Daggerspell

by Katharine Kerr

  “I’ll wager you beat me soundly,” Rhodry said.

  Cullyn did, too, for the first three games, sweeping Rhodry’s men off the board as fast as the young lord put them on. Swearing under his breath, Rhodry began pondering every move he made and gave Cullyn a harder run for it, but still he lost the next three. By then, only one drowsy servant remained in the hall to refill their tankards. Rhodry sent the man to bed, stopped drinking, and finally after four more games, ran Cullyn to a draw.

  “I won’t press my luck anymore tonight,” Rhodry said.

  “It wasn’t luck. You’re learning.”

  Cullyn felt the simple comfort of it as overwhelming. Here they were, two men who’d given themselves up for dead, safe at home by a fire, with plenty of ale and each other’s company. While Rhodry put the game back in its lacquered box, Cullyn got up and fetched more ale. They drank silently at first, and slowly, making the moment last as the fire died down and shadows filled the hall. Cullyn suddenly realized that he was happy, a word that had never had much meaning for him before. Or he would be happy, if it weren’t for Jill, whom he loved too much but loved truly enough to want her to be happy, too. Maybe it was the ale, maybe it was the late hour, but he suddenly thought of the clear and simple way to solve the whole tangled mess. If he could do it. If he could bear to do it.

  All unconsciously, Rhodry gave him the opening he needed, the chance to think about what had seemed so unthinkable before.

  “I wish Rhys would get himself here. Oh, well, in a way he’s doing me somewhat of a favor. As soon as the rebellion’s settled, my esteemed mother’s going to put all her boundless energies into marrying me off.”

  “It’s about time you did, my lord.”

  “I know—the cursed rhan needs its cursed heirs. Ye gods, captain, think how I must feel. How would you like to be put to stud like a prize horse?”

  Cullyn laughed aloud.

  “Aches a man’s heart, doesn’t it?” Rhodry said, grinning. “And for all I know, she’ll have a face and a temper to match the Lord of Hell’s. It’s her cursed kin that count, not what I might think of her.”

  “Huh. I see why the priests are always telling a man never to envy the noble-born.”

  “And right they are, truly. Men like me marry to please our clans, not ourselves.”

  The old proverb struck an odd place in Cullyn’s mind, some long-buried memory that he couldn’t quite get clear. He had a long swallow of ale and considered his peculiar idea. He could think of no way to broach it subtly.

  “Tell me somewhat, my lord. Would you marry my Jill if you could?”

  Rhodry went so tense that Cullyn realized that the lad was as afraid of him as Jill was. It was gratifying. Common-born or not, he was still Jill’s father, still the man who’d decide what she would or wouldn’t do.

  “I would,” Rhodry said at last. “I’ll swear that to you on the honor of the Maelwaedds. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want to marry her, but I can’t.”

  “I know that.”

  They drank for a few minutes more, and Rhodry never looked away from his face.

  “You know, my lord, the mistress of a great lord has a cursed lot of power in his rhan and court.”

  Rhodry jerked his head as if Cullyn had slapped him.

  “So she does, and no one would dare mock her, either.”

  “Provided she was never cast off to her shame.”

  “There’re some women who would never have to fear such a thing.”

  “Good.” Absently Cullyn laid his hand on his sword hilt. “Good.”

  They sat together drinking, never saying another word, until the fire was so low that they could barely see each other’s face.

  Perhaps the thing that Jill hated most about being in a lady’s retinue was that she had to learn to sew. For all that Lovyan was a rich tieryn, most of the clothing worn in the dun was made there, and she owed every rider in her warband and every servant in her hall two pairs of shirts and brigga or two dresses a year as part of their maintenance. Every woman in the dun, from the lowliest kitchen wench to Dannyan and Medylla, spent part of her time producing this mountain of clothes. Even Lovyan took a hand and sewed Rhodry’s shirts for him, as well as embroidering the blazons on the shirts for her skilled servitors such as the bard. Since there was a definite honor among women about the fineness of their sewing, Jill dutifully practiced, but she hated every clumsy stitch she made.

