The Black Raven

by Katharine Kerr

  “That’s splendid! And it sounds like you and Maddyn have ferreted out quite a bit of lore, all of it of some importance.”

  “I find it so, certainly. I’m never sure if poor Maddo is just being patient because he can’t get out of guarding me.”

  “Naught of the sort. He told me that he finds it quite interesting.”

  “Oh, good! But it’s going to be an eccentric sort of lore book. All the other ones I’ve ever heard of were for herbs or the laws or suchlike.”

  “True enough. But I’ll wager the priests of Wmm will want copies anyway when you’re done.”

  “Truly?” Bellyra raised one eyebrow. “It will be tainted, after all, because I’m a woman.”

  “The priesthood of Wmm may not admit women, but it doesn’t hold them in scorn, either, the way the priesthood of Bel does. Your book will be very welcome, I assure you.”

  “That’s gratifying. I was wondering if anyone else but me would ever care, you see.”

  “Oh, I think your book will have a good many readers over the years. We’ll get the scribes to make up several copies.” Nevyn paused, blinking as if at a sudden thought. “You’ve been questioning the various servants, haven’t you?”

  “I have. They’re ever so flattered, too, that someone will listen to them.”

  “Well, I was wondering. Have you heard any tales of ghosts? In particular, a woman with blonde hair dressed in mourning—she speaks of a daughter that someone’s stolen from her.”

  Bellyra considered for a moment.

  “I’ve not,” she said at last. “I did hear that there used to be a haunted side tower attached to the royal broch. They had it torn down some eighty years ago to quiet the ghost in it.”

  “What sort of ghost, did they say?”

  “A young lad, a claimant to the throne, who was walled up alive in his chamber and allowed to starve to death.”

  “Ych! Well, that’s not what I was looking for.”

  “Indeed? You mean you have a particular spirit in mind?”

  “I do. If she appeared to the servants, they’d think her a ghost, but she’s another sort of apparition entirely.”

  “Ych, indeed!” Bellyra shuddered at a touch of cold on the back of her neck. “Well, I’ve only talked with a few people so far. If I hear anything, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

  A bit of asking around did bring her several more ghost tales, but none fit the description Nevyn had given her. She recorded them anyway, to add excitement should anyone want to read her histories.

  Nevyn was having no more luck than the princess when it came to discovering the nature of the mysterious spirit who assumed Merodda’s form. His books described nothing like her, his meditations told him nothing, and even the Lords of the Elements knew nothing of such as she. Once he saw her walking along the corridor that led to Merodda’s old chambers, but at the sight of him she vanished. Finally, after some weeks of his futile investigations, Lilli saw her again.

  “It was just as I was waking, my lord,” Lilli told him. “I thought at first it was a dream about my mother. I do have them, now and again. But anyway, she was standing by the table in my chamber, and she looked just like my mother when she was angry. I asked her what she wanted, and she told me I was a cruel and ungrateful child. I started to cry, and she disappeared.”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t a dream?” Nevyn said. “It certainly sounds like one.”

  “I could feel the wool blankets under my hands. And the tears were wet.”

  “Ah. Well, then, you actually did see her. It’s interesting that she knows you’re Merodda’s daughter. Most spirits have no understanding of kin and clan, but it seems to matter to her.” Nevyn paused, considering the idea that had just come to him. “Tell me, how are you feeling? I’ve not heard you cough in a good long while.”

  “I’m much stronger, my lord.”

  “Do you think you’re well enough for a bit of excitement? Hunting this spirit, say.”

  Lilli’s eyes went as wide as a doe’s when she’s ringed by dogs. “I could be bait?”

  “Only if you’re willing.”

  “Of course.”

  “Of course?” Nevyn paused for a smile.

  “Well, I’m frightened, but I want to know what she is. It’s fascinating, a sort of ghastly grim fascination, but one nonetheless.”

  “Very well, then. Let me tell you what to do.”

  Merodda’s old chambers still stood empty. In the reception room one of the hides had slipped from its window, and rain puddled under it on the floor. The smell of mildew hung so heavy that Nevyn hurried Lilli into what had once been the bedchamber.

