The Black Raven

by Katharine Kerr

  “All this talk and politicking and weaselling around! Ye gods, I used to think that once the wars were over, once I held Dun Deverry, then I’d be king, and everything would fall into place. Apparently I was a fool for thinking that.”

  “Not a fool, Your Highness. Merely uninformed.”

  Maryn stopped pacing and smiled.

  “My thanks,” Maryn said, grinning. “I much prefer your way of putting it.”

  “I thought you might, my liege. But truly, the talk’s every bit as dangerous as the fighting. You won Dun Deverry by the sword, but keeping it—that you’ll do with words. A wrong decision now could lose you everything.”

  After he left the prince, Nevyn returned to his own chamber, where the problem of the curse tablet lay waiting for him inside a little wood box of the sort that holds tools for scribes. He’d marked the wood all over with wards and sigils, then built astral seals over it as well, renewing them five times a day at the changing of the astral tides. Once the seals were freshly set, he would perform a banishing to dispel any accidental evil that might have accrued upon it. After all these precautions he would take the tablet out and handle it, hoping to gain some fragmentary visions or hear a voice, deep in his mind, that might tell him how to unwrap the dweomer twined around it. Nothing ever came to him.

  He hated to exploit Lilli’s affinity for the tablet. She was young, just beginning her training, and always on the edge of illness. Yet he had no other weapons at his command.

  “I begin to think that you must be right,” Nevyn said to her. “The baby must have been your brother. We’ll never have proof, but nothing else will explain the way the tablet affects you.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Lilli said. “It’s so odd. My mother’s been dead for months now, but it’s as if she’s still here, working her horrible magic.”

  They were sitting in his chamber, late of an evening, with the tablet lying between them in a pool of candlelight. It was such an ugly thing, with its sullen curse scratched in crude letters, to hold such power.

  “You slept much of the day, you told me?” Nevyn said.

  “I did,” Lilli said. “Which is why I can’t sleep now.”

  Nevyn opened the second sight and studied her aura: stronger, brighter than it had been in all the time he’d known her. He closed down his vision and considered her physical body, less gaunt than ever before. His herbs and Maryn’s attentions had apparently both been good for her.

  “I’m thinking of asking you to try a dangerous trick,” Nevyn said. “Are you game?”

  “I am, my lord. Do you want me to touch it again?”

  “Just that, but very lightly. I want you to see what comes into your mind when your fingertips are lying on the tablet.”

  Lilli obligingly reached out and laid her fingers just on the edge of the lead strip. She frowned in concentration while the candlelight danced around her. All at once she began to speak in a hollow voice, dark enough for a young man.

  “Bind him round. He must die slowly.” Her head tilted back, and her eyes rolled up. “Burcan’s child to bind him. Burcan’s death brings his. As this so that.”

  Nevyn leapt up so fast that he nearly knocked over the candles. He used his whole arm to scribe a pentagram in the air and thrust the banishing forward to envelop her like a net.

  “Lilli! Come back!”

  With a sob Lilli straightened up in her chair. Nevyn rushed around the table and grabbed her hands, pulled her to her feet, and flung an arm around her shoulders.

  “Forgive me!” he said. “I’d forgotten how fast the trance takes you over.”

  “What did I say? I can’t remember.”

  “Some very grim things. Here, sit down and rest while I seal this loathsome thing up again.”

  Once the tablet was sealed and bound, he put it back in its box, then hid it deep within one of his herbman’s packs. He wanted to ensure that no casual visitor or careless servant would pick it up by mistake or out of curiosity. Lilli sat exhausted in the chair, slumped back, with one arm dangling over the side.

  “I’ll walk you back to your chamber,” Nevyn said. “You need to sleep.”

  “I do, truly. But I do wish you’d tell me what I said.”

  “In the morning, when it’s light.”