  That morning Nevyn came to the women’s hall, which was open to him because of his great age and, while she worked, entertained her with tales of Bardek, that mysterious country far across the Southern Sea. From the wealth of details, it was plain that he’d spent much time there.

  “Studying physick, truly,” Nevyn admitted when she asked him. “They have much curious lore in Bardek, and most of it’s worth knowing. It’s a cursed strange place.”

  “So it sounds. I wish I could see it someday, but it’s not likely now.”

  “Here, child, you sound very unhappy.”

  “I am, and I feel like the most ungrateful wretch in the world, too. Here Her Grace has been so generous to me, and I’m living in more luxury than I ever dreamt of, but I feel like a falcon in a cage.”

  “Well, in a way, you are trapped.”

  It was such a relief to hear someone agree with her that Jill nearly wept. Irritably she threw the sewing into her wicker workbasket.

  “Well, if you truly hate this kind of life,” Nevyn went on, “perhaps you should leave it.”

  “What can I do? Ride the roads as a silver dagger?”

  “I should think not, but many a woman has a craft. If I spoke to the tieryn, she’d pay the prentice fee for you.”

  “Oh, and what sort of thing would I do? I’d hate to spin or sew or suchlike, and no armorer or weaponmaster would take a woman as an apprentice, not even if the tieryn asked them.”

  “There are all sorts of crafts.”

  All at once, Jill remembered that he was dweomer. He was so kind to her, so bent on winning her friendship, that at times she forgot this frightening truth. The gray gnome looked up from the floor, where he’d been amusing himself by tangling her embroidery threads, and gave her a gaping grin.

  “My lord,” Jill said, her voice shaking. “You honor me too highly if you think I could take up your craft.”

  “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but it’s a closed issue if you don’t want it. I was merely thinking about herbcraft, the plain and simple medicine I know. I’ve learned a lot in my long years, and it would be a pity to let the knowledge die with me.”

  “Well, so it would.” Suddenly Jill felt her first real hope in days. “And you travel everywhere and live the way you want.”

  “Just that, and you’re bright enough to learn the lore. Lovyan will understand, truly, if you want to leave. She’ll know you’ll be safe with me.”

  “But what about Da? I doubt me if he’d let me go with you, and truly, we’ve been through so much together, him and me, that I’d hate to leave him, too.”

  “No doubt, but at some time you have to leave him.”

  Although Nevyn spoke quietly, his words cut like a knife.

  “Well, why?” Jill snapped. “If I stay here—”

  “And aren’t you the one who was just telling me you’re miserable?”

  “Oh, so I was.”

  “Just think about it. You don’t have to decide straightaway.”

  Nevyn left her to the tedious task of untangling the skeins that the gnome had ruined. As she worked, Jill thought over his offer. Oddly enough, she could see herself wandering the roads with a mule and dispensing herbs to farmers much more easily than marrying some minor lord and living in comfort. While it would hurt to leave Cullyn, she could always come back and see him whenever she felt like it. It would hurt much less than being shut up in the dun with Rhodry and his new wife, seeing him every day and knowing that another woman had what was beyond her reach.

  Or so Jill thought of him t
hat morning, as beyond her reach. Toward evening, she went out in the ward just for some fresh air, and Rhodry followed her, catching her out by the wall among the storage sheds.

  “My lord should be more careful about chasing after me,” Jill said. “What if someone saw you?”

  “I don’t give a pig’s fart if they did or not. I’ve got to talk with you. Let’s find a place where we can be alone.”

  “Oh, indeed? It’s not talk that’s on your mind.”

  “It is, and it isn’t. What of it?”

  Rhodry smiled at her so softly that Jill followed him when he went round to a shed to a private place in the curve of the wall.

  “This will do for now,” Rhodry said. “I, uh—”

  The words seemed to stick in his throat.

  “Uh, well,” he started again. “You see, I had a—I mean, that sounds so cursed cold.”

  “You haven’t said much yet that sounded like anything.”

  “I know. Well, it’s about that bargain we made, truly.”

  “I thought as much. I meant what I said, curse you.”