  “Lots of dust in here,” he said. “Good. Now, you stand out of the way whilst I draw our trap.”

  With the little broom of sticks he’d brought Nevyn swept a circle into the thick dust, then decorated it with five-pointed stars, one at each cardinal point.

  “Or as close to the cardinals as matters,” he remarked cheerfully. “Spirits rarely understand what north and south and so on mean anyway. Now, step carefully, Lilli, so you don’t rub anything out, and go stand just there, in the center.”

  Lilli did as she was told. Nevyn raised his hands above his head and called upon the Light. A sheet of blue fire raced round the circle and formed a wall. When Lilli gasped aloud, he realized that it had manifested on the physical plane as well as the etheric.

  “Does somewhat puzzle you?” Nevyn said.

  “Not truly. It’s much like the circle Brour made for a ritual. But he had to work so hard, my lord. He invoked things and broke out into such a sweat, while you—all at once the fire just sprang up.”

  Nevyn laughed. “Well, when I was an apprentice, I would have had to work much harder, too. Now, let me stand back in the curve of the wall here. Are you ready?”

  Lilli nodded. In the dim light she looked pale, but she took a deep breath and steadied herself.

  “Mother?” Lilli called out. “Mother, are you here?”

  Nevyn felt the hair on his neck prickle. Some entity was hovering close to them, quite close.

  “Oh Mother, Mother,” Lilli continued. “Where are you? Please forgive me.”

  Across the circle from Nevyn she appeared, so like Merodda that Lilli sobbed aloud, just once.

  “I cannot reach you,” the spirit said to Lilli. “Rub out a bit of that circle, and I’ll come to you.”

  “I think not.” Nevyn stepped forward.

  The spirit snarled and swung toward him, her mouth open like a beast’s.

  “Who are you?” Nevyn said.

  “That I shall never tell you.”

  “Why not? Let me help you find peace.”

  “Naught will ever bring me peace but my daughter. Her father’s hidden her from me.”

  “And where has he hidden her?”

  The spirit tipped her head to one side and looked him over.

  “I’ll not answer any more of your questions. You’ve stolen her daughter, and so no doubt you’ll help him steal mine!”

  With that she vanished, leaving Lilli shaking in the middle of the circle. With a wave of his hand, Nevyn banished the blue fire.

  “Let’s go back to my chamber,” he said. “You need to get warm.”

  Although Nevyn’s chamber had no hearth—he’d sacrificed a fire to gain a view—his charcoal brazier put out an amazing lot of heat, thanks to the Wildfolk of Fire. He put the chair next to it for Lilli, then perched on the edge of his bed.

  “That’s better,” he said. “You’ve stopped shivering.”

  “I’m not sure I was truly cold,” Lilli said. “It was more seeing the spirit.”

  “Well, no doubt. I think it’s time I taught you how to make a circle round yourself for protection. You’re well enough now to try a simple ritual like that.”

  “I’ll be glad of it. It would take my mind off—well, uh, I do get bored of an afternoon.”

  “Take your mind off what? The prince?”

  Lilli n
odded, suddenly miserable. “He’s not come to me in ever so long.”

  “Oh here, child!” Nevyn said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I always knew he’d tire of me sooner or later.” Bitterness cracked her voice. “I don’t want pity!”

  “Very well, then. We’ll let the matter drop.”

  “My thanks.” Lilli wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I feel so hatefully greedy. After all, I have Branoic.”

  “So you do.”

  Nevyn waited for her to say more, but she merely looked across the chamber, her mouth set tight. With a sigh, he changed the subject.

  Nevyn stayed awake late that night, sitting in his tower room with only a lantern for company while he thought about Prince Maryn and the dangerous misery he was bringing to the women around him. He had raised Maryn to be bold in war and to hold strong in defeat, but he had never considered that victory would bring its own snares and dangers. He realized then that despite the approval of the Great Ones and the desperate need of the kingdom, he had quite simply never believed that his grand plan would succeed. Never, when he was educating his prince, had he thought of educating him for peace.

