The Willow Branch

by Lela Markham

  “Most like,” Perryn replied, though he was sure every man in the room had a candidate or two to put forth for the post. “Our arrangement is temporary at the moment, but I will have need of a war band leader.”

  “Donyl intends to continue his studies at the temple?” Burcan asked, then realized he had overstepped. “My lady wife will ask.”

  “Donyl is not a war band leader,” Perryn said. “I’ll find use for him and his skills, but he will not desire Deryk’s position. Or yours,” he added, just to assure his vassals that he was not the sort of king who would disenfranchise a clan simply because he could. He doubted the vyngretroix board would allow him that sort of power, but it never hurt to establish one’s dominance early in the rule. “Are we finished, men?”

  There were murmured affirmations and then the group worked its way out of the room. Perryn hung back, waving away any who might have lingered. He stood at the window looking down on the ward until he heard Donyl’s hesitant step behind him.

  “What did you think?” he asked. The youngest of Vanyn’s three legitimate sons, Donyl had suffered a childhood illness that had left one leg a bit weak, so he’d naturally gravitated toward books and learning. That had suited Vanyn well since he’d needed a son to feed to the temple. His bookish nature suited Perryn well now because he was ill prepared to be king. Among Donyl’s many and varied talents was a knowledge of every nook, cranny and cupboard in the dun where one might put an ear to a crack and overhear a private conversation. As Perryn had set him up to spy on the council, he did not fear what his brother might have heard.

  “I think Burcan is lying,” he announced. “He fired that village for some reason other than ardor.”

  “Aye, I think so as well. If he’d truly been interested in finding the assassins’ hire, he’d have kept a few alive. Do you think he arranged all this?”

  “That I cannot tell you,” Donyl said. At 15, his face was thin, but his blue eyes were innately intelligent. His voice had just finished changing, but it carried sober thought in every tone. “What would he gain from that with two heirs still to eliminate?”

  “Aye, it is a risky bit of business, to be sure. Mayhap I am merely reacting to their disdain for my leadership.”

  “You are untried,” Donyl reminded. Perryn appreciated his younger brother’s candor. Coming from him, it was simply the truth, not delivered to unsettle or belittle.

  “What do you think of that?” Perryn asked.

  “You have a lot to learn,” Donyl said. “You can rely on Dumyr for a while, but sooner or later, you’ll need to surround yourself with wise men you trust who can direct you.”

  “Aye. My next question may take you a bit by surprise. Do you truly want to be a priest of Bel.”

  Donyl blinked, opened his mouth to speak, closed it and blinked again.

  “When Father recalled me from Blyan, I hoped I would be allowed to make a case to study as a councilor since I would become the spare heir and as a cripple I would need great wisdom since I could never gain battle glory. Sadly, I didn’t get the opportunity and truth be told, you will need ties to the temples. Lugh would be better, but Bel would be more suiting to me.”

  “My betrothed’ s brother is a priest of Bel to be assigned to the Celdryan temple. There’s no reason for me to give my best asset to the gods.”

  “Just like that, I’m free?” Donyl asked. Part of what made him a valuable asset was his ability to analyze and question. Perryn nodded and waited. “What about my studies?” Donyl asked.

  “Of course, I encourage your studies. I’ll need you to be learned in the years to come. I suspect there will be challenges.”

  “Father’s murder is a challenge,” Donyl noted.

  “Aye. Prepare to return to Denygal, leaving on the eightnight. In the meantime, talk to Deryk and give some thought to both events. I do not believe they are unrelated, but I also do not believe the assassin’s guild just suddenly decided to kill the king and his heir without coin having traded hands, yet that is the only option given me. I do not trust that.”

  “You are better prepared than they suppose,” Donyl observed.

  “Aye, but our father did assume Maryn might fall in battle, so he did get me the second-best education coin could purchase. Still, I am untried.”

  “You won’t be if we find Father’s killer.”

  This gained a huge grin from his older brother.

  “Now you understand the way of it.”

  “Mayhap I should remain, find tutors here in the city.”