  That night Nevyn walked for long hours outside in the silent fortress. Overhead the wheel of the stars hung close to earth in the crisp fall air, yet dark towers broke and bounded his view. Merodda’s nasty little sorcerer had been a clever man, all right, who knew enough lore to turn his curse into a trap. He had used Burcan’s son, that pitiful child buried with the curse, as surrogate to link Prince Maryn to Burcan. If Burcan died, Maryn’s death would follow—if, of course, this dark dweomerman had the actual power to back up his lore. He had certainly managed to energize the tablet to some degree, or Lilli would not have felt the link so strongly.

  And Burcan was already dead.

  In dark night Lilli woke at the sound of her door closing. She could make out a figure standing by her bed, a dark shadow against the grey. She sat up, stifling a scream.

  “It’s just me,” Maryn said.

  “Oh, good! You startled me, that’s all.”

  “Were you having one of your bad dreams?” He sat down on the edge of the bed and began to pull off his boots.

  “I was. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  When he held out his arms she nestled close to him. His mouth brushed her cheek, then found her lips. His kisses were familiar, now—it always amazed her, that she would know his body so well, when once she’d thought him beyond her. He let her go, then stood up to pull back the blankets. She lay down, stretching with a little sigh of anticipated pleasure. He laughed and lay down next to her.

  “I trust, my lady,” he said, “that this isn’t just a grim duty you perform for your prince?”

  Laughing she rolled into his arms. He kissed her again, letting his mouth linger on hers while his hand lingered on her breast. She loved the way he touched her, forceful but slow, loved the way he took control of her, catching her hands, moving them where he wished her to touch him. She could lie back in a warm sea of trust and let his strange magnetism envelop her. That night she had never been more aware of the force that seemed to pour from him; in the dark room she could see it, a golden cloud that gushed from his body to wrap around them both.

  His hand slid between her legs, and she whimpered, shutting her eyes, but still it seemed she was aware of that spiral of gold, wrapping her around more and more tightly. He moved, knelt between her legs, and entered her at last. She cried out as the pleasure of it swept over her, but in some small part of her mind she knew that this time was different, that his raw male force had found her too open, dangerously open. Lying clasped in her arms his entire body went rigid, stopped moving, and she heard the soft sigh that was the only sound he ever allowed himself.

  He moved again, lying beside her, turning on his side to pull her into his arms. The cool air touched her sweaty back. She twisted away just in time and coughed, felt her back arch like a strung bow, coughed again, pulled free of his arms and sat up, covering her mouth with both hands to gasp for breath.

  “Lilli, ye gods! What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I’ll be all right in a moment.”

  She got up, staggered around the chamber, and finally found a rag lying on her table. As delicately as possible she coughed up what was troubling her lungs. She could hear Maryn moving behind her.

  “Shall I go fetch Nevyn?” he said.

  “I’ll be all right. Please don’t.”

  “As my lady commands, then.” Maryn sounded worried. “You don’t have a banked fire in this hearth, do you? I wish we had a bit of light, so I could see how you fare.”

  Lilli found her way to the shutters and swung them open. The chill night air smelled wonderfully fresh. The starlight and the last glow of a waning moon turned the chamber a bit brighter, enough so she could see him hunkering
down by the hearth.

  “Get back under the covers,” Maryn snapped. “You’ll catch your death of cold, standing there naked like that.”

  “I was just going to have a drink of water.”

  “Go lie down and get warm. Now!”

  Maryn found the water jug and cup, then fetched her a drink like a page. She took it in both hands and drank it slowly, lying propped by pillows. He sat down next to her, took the cup, and set it on the floor.

  “Shall I go away?” he said.

  “Please don’t!”

  He laughed and kissed her, but gently, then stood up and walked back to the other side of the bed. She could see him silhouetted against the open window and the stars, but she fell asleep before he lay down next to her.

  When she woke in the morning, Maryn still lay beside her, sound asleep on his back and snoring. In the silver dawnlight she allowed herself the luxury of looking at him, simply looking for a long silent while. Out in the corridor voices passed, servants, perhaps.

  “Marro? Marro, you’d best wake up.”

  “Imph?” He sat up, yawning, staring at the open window. “Ye gods! It’s light. I’ve got to be gone.”

  Hurriedly he dressed, then lingered at her door for one last kiss.

