Sword of Fire

by Katharine Kerr

  “Then perhaps, my liege, you might read this.” Merryc took Dovina’s note out of his waistcoat pocket. “It concerns you, too.”

  * * *

  The Bardekian merchants and diplomats mostly lived and worked in the southwest corner of Cerrmor, convenient to the ships but far enough from the clutter around the harbor to be a reasonably quiet district. High walls, stuccoed white, surrounded the compound of the official embassy to the free city. Inside, Hwlio and Markella had a modest residence, a square of rooms around an open court called an atrium. Dovina admired the tiled pool in the middle of the atrium, there to catch rainwater for the household, mostly, but it also sported a lovely statue of a nymph sitting at one corner and leaning over as if to see her reflection.

  “The whole thing is Dwrgi work,” Markella told her.

  “What sort of work? I’ve not heard the term before.”

  “The Dwrgi are the people who’ve built the public gardens and the sewer system and the like. They come from up north somewhere.”

  “It’s an odd name,” Mavva put in. “Water dogs? Not very complimentary.”

  “Truly, but they don’t seem to mind. Although, really, some people!” Markella shook her head. “I’ve heard that the Dwrgi can turn themselves into giant otters. Of all the silly things to believe!”

  Markella escorted them into her sitting room, a pleasant space with windows that opened onto the atrium. The servants had arranged cushioned chairs around a square table, ready for the fortune-telling tiles, which Markella kept in a brightly painted wooden box in a nearby cabinet. She set the box on the table.

  “Before we start,” Markella said, “I have news. Hwlio is doing his best to provide Cavan, the silver dagger, sanctuary here at the embassy. We’d heard about the bounty on his head. It was proclaimed here in the usual way.”

  “He’ll certainly need that!” Dovina said. “Will the sanctuary apply to my friend Alyssa? She’s journeying here with an important document.”

  “Or at least, we hope she’s on the way,” Mavva put in.

  “The ruling of sanctuary will apply to both, then. Assuming Hwlio can persuade the council, but frankly, I’m fairly sure he can. Whether or not your friend’s on the way, well, maybe the tiles will tell us.” Markella reached for the box and smiled in a peculiar way, as if she were trying not to laugh.

  She already knows, Dovina thought. I don’t see how she can, but she already knows.

  The tiles were indeed quite clear on that point. Alyssa and Cavan were heading for Cerrmor. They also remarked, almost in a “by the way,” that an enemy of Dovina’s had badly overreached herself.

  * * *

  Merryc was sitting in the great hall of his clan’s town house when a servant ushered in a young page. The boy wore the colors of the Western Fox.

  “My lord?” the page said. “I’ve got a message for you.”

  The lad proffered a silver tube. Merryc fished in his waistcoat pocket, found a couple of pennies, and handed them over in exchange. The tube, he noticed, bore an engraving of the dragon of Aberwyn. He opened it, scanned it, and handed the empty tube back to the lad.

  “Tell Gwerbret Ladoic I’ll wait upon him directly.”

  “My thanks, my lord.”

  The meeting would have somewhat to do with the betrothal, he assumed, although by custom, such details should have been worked out between Amara and the gwerbret without involving Merryc himself. Ladoic, however, had a reputation of being impatient with courtly details. Well-deserved, it turned out, when Merryc arrived at His Grace’s suite in the guesthouse. Ladoic himself opened the door and ushered him inside.

  “I’m inviting you to a dinner,” Ladoic announced, “but I’m not the one giving it. Let me show you summat.”

  They sat down in chairs in front of an empty hearth. A manservant brought a flask of mead and glasses. Merryc accepted a small drink for politeness’ sake. Once the manservant had retired, Ladoic handed over a piece of pabrus.

  “Tell me what you think of this,” he said.

  Merryc allowed himself a low whistle of surprise at the sender, Gwerbret Caddalan of Lughcarn.

  “What’s he doing here?” Merryc said. “Lughcarn’s in the east, far away from the elven border.”

  “I wondered that myself. Read the rest of it.”