  “Nay, but I truly don’t want you here for this.” Donyl looked perplexed. Perryn explained. “If I should fall as well, you will be the only hope for the kingdom. I’d rather have the kingdom’s sole hope safely in a library in Denygal than here where he might perish by my side.”

  “Perryn,” Donyl croaked. “I cannot be king.”

  “Nay, but you can father a king and stand as regent.” Donyl started to shake his head, but Perryn cut him off. “If need be. Hopefully, I will live long and produce many heirs and you’ll stand at my elbow and aid my rule.”

  Donyl’s young face had grown quite somber.

  “It’s hard to think of myself as the last line before the darkness.”

  “Aye, well, would you rather the rule passes in the female line to Burcan and Joran?”

  “Nay.” Donyl straightened. “I’ll seek the answers you’ve requested and I’ll prepare to travel.”

  “Keep your preparations small and tell others you’ll be leaving after my wedding. I’ve set it for Lughnasa. I wish heartily that you could be there, but I think it wisest that you fly before expected.”

  Donyl nodded, the weight of the kingdom darkening his eyes.

  “I’ve an appearance to make in the great hall,” Perryn explained. He heaved a deep sigh. “My life will never be my own again.”

  With that, he strode from the room, leaving Donyl to follow more slowly. As the younger brother left the upper hall, a dark man stepped from the shadows. Talidd, the servant, walked quietly into the council chamber, closing the door behind him. With a whispered word, he lit a candle lantern, then focused his eyes on the flame. He had a report to make and commands to carry out.

  Founding Year 1028

  Dun Clarcom

  Lady Lydya ap Chenyn of Clarcom and Denygal lived a busy life as the wife of the vyngretrix of Dublyn and found that she might go a whole day without visiting her children in the children’s hall, except that she scheduled it and kept her schedule no matter what might try to intervene. Thus when the chamberlain tried to slow her progress toward that appointment in order to make a decision on what wine to serve with dinner, she brushed him aside.

  “You are capable of making such a decision, Lord Ogrynnyn. Please, please, do so. I will back whatever you decide.”

  She mounted the circular staircase toward the upper floors as Ogrynnyn stepped away to go about his own duties. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated as a young woman in a grey silk dress started to come down, but the lass scrambled back, stepping into the hallway to give Lydya passage, even bowing. Lydya did not mean to smile with a little bit of wicked triumph, but she did. She swept on up to the third floor without even looking at the lass who remained behind.

  The children’s hall occupied the entire floor. The main room, occupying half of the area around the stair landing, stood empty though not silent, for the sound of a young banisedh could be heard from the tutorial room.

  There a battle raged along simple lines. In the middle, two boys batted at each other as each was constrained by a woman. An older lad stood in a doorway, laughing at the sight. As Shyla had the harder battle controlling the smaller Danyl, Lydya lent her weight there until they finally pulled the boys apart. Still they struggled. Lydya put her face down to Glynn’s, wagering that her third son was still a reasonable human being, and shouted.

  “Back up now or you’ll rue the day, lad, I promise that!”

  Glynn allowed Macla, the young lass
who helped the nurse, pull him out of Danyl’s reach. He stood back, chest heaving, waiting for his mother’s attention.

  “Let him be. Help us here,” Lydya ordered Macla. With the young nurse’s help, Shyla managed to drag Danyl away to his chamber. Lydya straightened her kirtle and head scarf and looked at her third son with less than a pleased expression.

  “What was this about?”

  “He went amok, Mam,” Glynn replied, straightening his own siarc.

  “Oh, just like that?”

  “You know how he is.”

  “Aye, I do, and I’ll wager it didn’t just blow in like a summer storm. Tell me the truth, lad, or you’ll regret it.”

  Glynn knew full well that his mother had an uncanny ability to know when one of her children was lying. He spoke the truth when she demanded it.

  “I teased him a bit, but naught that should have caused him to want to murder me.”

  Lydya drew a deep breath, for she did not sense a lie, though mayhap not wholly the truth.

  “We’ll speak further in a few minutes. You will remain here. Both of you.”

  She included her second son, Cullyn, in the matter because she suspected him of having somewhat to do with all of this. Home two days and already fomenting trouble! She went to the one person she could trust not to lie to her – Danyl.