  “Things have changed somewhat. I—”

  And he stuck there again, looking at her with a feeble, foolish smile. In sheer irritation Jill started to walk away, but he grabbed her by the shoulders. When she swung round to break his hold, she tripped over the hem of her dress and nearly fell into his arms. He laughed and kissed her, held her tight when she tried to squirm away, and kissed her again so sweetly that she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, clung to him, while she remembered all the pleasure his kisses promised.

  “Leave your chamber door unbarred tonight,” Rhodry said.

  “You dolt! If someone catches you, the news will be all over the dun.”

  “Who’s going to be up in the middle of the night but me?” He kissed her softly, letting his mouth linger on hers. “Just leave the door unbarred.”

  When Jill shoved him away, he grinned at her.

  “I know you’ll do it,” Rhodry said. “Till tonight, my lady.”

  In a fury of lust and rage both, Jill hiked up her skirts and ran, turning round the shed and nearly running straight into Cullyn. She yelped aloud in terror. He must have heard, must have seen. He set his hands on his hips and looked at her so mildly that she was sure she was in for the worst beating of her life.

  “Da, I’m sorry!” Jill stammered.

  “And so you might be, carrying on like a serving wench where anyone might see you.”

  “I won’t do it again. Promise.”

  “Good. You’ve got a chamber for that sort of thing, don’t you?”

  Jill’s head reeled as badly as if he had slapped her. Cullyn gave her the barest sort of smile and walked past, calling out to Rhodry to wait for him. The two of them went off together, discussing some new men for the warband.

  “So that’s what Rhodry wanted to tell me. Oh, by the Goddess herself!”

  She felt betrayed. Jill stood there for a long time and considered it, that where she might have been pleased, she felt betrayed. Cullyn had handed her over to Rhodry to be his mistress, just handed her over like a horse, and she wanted Rhodry too much to protest. At that moment, she saw clearly what her life would become, caught between the two of them, loving them both, yet kept away from both. Rhodry would have his wife, and Cullyn, the warband. She would be important to them, in her way, rather like a valuable sword that they would never use in battle, only hang on a chamber wall to be taken down and admired once in a while. I can’t do that, she told herself, I won’t! Yet she knew that she could, and that she would. The bars of her cage were made out of love, and they would keep her in for all her gnawing at them.

  All evening, Jill debated the question of whether Rhodry would find her door open or barred. She decided that she should hold out and make him realize that he would have to court her, that she wasn’t a bit of battle loot to be distributed by her father. When she went to bed that night, she barred the door, but she couldn’t sleep, and slowly, a bit at a time, her resolve wore away like sand under a storm tide. She cursed herself for a slut or worse, then got up and lifted the wooden bar free of the staples. She stood there for a moment, barred it again, then lifted it off and left it off. She stripped off her nightdress, lay down, and felt her heart pounding in the darkness. Not more than a few moments later, he came to her, as sure-footed and silent as a thief.

  “Just once, my love,” he whispered. “I’d like to have you in the light. I want to see what your face looks like when we’ve done.”

  Jill giggled and threw the blankets back. He took off his clothes and slipped in next to her. At the touch of his naked body on hers, she forgot every worry she’d ever had about honor and betrayal, but she pretended to shove him away. He grabbed her wrists and kissed her until she struggled free, then he caught her again. They wrestled with each other as much as they caressed each other, until at last she could wait no longer and let him win, pressing her down, catching her, filling her with an aching fiery pleasure that made her sob in his arms.

  Since Nevyn never slept more than four hours a night, he was up late that evening, brooding over the dark master and his peculiar plot. For all his scrying on the etheric, he’d found no further traces of the enemy, and neither had any other dweomermaster in the kingdom. He was just thinking that it was late enough for even him to be in bed when Jill’s gray gnome popped into manifestation on the table. The little creature was furious, making soundless snarls and pulling at its hair as it danced up and down.

  “Now, now, now. What’s all this?”

  The gnome grabbed his hand and pulled, as if it were trying to haul him to his feet.

  “What? You want me to come with you?”

  The gnome nodded a vigorous yes and pulled on him again.