  Caddalan was staying at a cousin’s villa just a few miles from Cerrmor. He was inviting Ladoic, Tewdyr of Aberwyn, Doryn, Gwerbret Buccbrael, and Tieryn Bryn of Cengarn to a dinner in order, as he put it, “to discuss the current threats of rebellion and treachery.”

  “Does he mean the controversy over the law courts?” Merryc said.

  “Just that. I don’t see where treachery comes into it. The rebels haven’t been sneaking around. They’ve made their every move cursed obvious.”

  Ladoic sounded strangely unmoved by either the letter or the events. He appeared perfectly calm, as well as, perhaps—and even more strangely—amused. Probably at me, Merryc thought. I can’t think of a cursed thing to say!

  “I was wondering,” Ladoic continued, “if you’d attend this meal with me. You’re practically my son-in-law. And you’re someone who has some influence with the prince.”

  “Some influence, Your Grace, but very little on weighty matters like these.”

  “But he listens to the news you bring him, eh?”

  “He does that. Do you really want me to know what’s said at this affair? I might feel moved to repeat it.”

  “Why else would I be asking you to go with me?”

  Once again Merryc found himself speechless.

  “Enough of this cursed fencing,” Ladoic said. “Things are happening that I don’t like, lad. I want your opinion of them, and I want you to know about them. There. That’s the truth.”

  “My thanks. It will gladden my heart to go with you, then. It will be good to see Bryn, too. We spent two years at collegium together.”

  “Well and good, then. Do you know that they threatened your betrothed?”

  “I did, but I thought it was the priests—”

  “The wrong kind of priest can be bought. Used like a weapon, eh? They threatened my daughter. The cursed bastards actually threatened my daughter. And she’s your betrothed, for that matter.”

  “True spoken. If I find out who sent that note—” Merryc laid his hand on his sword hilt.

  “Good lad! So I asked myself, do I really want to be allies with swine like this? Not on your life!”

  “I see, Your Grace. And I agree.”

  “Good. Be ready close to sundown. We’ll be riding. None of these pinch-arse carriages for me, my thanks. And I’ll be bringing some of my men with us.” His voice turned oddly bland. “You never know what might happen on a dark road.”

  “Just so. I’ve no warband of my own, alas.”

  “Imph. We’ll have to do summat about that eventually. Very well. We’ll ride by your clan’s house and send someone in to fetch you.”

  “Done then, and my thanks.”

  Caddalan’s cousin, Tieryn Macyn, had a large dun with a rambling residence that could only be called a villa out of courtesy. In the center stood an old-fashioned broch with suites of rooms stuck onto it rather randomly, some of three stories, others of only one. The broch itself housed the great hall, very much in the old style, with two enormous hearths facing each other across the huge room. At one hearth some hundred men sat at long tables drinking, the combined warbands and escorts of the nobles who sat around a round table by the other hearth. As Macyn’s chamberlain escorted them to the nobles’ table, Merryc noticed that the lords were passing around a sheet of pabrus, reading bits aloud, and laughing.

  “Ladoic, Gwerbret Aberwyn, and Lord Merryc of Daiver,” the chamberlain called out—yelled it, really, and long before they actually reached the table.

  The laughter and chatter stopped cold. Cadda
lan slipped the pabrus inside his shirt.

  “Evening, gentlemen,” Ladoic said. “I see that the Bardic Guild’s latest song has reached you.”

  Silence lasted a moment; then came the babble of everyone talking at once. Finally young Bryn stood up and bowed in Ladoic’s direction.

  “My apologies, Your Grace,” he said. “We were laughing at the clever twists of words, not at you.”

  Beautifully done, Merryc thought, and the other lords all nodded and smiled. Except of course for Tewdyr—he snorted into his goblet of mead and muttered, “every word fits him, too.” Without a thought Merryc stepped in front of Ladoic and went tense, waiting for the sound of a finesword being drawn. Bryn took a few steps in Tewdyr’s direction.

  “So it does,” Ladoic said. “Malyc Penvardd’s a clever man.”

  “And not above turning it against his betters.” Caddalan glared at Tewdyr, who shrugged and had a long swallow of mead. “My lords, we have more important things to discuss, don’t we?”