  The five-year-old sat upon his bed, arms rapped round his knees, shaking. Shyla leaned into the wall next to the door while Macla sat on the window sill. The nurse rose and left the room as soon as Lydya entered. Chyla waited for leave to go, which Lydya gave with a nod.

  To see the proud strong warrior shaking with tears did melt a mam’s heart, sure enough.

  “Come, lad. Tell your mam what’s about.”

  “Naught,” Danyl muttered. “Glynn’s a hound.”

  “Well, that’s true enough. What’s he gnawing at now?”

  “Naught,” Danyl insisted, but tears formed in his eyes.

  “I would wager coin that there’s somewhat behind this. Tell me, lad, for I hate it when my children lie to me.”

  “He ... he ... he called me .... an .... an elf.”

  Now Danyl burst into tears and buried his face in his mother’s dress. Lydya held him, rubbing her hand up and down his back while she fought to keep her emotions from overwhelming her. No! This could not be happening! A few swallows and a couple of deep breaths and she could speak.

  “There, there, lad. Glynn’s a hound for sure, but there’s naught to it. It’s the green eyes, you see. They run in Shyr blood and you’ve come up with them. Glynn’s merely finding a bone to pick, lad, but you don’t need to be helping it along by getting angry. Next time just say ‘Well, if I’m an elf, what make you, my brother?’ He’ll back off right then, or be the one angry, I promise that.”

  Danyl sniffled and rubbed at his cheeks, looking up at his mother with eyes that looked like an inland sea – a striking green.

  “I did not mean to break my word to you, Mam. He just ... just ....”

  “Aye, well, next time you’ll do better, though I suppose he’ll find somewhat else to tease you over. He’ll be going off to page someday. Moreover, Cullyn will be going back to page in the fall, so he’ll not have his chief advisor to goad him on. Trust me there, things will be better when Cullyn’s headed off. Now, you just remember that your anger gives them what they want. You hold tight to it and they’ll back off quickly enough. Do you understand?”

  “I try, Mam. Truly, I do.”

  “There’s a love. We’ll have Macla bring you some warm milk and bread and a bit of a nap and you won’t want to think a bit of it. I’ll deal with your brothers.”

  Before leaving the chamber though, Lydya paused a moment to look out the window and get her own temper and emotions under control. She’d known when she bore Danyl that he’d be a trial and she’d trusted his distance from the rule to keep him from the notice of her husband, but she’d never suspected that children’s teasing might come so close to home. She meant to nip this in the bud before it could come to full flower.

  From this window in the children’s hall, Lydya possessed a nice view of the kitchen garden and a section of the inner wall around the dun. A young serving wench embraced a rider by the well. They kissed passionately, then faded around the creamery hut, groping at the fastenings of one another’s clothing. That gets bairns and, like as not, the lad will claim he’s not the father. She smiled to herself, for she had seen well both of their faces.

  Macla had anticipated Lydya’s request for warm milk and bread and was just returning as Lydya came from Danyl’s chamber. Lydya made a mental note that the lass showed promise and thanked her, then turned her attention to Glynn ap Riordan, third son of Cunyr, Lord Clarcom, Vyngretrix of Dublyn.

  “Danyl tells me you’ve been teasing him in a most despicable fashion,” Lydya began right away.

  “Mayhap I should go for this,” Cullyn said, straightening from the doorway where he lounged.

  “Stay right where you are!” Lydya ordered, voice cracking like a whip. “Glynn, what possessed you to say that to your brother? There are many things of a hateful nature that might have been said, but that is far greater than should ever be spoken.”

  Glynn shot of look toward Cullyn, confirming Lydya’s suspicions.

  “I apologize, Mam,” he said immediately. “And I’ll apologize to him. You’re right, of course. It was a despicable thing to say.”

  Lydya sensed his sincere repentance. Though Glynn had said naught, she suspected him ready to make a soul-defining decision. She could only wait for him to come to her.

  “Where did you get such a notion?”

  “Oh, easily enough,” Glynn assured her. “There’s gossip about.”

  Lydya’s heart thudded in her chest. Gossip?

