heart to hear! You have my sympathies.”