  “Hold me in your heart, my lady,” he said, smiling.

  “Always, my prince.”

  He kissed her once more, then opened the door, looked around, and slipped out, running down the hall and bounding up the stairs. Lilli shut the door and stood yawning for a moment. She crossed to the window to close the shutters and took a deep breath of the cool dawn air. Like knives it sliced through her lungs. She gasped, nearly fell, caught the table edge and steadied herself. The rag she’d used the night before lay on the table. It was stained with dry blood.

  Lilli sat down heavily on a chair. She should dress and run to Nevyn, she knew, but fear turned her so heavy and cold that she only managed to cross the room and crawl back into bed. Although she fell straight asleep, a pounding on her door woke her.

  “Lilli, are you in there?” Nevyn’s voice.

  “Come in, my lord. It’s not barred.”

  Nevyn strode in, his arms full of cloth sacks. Wildfolk and the scent of strong herbs swirled around him.

  “The prince told me you’re ill.”

  “I am. I coughed up blood last night.”

  Nevyn froze, staring at her.

  “It wasn’t much, truly,” Lilli said.

  “Any is too much,” Nevyn said. “From now on the only dweomer you’re going to study is the lore in my book. We’ve got to get you well.”

  • • •

  In those days, when there were no locks and weirs, barges on the Belaver could travel no farther upstream than the South Downs. At the village of Lauddbry the promised carts were waiting for Princess Bellyra and her party, and with them the local lord, a member of the western branch of the Stag clan, come to offer her and her people his hospitality for the night. While his war-band helped her servants unload the barges and load up the carts, Bellyra, her serving women, and the nursemaids, carrying the two young princes, walked down to the riverbank away from the dust. With a shout for them to wait, Maddyn and a swarm of silver daggers came running.

  “You’d best not walk about alone, Your Highness,” Maddyn said. “We’ll keep well back if you’d rather not be overheard and all.”

  “Of course,” Bellyra said. “Silly of me to forget. We’re not in Cerrmor anymore, where things were safe.”

  “That’s true.” Degwa looked around nervously, as if she expected to see bandits in every bush and garden. “Oh, I’ll be so glad to be inside a proper dun!”

  Safely escorted they headed for the river again, the royal women first, the nursemaids and the silver daggers trailing after. As Bellyra watched the water, flowing fast here and churning toward the south, it occurred to her that she might never see Cerrmor again. Somehow she’d not allowed herself that thought. In letters Maryn had told her of his plan to give Cerrmor to his half brother, an idea so clever that she assumed Nevyn had thought of it. Occasionally, she supposed, Gwerbret Riddmar would invite the royal family to take his hospitality. Otherwise, her life would belong to Dun Deverry rather than the city where she’d been born and raised. She shivered, glancing around. Trees rustled in the cool wind, and already their north-facing leaves were turning yellow.

  “Mama?” Prince Casso said suddenly. “I want down.”

  “Do you, love?” Bellyra turned to the nursemaid. “I’ll take him for a bit.”

  When Arda set the young prince down, Bellyra grabbed his hand fast before he could run off. She let him lead her a little ways downstream. Maddyn and four silver daggers hurriedly followed.

  “Oh really, Maddo!” Bellyra said. “What do you think will happen? That someone will seize us for ransom or suchlike?”

  “Don’t mock, Your Highness. The lords hereabouts haven’t been the prince’s vassals for long.”

  “True spoken.” It seemed to her that the wind had turned even colder. “Very well. Come along, Casso. Let’s go back and join the others.”

  After an uncomfortable night in a shabby dun, they set out early on the morrow morning. Some of the silver daggers rode ahead of the women, some rode behind, and a few rode off to either side, scouting down the side lanes for possible dangers. The carts, creaking and complaining, brought up the rear. Bellyra took Casso from his nursemaid and let him sit in front of her on the saddle. Baby Marro and his nursemaid rode in one of the carts, which made Casso feel quite grown-up and important. In a few more months he’d be three years old, she realized. She would have to have Maryn’s equerry find him a pony and begin teaching him to ride.