  On the morrow morning when he woke, Nevyn went to his window and leaned on the sill to look out. He could see over the brochs and sheds and general clutter of Dun Deverry all the way down the grassy hill to the outer walls. The grass glittered with frost, and the few trees left standing flamed with autumn color. Soon enough the winter would shut them all in together, Maryn, Lilli, Bellyra, locked inside the grim stone walls of Dun Deverry with snow and storm for jailors.

  “Little Lilli seems most unhappy these days,” Elyssa remarked.

  “So she does,” Bellyra said. “I suppose I should feel sorry for the poor child.”

  “Why? Serves her right, I should think, for sleeping with your husband in the first place.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve had thoughts that way myself. But she’s dreadfully young, only a lass, really, and how many women have your strength of character?”

  Elyssa shrugged the compliment away. Even some years after the incident it still amazed Bellyra that a woman existed who could resist Maryn. Elyssa had, in fact, sent him away with words so sharp that Maryn had ruefully repeated them to his wife. There will always be one woman I can trust, Bellyra thought. I suppose that’s why he told me, so I’d know what a friend I have.

  “Ah well,” Elyssa said at last. “She’ll live through it. She has her silver dagger, anyway.”

  “So she does, and Maryn will make him a lord soon enough.”

  The two women were sitting alone in the women’s hall. Sunlight streamed in a nearby window and scattered gold across the newly polished floor and the carpets. Bellyra rose and stood in the fugitive warmth.

  “Summer’s gone,” Bellyra said. “I wonder how early it snows, this far north.”

  “I wonder what real snow will be like. I gather it gets quite deep, not like the scatter we have back home.”

  “Back home? Do you miss Cerrmor, Lyss?”

  “I do. But it’s certainly interesting, being here in Dun Deverry. You know, it’s odd. All my life I’ve heard about it, but I never quite believed it actually existed. It seemed too unreachable, like the Blessed Isles or suchlike, to be real.”

  “I used to feel that way, too.”

  “At times you look happy enough to be in the isles. It gladdens my heart to see.”

  “My thanks. I am happy, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  “Things change, Lyss. If I’ve learned one thing in my marriage, it’s that.”

  During the day she had her work upon the book, and at night she had Maryn’s attentions again. Bellyra never allowed herself to think he loved her, not in any true sense. She amused him at those times when the kingdom gave him a little leisure—that was all. So long as she stayed mindful of this reality, she could take joy in his company and not ask too much of him or of her life, or so she told herself. The days passed, one after the other, in a calm as hushed as the silver moments before dawn. She refused to let anything break the calm, no matter what she had to ignore to keep it.

  On a day when the frost lasted well into the morning despite the sun, messengers rode in from Yvrodur. Gwerbret Ammerwdd sent letters describing in some detail his meetings with the various members of the Council of Electors for the Cerrmor rhan. Prince Maryn summoned Nevyn and Oggyn to his council chamber to discuss them. The stone walls seemed to ooze cold despite the fire blazing in the hearth. Maryn had a servant pull a small table up to the fire and chairs for the three of them as well. Nevyn and Oggyn took turns in reading the letters aloud while Maryn slumped down in his chair and listened with grim intensity.

  “So far so good, Your Highness,” Nevyn said at last. “It appears that none of the electors truly objected to young Riddmar.”

  “None of them jumped up and down in glee, either.” Maryn picked up one of the letters and waved it vaguely at his councillors. “At least they understand the Eldidd situation.”

  “They should,” Nevyn said. “The wars would have been over fifty years ago if there’d only been two claimants for the kingship.”

  Oggyn nodded his agreement. He was taking a second look at one letter and doing his best to mimic Nevyn’s silent way of reading, a slow process for him, apparently. At last he tossed the letter back onto the table.

  “If only, Your Highness,” Oggyn said, “we could give them a good accounting of the Lughcarn rhan, I suspect that some of the objections would vanish. It’s a rich prize by all accounts, and if we procure it by attainder, it will be yours alone to bestow.”

  “True spoken,” Maryn said, “but several of the electors for that rhan came over to me last summer, and I intend to give them a voice in the decision.”

