“It wasn’t. Because his father and brother were going to be there.”
“What a charming clan they are!” Dovina rolled her eyes. “Do you need an escort?”
“Gurra’s waiting in the servants’ hall. Darro, if you could fetch him for me?”
The page bowed and trotted off on the errand.
* * *
“Where’s Lord Merryc?” Mavva said.
“Gone off with the Prince Regent at his invitation,” Dovina said. “Would you like more of this roast partridge?”
“My thanks,” Mavva said. “I’ll carve it, Darro. You eat your dinner.”
“Merryc is dining with Prince Gwardon,” Lady Amara said. “Which is very exciting. I’m hoping he’ll tell us more about what the prince has in mind.”
“I’ll be meeting him in the great hall later,” Dovina said. “We’ll see if he can share what Gwardon says. He may want it kept secret.”
“Let’s hope not,” Mavva said. “In those papers Rhys gave me? I found another precedent for some kind of independent court. One of the ancient laws allows for an ‘appointed learned man’ to hear cases of justice if the gwerbret’s off at war.”
“I hadn’t known that,” Dovina said. “These days everyone just has to wait.”
“I wrote a note to the prince’s councillor about it. I gave it to him at the hearing. As it was breaking up, I mean.”
“Smart!” Amara said. “Listening to you lasses, I truly wish I’d been able to go to a collegium, but my father wouldn’t hear of it.”
It was late in the afternoon when Dovina went down to the guesthouse’s great hall with only Darro for an escort. Lady Amara had returned to her town house, and Mavva stayed in the suite to continue studying Rhys’s papers. Dovina and the page wandered through the crowded hall but saw no sign of Merryc.
“We should go back to the suite, my lady,” Darro said. “It’s not fitting for you to be here if his lordship isn’t.”
“I’m too tired to climb that cursed staircase. My friends and I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
Eventually they found a corner quieter than most and sat, Dovina in a chair beside a little table crowded with empty candlesticks and Darro on the floor at her feet. They’d barely gotten settled when a gaggle of young lords, all of them carrying goblets of some sort of drink, strolled by. The only man she recognized was Lord Careg, the youngest son of Caddalan of Lughcarn. One of the lordlings with him bowed, somewhat unsteadily, to Dovina. She acknowledged him with a nod.
“Best watch that,” another young man said. “That’s Lord Merryc’s betrothed.”
“No offense taken, I hope?” the fellow said to Dovina.
“None,” Dovina said. “Merryc will be here soon.”
He nodded pleasantly and strolled off to join the others, who had settled around a table some feet away. Dovina was just deciding that Darro was right, that she really should go back upstairs, when she heard Careg laugh like the bray of a mule.
“One of those lady scholars, is she?” Careg paused for a smirk. “I’ll wager they do their studying on their backs.”
The gaggle of men around him laughed. Darro bristled and started to scramble up, but Dovina pushed him back down. She was just reaching for a bronze candlestick to use as a club when she saw Merryc striding over to the lordlings. Apparently he’d overheard the remark because he’d gone white around the mouth with rage. The young lords fell silent as soon as they recognized him. Careg looked up, the smirk gone from his thin lips.
“You’re speaking of my betrothed,” Merryc said.
“Indeed? Well, at least you’ll be marrying a lass who’s well-trained.”
Merryc swung backhanded and slapped him across the face. Blood ran from the lordling’s nose. At Dovina’s feet Darro let out a squeak of delight. Dovina let the candlestick remain on the table.
“You’re too drunk to fight at the moment,” Merryc said. “My second will come to you with the time and place. I suggest you find a second of your own, unless you don’t have the guts for a duel.”
None of the lordlings spoke or moved. Careg covered his bleeding nose with both hands and stared up, terrified. Merryc crossed his arms over his chest and waited. At last Careg lowered his hands and spoke in a reasonably steady voice.
“So be it. Our seconds will arrange terms.”