  Again the nods and murmurs of agreement. The chamberlain stepped forward and showed Ladoic and Merryc to chairs directly opposite Tewdyr’s, as far away, in other words, as he could, considering the shape of the table. Maidservants hurried forward with platters of little pastries filled with spiced meats and set them on the table where everyone could reach them. Bread followed, and more mead. Merryc had a polite sip, then let the goblet sit beside his plate. He noticed Bryn doing the same.

  “Ladoic,” Caddalan continued, “you’ve suffered more from this than any of us.”

  “Than anyone else has yet,” Ladoic said. “Don’t fool yourselves, my lords. This won’t stop at Aberwyn.”

  “It’ll roll east like a tide,” Doryn said with his mouth full. He swallowed and spoke again. “Better stop it while we still can.”

  “Just so,” Caddalan said. “We don’t want another meddling royal justiciar like that stiff-necked bastard up in Cerrgonney.”

  Maidservants appeared with platters of roasted chickens and still more mead. The conversation continued, a farrago of fears, outrage, and an odd sort of puzzlement. The court system had worked for centuries, they agreed. Why should anyone want to change it? Merryc ached to say, “because it only works for you, no one else?” but he knew better. He ate his dinner and nodded as if agreeing when anyone looked his way. Eventually someone pointed out that their best weapon was Bel’s priesthood.

  “They agree with us, of course,” Tewdyr said. “They stand to lose more than prestige if these cursed commoners have their way.”

  Everyone nodded solemnly. Doryn underscored the point with a belch. Along with dried apples soaked in white wine with honey, the noble-born chewed over ideas about enlisting the priesthood to their side. Merryc could stand the silence no longer.

  “My lords,” he said, “they’re on your side already. The question is, how widely do you want this known?”

  “Quite so.” Bryn joined in—the first words he’d spoken for some while. “I’ve heard hints that they’re keeping an eye on things already, out on the western border.”

  “Good,” Caddalan said. “Those piss-poor bards! Unraveling years of tradition, hundreds of years!”

  On a round of toasts to the old days and the old ways, the dinner party ended. As the lords stood up to leave, Merryc noticed Ladoic, still quite sober, walking over to Caddalan. He followed at a discreet distance just in case things turned ugly, but the two gwerbretion seemed to be determined to be polite.

  “My apologies for the flyting song,” Caddalan was saying. “Tewdyr brought it.”

  “I assumed that,” Ladoic said. “But I wanted to ask if you want news of your second son, the exile.”

  Caddalan stiffened. Ladoic waited, then shrugged.

  “I see,” Ladoic said. “Just wondered. He got himself into some real trouble back in Aberwyn, and I’ve had to deal with it.”

  “Huh! I’m not surprised.”

  “Summat I don’t understand,” Ladoic continued. “He always struck me as a decent lad, a credit to his clan and all. I’ve often wished my own son had his wits. Hah! I see you trying to hide a smile. We all know that Adonyc’s a dolt.”

  “Well, um, wouldn’t call him that, exactly. I suppose you wonder why I exiled Cavan. He drew his sword first in a tavern fight and killed an important guildsman.”

  “Not good, that.”

  Merryc wanted to shout, “He did naught of the sort!” He made himself stay silent. Later, he would have a private word with Ladoic.

  “It’s his cursed temper.” Caddalan went nattering on. “Ye gods, he drove me and the servants daft from the time he was a little lad, always arguing, refusing to do this or that, giving in to howls and fits when he couldn’t have his way.” Caddalan shook his head with a little shudder of rage.

  Oho! Merryc thought to himself. He was too much like you, Your Grace.

  “And then that cursed Iron Brotherhood! I wish I could just abolish the thing and be done with it.”

  “Wouldn’t that cause a fair bit of trouble in your city?”

  “Too much to risk. I told Cavan he was there to keep an eye on what went on at their meetings. That’s why a gwerbret’s son is a member, innit? Tell me what the wretched guildsmen are up to, I said. Hah! I won’t be a spy, says he. A spy! Nasty word for it, eh? I swore a vow, says he, to keep things secret. He stood there and looked me in the eye and refused to tell me one cursed word.”