  “Who is gossiping about such?”

  “Some of the kitchen wenches,” Cullyn spoke up. “They were pointing out that he’s tall and thin, taller than Bernys’ boy who is the same age, but lighter. He seems an elf. Glynn’s just repeating what he’s heard others say.”

  “And there’s the green eyes,” Glynn admitted.

  Lydya laughed to hide her dismay.

  “Green eyes run in Shyr blood. My mother had them as well. Truly, your brother is naught unusual in the least. Green eyes are rare in the rest of the kingdom, but not in Denygal.”

  “Elven blood in Denygal veins,” Cullyn reminded her. “Your mother was born a good deal before the purges.”

  “If my mother be an elf, what make that you, lad?” Lydya countered.

  She received the desired effect. Both lads winced. Lydya drew a deep breath and spoke with all the authority her station as their mother and the wife of Clarcom afforded her.

  “You are not to speak of this again,” she ordered them. “Glynn, if I hear of you teasing your brother again, I’ll see you humiliated among the pages. You know I can.”

  “Aye, Mam. I’ve already said I’ll apologize and you’ll hear no more of this from me. I promise.”

  “Cullyn?”

  “Aye, Mother, whatever you say,” the older boy replied, his voice reserved. He always had a sneer for her, so much like her husband. Lydya wondered at that, truly.

  “I mean it. Listen, you young whelp, you may think my authority worth flaunting, but remember that I do have authority. I love you, dearly, but I won’t tolerate this teasing of your brother. He’s but a young lad who deserves the right to grow unmolested by his elders. If you continue with this course, Cullyn, I’ll see you flogged.”

  Cullyn blinked, for never had he thought her capable of that. Yet all in the family knew that his mother did not speak lightly. She was the soul of compassion and fairness, until it was time not to be compassionate or fair. Cullyn straightened his siarc.

  “I’ll do as you say, Mam. My apologies for my part in this.”

  “Well and good then. We shall see how the rest of the summer progresses.”

  Lydya left the children’s hall then, for sh
e did have pressing matters to attend to. In addition to being the lady of Clarcom, a great dun, she also had rigdon business that required her attention. There were days when she wondered how she kept all the details in hand. There were days when she wondered indeed if she truly had them in hand.

  Founding Year 1028

  Clarcom

  Padraig had become aware of Joy’s thoughts as he traveled south toward Clarcom. At first he’d thought it just his own desire to understand what she thought, but now and again, he felt a fleeting touch upon his mind, as if the horse reached out to him. So far just horsey thoughts came to him. She preferred apples over carrots, for instance, and she thought towns a very bad idea.

  She thought Clarcom, even on a bright sunny spring day, a very bad idea. Her ears weren’t yet laid back, but as they neared the walled city, he could sense her unease. Since he shared this thought with her, he doubted he could be much comfort.

  Did the elven cities of old smell like this?

  The largest town in Dublyn, Clarcom covered six rolling hills with the dun upon the only near-mountain in southern Dublyn. The city of 80,000 comprised the usual hodgepodge of thatched round houses and curving streets. Joy laid her ears back as they came under the walls and nearly balked as they went under the first gate.

  Clarcom’s defenses had been hardened and strengthened since Padraig’s last journey this way. He supposed it spoke of Cunyr ap Riordan’s power that he could have so much work done on the city walls in what was really a short period of time and that the people already felt confident to fill in the area between the old outer wall and the new with shops and homes that fairly buzzed with activity.

  Are things truly that bad in the kingdom proper now?

  Padraig’s goal lay just inside the third defense wall, in an inn off one of the market squares. There’d been many changes in this area since Padraig’s last trip here four years ago, so that it took him a bit of effort to find the inn, but he recognized the sign – a red giant – easily enough. Neighborhood legend had that the giant – who held a tree in his huge fist – had once been doing somewhat obscene a long time ago, before the owner had been married. The tree suited the place more now, given that the area seemed to have gained in respectability. In fact, the inn had added a third story and was beginning to take on the appearance of a merchant’s home with a broch of its own. The door stood open as any good inn door on a fine spring day. Padraig tied off his stock at the hitching post and entered the dim interior.