Merryc made him a short, curt bow. He glanced around, saw Dovina, and hurried over to her.
“May I escort you, my lady?”
“Please,” Dovina said. “I need a bit of fresh air.”
As they left, arm in arm, the chamber behind them broke out in talk, as loud and sudden as a summer cloudburst. Darro trailed after them, a respectful distance behind. They hurried out to the silent garden, where the scent of some sweet flower drifted on the warm air.
“So much for my belittling of the honor code,” Merryc said. “I’m afraid I acted on sheer instinct, not rational principles.”
“In these circumstances I’ll forgive you.”
“My thanks.” He bowed to her. “I wonder about Careg. He was probably just drunk, but that was coarse even for him. I’d think he wanted to provoke trouble, but when he got it, he looked less than pleased.”
“Maybe he was just trying to smear my name. My father’s not in good standing with the other gwerbretion at the moment. I’ll bet they’re trying to get back at him.”
“Very likely, then. What would you like to do now? I’ll escort you to your suite if you’d like.”
“I would. I certainly don’t want to go back to the great hall.”
After Merryc left, Dovina sent Darro with a note for Ladoic. When he returned, the gwerbret came with him.
“What’s all this?” Ladoic waved the note in her direction. “What kind of trouble?”
“It happened in the great hall just now. Lord Careg insulted me. It’s that old lie, that women scholars are all just whores for the men.”
“Indeed?” Ladoic’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. “What did he say?”
“He implied that I was a common prostitute.”
“The filthy swine!” Ladoic laid his hand on his sword hilt. “Where is he?”
“Merryc’s already challenged him to a duel.”
“I don’t want to challenge him honorably. I want to cut him to pieces like the hog he is.”
“Father, please don’t! I know the clan’s honor is at stake, but—”
“Not the clan’s, you dimwit! Yours! How dare he speak that way about my daughter!”
“Father, please.” Dovina laid a hand on his arm and did her best to look like a delicate, frightened female. “I couldn’t bear it if they hanged you for killing him without a challenge. And Merryc’s already had his challenge delivered.”
Ladoic chewed on the ends of his mustache while he considered.
“Besides, Father, what would it do to Mother if—”
“Well, true enough.” He let out an angry breath in a snort. “For her sake, then. And yours, I suppose.”
“For the rhan’s as well. Is Donno truly ready to rule Aberwyn?”
Ladoic snorted again, even more loudly. “Very well. Let me go see if this betrothed of yours needs a second.”
Ladoic strode out and slammed the door behind him. Mavva, somewhat more pale than usual, came out of the inner chamber.
“Did you hear all that?” Dovina said.
“I did. I was afraid he was going to rush off and kill Lord Careg on sight. Your father truly does honor you.”
“So he does. Well! Whoever would have thought it?”
Later that night Darro brought them the news. The duel would take place on the morrow morning. Lord Careg had named a second, but Merryc had yet to do so.
“It’ll take place in the guesthouse,” Darro said. “I mean, outside of course. That cour
tyard at the back, the one you can see from the upstairs common room.”
“I’ve never been in that room,” Dovina said. “But if there’s a balcony, Mavva and I can watch from there. And Alyssa, if she’d like to come. Here, Darro, I’ll write a note. You can take it to the embassy.”
* * *
“Cavvo?” Alyssa waved the note in his direction. “I think you’d better read this.”
Cavan took the invitation and frowned while he read it. They were sitting on the only chairs in the tiny reception room of their guesthouse. Dovina’s page sat on the floor, waiting for an answer.
“How like my little brother,” Cavan said when he’d finished reading. “If there’s a way to offend someone, he’ll find it.”
“He makes a habit of saying things like this?”
“I’m afraid so. Usually his sword will get him out of the trouble his tongue’s caused.”
“You don’t think Lord Merryc will lose, do you?”