  “Is somewhat wrong with Jill?”

  At that, the gnome leapt into its final dance of fury. Nevyn lit a lantern and followed the gnome as it led him toward the women’s quarters. As soon as the gnome realized that he was going to go to Jill’s chamber, it disappeared. Holding the lantern low, Nevyn turned down the main corridor and met Rhodry, barefoot, tousled, and obviously very tired. Rhodry squeaked like a caught burglar, and Nevyn collared him like one.

  “You little dolt!” Nevyn hissed.

  “I just couldn’t sleep. Just taking a bit of air.”

  “Hah! Come along, lad.”

  Nevyn marched Rhodry back to his chamber, which was some ways away on the floor above the women’s quarters, and shoved him through the door. Rhodry sank into a chair and looked up bleary eyed. His lips were swollen.

  “How by every god did you know I was in Jill’s bed?”

  “How do you think I knew, dolt?”

  Rhodry squeaked and flinched back.

  “I’m not going to blast you with dweomer-fires or suchlike,” Neyvn said with some asperity. “Tempted though I may be. All I want you to do is think. You won’t be able to keep this midnight trysting a secret forever. As the saying goes, fine dresses can’t hide a big belly. What will Cullyn do then, pray tell?”

  “Naught. We’ve had words about it, and he let me know that Jill’s mine as long as I treat her as well as a great lord’s mistress deserves.”

  Nevyn felt like a man who’s drawn his sword with a flourish only to find it broken off at the hilt.

  “Truly, I couldn’t believe my ears either.” Rhodry did look sincerely amazed. “But he did say it. I swear to you that I’ll always treat her well. Ah, ye gods, Nevyn, can’t you understand how much I love her? You must have been young once. Didn’t you ever love a woman this much?”

  Nevyn was caught speechless by the irony of the thing—so he had, the same one. Unceremoniously Nevyn kicked the heir to the tierynrhyn out of his chamber and barred the door behind him. He sat down in the chair and ran his fingers idly over the rough wood of the table edge. Jill’s gnome appeared, all smiles and bows.

  “I’m sorry, my friend. You’ll have to put up with this, just like I w
ill.”

  The gnome hissed and disappeared. Nevyn was just as heartsick. She was gone from him in this life as she’d gone in so many others, he was sure of it. All the amusements and crises of a great court would fill her mind and her time until her latent dweomer talents faded away. He could see it all: although Rhodry’s wife would have to accept his mistress, she would come to hate Jill when the various vassals paid their court to Jill, not to her. The fight would come to the surface when Jill had a couple of Rhodry’s bastards and was trying to get them settled in good positions. No doubt Rhodry would favor Jill’s children, too, making his wife hate her more than ever. None of this would leave any place for the dweomer.

  Nevyn’s first impulse was to leave the dun that very night and ride far away, but Jill would need him. For all the pain of seeing his vow go unfulfilled for yet another long stretch of years, he would stay, simply because she needed him. For a moment Nevyn felt so odd that he didn’t know what was wrong with him. Then he realized that for the first time in a hundred years, he was weeping.

  When the tenth day passed with no word from Rhys, Lovyan was furious enough to dispense with formalities and send a message to him. Although she carefully phrased the letter in humble and courtly terms, at root she told him the entire tierynrhyn would be in upheaval until he cursed well did something about it. When the scribe read it to her impatient vassals, they cheered.

  “You have my sympathy, my lords,” Lovyan said to them. “We’ll see if a mother’s words can prod the gwerbret to action.”

  Lovyan left them to discuss her letter and went up to the women’s hall. As a child she had played there at her mother’s side, and the familiar room was still a comfortable refuge, even though she was the lord of the dun now, not its lady. When she came in, she found Dannyan trying to help Jill with her sewing.

  “Shall I fetch Her Grace some wine?” Jill said.

  “Anything to get out of the needlework?” Lovyan said with a smile. “You may lay aside if you wish, Jill, but truly, I don’t want anything at the moment.”

  Jill threw her practice piece into the workbasket with such fury that Lovyan and Dannyan both laughed at her.