  Oggyn set his lips tight together.

  “There are times,” Maryn went on, “when generosity brings its own rewards. I want these men to stay loyal not just to me but to my heirs.”

  “His Highness is most farseeing,” Oggyn said. “And doubtless correct.”

  “Which reminds me.” Maryn leaned back in his chair and considered Oggyn. “I’ve had a complaint brought to me against you.”

  “Indeed, my liege?” Oggyn turned white around the mouth. “I trust it’s no great matter.”

  “It was to those who brought the complaint. The cook tells me that you had a talk with her.”

  “My liege!” Oggyn tried to laugh, but his voice choked. “How obnoxious of the vulgar little woman, to trouble you!”

  “My wife brought her to me, actually.”

  “Uh, well, then, of course it would be her right—”

  “Hold your tongue,” Maryn snapped. “Less flattery, more truth. She told me that you tried to extort coin and favors out of the servants for the leavings from my table.”

  Oggyn went well and truly pale. Nevyn almost felt sorry for him, pinned by the prince’s cold stare as he was.

  “I’ll not have any more of that,” Maryn said. “Do you understand me?”

  “I do, my liege.”

  “The servants are welcome to eat what they wish after the noble-born have been served. That’s how it was in Cerrmor, and that’s how it shall be here. Is this clear?”

  “It is, Your Highness.”

  “Splendid!” All at once Maryn laughed. “If you don’t mend your grasping ways, Oggyn lad, I’ll have Maddyn sing his little song about you to the entire great hall.”

  Oggyn’s pallor vanished in a flush of red. He tried to speak, failed, swallowed hard, and finally forced out the words. “My liege, you know about that, then?”

  “I do.” Maryn was grinning at him. “My lady told me of it, and I had Maddyn play it for me, but in my private quarters. Don’t look so wretched, Oggyn. Mend your ways, and I’ll never mention a word of this again.”

  “I assure you, Your Highness, I will. My word—” Oggyn stopped, gulping, gasping, and at last sighing instead of speaking the more.

  �
�Your assurance and your word are all I need.” Maryn rose, glancing Nevyn’s way. “I’ll leave you now, good Councillors. Don’t rise on my account, and stay by the fire as long as you like.”

  The prince strode out of the chamber. As soon as the door closed behind him, Oggyn dropped his face to his hands and wept.

  “Here, here,” Nevyn said, as gently as he could manage. “The prince will keep his word, you know. No one else will ever hear of this.”

  Oggyn raised his head, snivelling. Nevyn fished in his brigga pocket, found a rag, and tossed it to him. Oggyn wiped his face and blew his nose, then crumpled the rag in one fat fist.

  “It matters not,” Oggyn said. “The prince has heard of it, and that’s the worst thing of all. One of these days, I’ll find a way to settle with that wretched bard. I know not how, but I will.”

  He threw the rag into the fire. It caught and flared into a sheet of ash.

  “Taking revenge on a silver dagger is a dangerous thing,” Nevyn said quietly. “I think me you’d best be content with the prince’s forgiveness and let the matter die.”

  Oggyn turned and looked at him with eyes that revealed nothing. “Perhaps you’re right,” the councillor said. “Indeed, no doubt you are right.”

  Nevyn knew that he was lying, but he could do nothing one way or another but keep an eye on Oggyn and his scheming. He won’t dare cross me, Nevyn thought, knowing what I know. Still, later that day he had a private word with Maddyn and warned him to be on his guard.

  “Oh, I’ve never trusted Slimy Oggo,” Maddyn said, “not from the day I met the man. But mayhap I’d best forget that flyting song. He may be a hound, but hounds can bite as hard as wolves.”

  For some while Bellyra had been unusually tired. Life in Dun Deverry, she reminded herself, was a good bit more difficult than in Dun Cerrmor. The autumn nights felt as cold as full winter did down by the sea. The dark stones and the vast disorder of stairways and towers, paths and unexpected walls, at times seemed half-alive, as if the very dun were a ghost, waiting for its chance to suck life from the living. No doubt she felt tired for all sorts of such reasons. She told herself that daily.