“I doubt it. Careg is very good, mind, but Merro happens to be the best swordsman in the entire kingdom. Finesword, saber, old-fashioned broadsword—doesn’t matter which. It’s uncanny, how good he is. But, and this is the crux, you never know what’s going to happen in a duel. Someone’s foot can slip. Accidents like that happen.”
“If there’s going to be bloodshed, I really don’t want to go and see it. Ych!”
“Right. You’re not noble-born. Noblewomen are trained from childhood to deal with the blood their men spill.”
The young page was listening to this exchange all wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
“You’ll learn, Darro,” Cavan said. “My wife will have an answer for your lady in a moment or two.”
Alyssa took the note, got out her writing-case, and wrote on the back of the pabrus.
“Our Penvardd has kindly offered to escort me while I research a legal question in the bookhoard down at the Advocates Guild. It wouldn’t be courteous for me to change our plans now. So please forgive me for not coming. I hope and pray your betrothed suffers no harm. I’ll come see you the moment I’m free.”
She sprinkled sand on the message, let it dry, then shook it clean and rolled it up.
“Don’t let anyone see this, Darro. Here’s a penny for you, too.”
The lad bowed to her and left.
“I just hope Careg holds his tongue from now on,” Cavan said. “If he starts spewing filth about you, I’ll have to challenge him myself.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because from everything I heard, it’s your speech that finally made Gwardon come over to the Bardic Guild’s side of the case.”
“Oh, here! It helped, I’m sure, but it wasn’t the only thing.”
“You don’t understand, Lyss. When you’re speaking in full voice, you’re like a warrior. Your words cut like a blade.”
She laughed and blushed with a little wave of her hand.
“I mean it,” Cavan continued. “It’s like you’re swinging a sword of fire. Or truly, you are the sword of fire.”
“Then my thanks, my love. I just wish I could get a real apprenticeship in the Advocates Guild. They don’t give those to lasses, you know.”
“Their loss. At least they’re going to let you read in their bookhoard.”
“And I’m grateful for that. It’s an important question I’m trying to answer.”
Alyssa was hoping that Dovina would assume the question concerned justiciars. It was likely she would never think of the truth, because the idea of passing over a son for a daughter in her position sounded like a bard’s tale. Certainly women had ruled as lords at times, but always when no son existed to claim a holding that a clan wished to keep. She vaguely remembered one case where a woman in Eldidd had even ruled as a tieryn. But a gwerbret? The highest rank of all possible nobles? Back in the Dawntime, most likely, since Dwvoryc’s book stated that women had fought as warriors and claimed high rank, even rulership of some of the tiny kingdoms of those times. Things had changed in Deverry over the long years. Her studies had made that amply clear.
Could they change again? Alyssa remembered the mysterious Hild and her talk of rivers cutting new beds and winds that blew where they wished. Maybe changes were on their way. Maybe. She could only hope and watch for the omens of their coming.
* * *
Because they were such a popular sport among the nobility, Dovina had seen a good many mock combats in her life. She’d also witnessed several duels meant to draw blood, and she was assuming that this one, like those, would be stopped at the first small cut. In the bright morning light she and Mavva sat together on the little balcony overlooking the combat ground where they could see everything but be safely out of the way of any thoughtless actions. At her order Darro placed their chairs as close together as he could.
“You look a bit pale,” Dovina said to Mavva. “Do I?”
“Truly, you do. I hope naught horrible happens.”
“I’m of two minds. I don’t want Merryc hurt, but Lord Careg would be no great loss to the kingdom. But don’t worry, these things never amount to much.”
Mavva shuddered and drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders.
The Cerrmor heralds serving at the duel had marked out a big square of lawn with red ribbons for a combat ground. They took up their positions, staves at the ready, one at either side. A town crier stood in readiness. At a nod from a herald he rang his bell three times.
“The ground is prepared! The combatants may now enter.”
To a few cheers but more catcalls Lord Careg and his second strode out of the guesthouse and marched over to one corner. The crowd fell silent for a few moments, only to return to frantic whispering with a sound like ocean waves on a gravel beach. Dovina leaned forward and peered. Lord Merryc was taking the field with his second beside him.