  Ladoic made a sympathetic noise.

  “Now Careg has taken his place, and I hear what goes on. Well—what they’ll say in front of him, but—” Caddalan paused. “Well, never mind that, eh? I’m better off rid of Cavan, and that’s that.”

  With a nod to Merryc to follow, Ladoic turned to leave. When they walked over to the riders’ side of the hall to gather the Aberwyn escort, Bryn hurried toward them. Merryc met him partway. No one else seemed to be paying them any attention.

  “I was surprised to see you here,” Bryn said.

  “I’m about to become Ladoic’s son-in-law,” Merryc said.

  “Ah. Congratulations! Dovina’s a lovely lass.”

  “She is at that.” Merryc allowed himself a smile. “Tell me summat. Has there been trouble in Cengarn over the courts of justice?”

  “A fair bit, and for all the usual reasons.” Bryn paused and glanced around for eavesdroppers. There were none. “We’ve got to allow some changes. It’s become a disgrace.”

  “I thought you might see reason.”

  With the noise of all the escorts rising from table, hearing each other had become difficult. Merryc raised his voice.

  “Come visit while you’re here.”

  “I’ll do that. Soon. I’ve got to return back west shortly.”

  They shook hands and parted, Bryn to gather his escort, Merryc to follow Ladoic out to the torchlit ward. While the Aberwyn escort readied the horses, he had his chance at that private word.

  “Your Grace, I know Cavan well. He never would have murdered a man in a tavern brawl. He does have a temper, and if someone drew on him, he’d answer it fast enough. But kill a guildsman, someone who’s not even armed? He’d never do such a thing. I swear it.”

  “Huh. Very well, I’ll take that under advisement, then. Wasn’t there a witness?”

  “His younger brother, Lord Careg. Who of course profited by getting Cavan out of the way. As the third son, what prospects did he have?”

  “I’ll consider that, too. Here comes the captain with our horses. Let’s ride.”

  Merryc had trouble sleeping that night. How far would the top ranks of nobility take their opposition to changes in the legal system? While the central lands around Dun Deverry lay under direct royal rule, fourteen gwerbretion all in all held large rhannau scattered around the kingdom. Some of the land in each was portioned out to tierynau, only a few of whom could act independentl
y, and lords, who did what their tierynau told them to do. None of the gwerbretion would be happy to surrender the fees and income from their law courts. The priesthoods ruled similar hierarchies. Would all the head priests of Bel support whatever course of action the gwerbretion chose? Eventually the questions allowed Merryc to sleep, but he dreamed of battles.

  In the morning Merryc decided he’d best consult with Dovina and went to the guesthouse. As he entered the great hall, he saw her page and hailed the lad.

  “Where’s your lady?”

  “In her suite, my lord, with her chaperone and your sister. Shall I take her a message?”

  “Not necessary. I’ll attend upon them directly.”

  * * *

  Dovina, Mavva, and Belina had holed up in the suite like foxes in their den. Before she’d come up, Belina had wheedled a plate of sweet breads out of the guesthouse cooks. Dovina parceled some out to Polla and Minna, who sat down on the floor in a corner to eat them. The three noblewomen were sharing the rest and talking idly of town gossip when someone knocked on the door: three quick raps, two spaced ones.

  “It’s Merro,” Belina said. “We have this code.”

  At Dovina’s gesture, Polla got up, wiped honey from her hands onto her skirt, then hurried to the door and opened it. Lord Merryc came in with bows all round.

  “Good morrow to you,” Dovina said. “What brings you to me?”

  “News of a sort,” Merryc said. “I attended an interesting dinner last night with your father. I thought I’d tell you what happened there and get your opinion. You know the situation in Aberwyn far better than I do.”

  Dovina smiled at him with true warmth. This betrothal, she thought, looks better and better.

  “Do sit down, my lord, and join us.” She glanced at Mavva. “You know, I think it’s time we told him about the book.”