  Since the carts were so slow, and wheels broke with tedious regularity, they travelled only some twelve miles a day. They were making about the same speed, Maddyn told her, as the army had over this same route. She was just thankful that the weather held cool but sunny, sparing them a ride in the rain. At night they imposed themselves on one or another of Maryn’s new vassals, who, it struck her, were much more interested in pleasing the new Marked Prince than kidnapping his wife. The lords and their womenfolk grovelled and spared no hospitality to show their gratitude for Maryn’s pardon. Still, Bellyra was always aware of the silver daggers, standing nearby, hands on their sword hilts, ready for the least sign of treachery.

  Every day’s journey seemed an eightnight long to Bellyra, but finally the dawn came when Maddyn could tell her with confidence that Dun Deverry lay only a few days away. Toward noon one of the carts laden with taxes broke a wheel, and Bellyra decided that they all might as well eat while the carters were repairing it. Maddyn had just helped her dismount when, distantly, she heard horses coming and the jingling of tack and mail that implied armed men. Maddyn swore and rushed away, yelling to the silver daggers to mount up.

  “Take shelter,” Bellyra shouted to the servants. “Decci, Lyss, all of you! Get in among the carts!”

  She scooped up a terrified Casso and ran, heading for the circle of carts that would at least slow an attacker down. The other women huddled around her; Marro began to howl in his nursemaid’s arms; the nearby pigs began to squeal, picking up the general mood. The silver daggers were shouting, turning their horses and milling in what at first seemed to be panic but which proved to be practiced efficiency. In but a few moments they sorted themselves out into a protective ring around the carts and women both.

  Ahead on the road horsemen were trotting straight for them, about fifty of them, as far as Bellyra could estimate, since they travelled in a cloud of dust. Nearer and nearer—Casso suddenly laughed and pointed.

  “Da!” he crowed. “It’s Da! Look! The big bird banners!”

  What he always called the big bird was indeed the Red Wyvern device. Bellyra broke out laughing, and the other women joined her.

  “Call off the silver daggers, Maddyn!” she shouted. “It’s my lord.”

  Bellyra let Casso down, grabbed his hand,
and then walked with him free of the carts. As they hurried to the roadside, Maryn kicked his horse and jogged out ahead of his men to ride first into camp. He dismounted with the fluid ease of a man who’s spent half his life on horseback and tossed the reins of his mount to a servant. Bellyra curtsied as he strode over. He was unhelmed, but despite the quiet countryside he was wearing mail, though he’d tied a tabard over it.

  “Well, my lady,” he said, smiling. “Once you left the river old Nevyn could scry you out and tell me where to find you. So I thought I’d come escort you to your new home.”

  “It gladdens my heart to see you, my lord.” Never had she said anything so true, or so she felt. She wished she could run to him and throw herself into his arms. “You look well.”

  “I am, at that. Now, who’s this with you?”

  Laughing, Bellyra let the straining Casso go. He could and did rush to his father, who scooped him up and settled him on one hip. For a moment they smiled at each other, two blond heads close together, and from the grey eyes and the profile they shared no man would ever doubt Prince Casyl’s paternity.

  “And have you been brave?” Maryn said.

  “I have.” Casso reached out and touched the tabard. “The big red bird.”

  Everyone laughed. By then the silver daggers had dismounted, and Maddyn walked over to kneel before the prince.

  “It looks like you’ve done a splendid job guarding my lady,” Maryn said. “My thanks.”

  “It’s been an honor, Your Highness.”

  “I’m about to repay you ill for your efforts.” Maryn smiled with a twist to his mouth. “I’m going to take her and the children and suchlike back with me and my men. You get to follow along and guard these cursed carts.” He turned to Bellyra. “That way we can reach the city on the morrow. We’ll let the taxes come creaking in whenever they get there.”

  “That would be splendid, my lord,” Bellyra said. “I assume my women are included in the suchlike.”

  “If you wish, certainly.” Maryn turned to look over the camp. “Maddyn, we’ll let everyone eat and then split our forces for the ride back.”