“What?” Dovina said to Mavva. “I can’t see, curse it! Why is everyone so startled?”
“I don’t know. I—oh, by the Goddess! The second!”
When the pair came closer, Dovina could at last identify Merryc’s companion. With his pale doeskin breeches and linen shirt, he wore a cloth-of-gold waistcoat. The sleeves of his shirt were embroidered with wyverns, and pinned to the waistcoat glittered an enormous gold ring brooch.
“It’s the regent himself,” Mavva whispered.
“It is indeed. This isn’t only about the slight to my honor. Not any longer.” Dovina felt a warm flush of admiration for the man. “He does know how to make a grand gesture, doesn’t he?”
The seconds remained in their corners when Careg and Merryc walked onto the ground. The heralds came forward, inspected their weapons, and proclaimed them equal—an elven finesword each in the right hand. The heralds withdrew. The two men faced each other, some ten feet apart.
“Proceed!” the heralds called out.
They circled, slowly, stepped in, drew back. Blades met, clashed, withdrew. Dovina watched their footwork for a few moments. Careg knew what he was doing, she decided, but Merryc outshone him in confidence and balance. Another flurry, another parry, a clash of blades, but still no touch on either man, or so she thought.
As they drew back, Merryc lowered his guard so far that the tip of his sword hovered just above the trampled grass. Was he wounded? Dovina leaned forward but could see no trace of blood. In the bright sunlight she had a good view of Careg’s face and saw him laugh as he stepped confidently forward. Merryc held his ground and waited. Careg lunged, striking hard, but Merryc flipped up his sword from below, caught the other’s blade, and parried as he in turn stepped to close. With his free hand he grabbed Careg’s arm in a gesture oddly like an intended embrace and twisted as he grappled. Careg swore. His blade went flying. The arm snapped with a sound like a butcher cracking a joint of meat.
Careg fell hard and nearly brought Merryc down on top of him. Merryc just managed
to restore his balance and stepped free, then swung down with his sword. The point stopped just above Careg’s throat.
“I believe,” Merryc said, “that you owe Lady Dovina an apology. Now would be an opportune time to tender it.”
Panting, sweating, his face dead-white from pain, Careg stared up at him while Merryc waited—unsmiling, but not scowling, not fierce, merely patient. At last Careg panted and choked.
“I shall beg her pardon.” Careg could barely force each word out between his gasps for breath.
“Splendid! She’s in attendance here.”
Careg sat up and yelped in pain. With his good hand he caught the wrist of the broken arm and steadied it. His second stepped forward, but Merryc drove him back with a glance.
“There’s naught wrong with your friend’s legs.”
With a great deal of effort Careg got to his knees. His head lolled back, and great drops of sweat rolled down his pasty cheeks. Merryc relented. He flicked his sword at the second to give him permission to come help. With someone to lean upon Careg got to his feet and staggered toward the balcony. Dovina started to speak to Mavva, but her friend looked as if she were about to be sick. Dovina rose from her chair. She had the awful feeling that she was grinning like a witch with delight and arranged her face into what she hoped was a suitably haughty and distant expression. Careg stopped just below the balcony’s railing and gasped again. The second slipped his arm around his friend’s waist to steady him.
“My lady,” Careg said. “I humbly apologize for the foul things I said about you.”
“You insulted more than me, my lord.”
He winced. “True spoken. My apologies to all your fellows at the collegium.”
Dovina started to answer, but he fainted and fell to his knees beyond the second’s power to keep him standing. Over in Merryc’s corner of the ground, Gwerbret Ladoic broke out laughing, and most of the men present joined in.
“Gods help!” Mavva said. “I’m glad you’re marrying him, Dovva, not me.”
It was some while later that Dovina had the chance to speak with Merryc, out in the gardens away from prying ears. They sat down on a bench, and Merryc turned to her.
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