The Fire Dragon

Degwa blushed again. She was no longer a lass, but certainly not an old woman, though she’d been widowed for many years now. With her dark curly hair and fine dark eyes, she was attractive, as well, despite her weak mouth and weaker chin.

‘I’ll take pity on you, Decci,’ Elyssa said smiling, ‘and talk of somewhat else. Speaking of jewellery reminds me, your highness. I met Otho the smith down in the great hall this morning, after you’d left. He asked for news of you and sends his humble greetings.’

‘How kind of him. I hope you told him I was well.’

‘I did.’

‘Good. I’ve always had an easy time of it with the babies. Until afterwards.’

‘Oh, don’t!’ Elyssa leaned over and laid her hand on Bellyra’s arm. ‘Don’t think about it. Just don’t.’

‘You’re right. I’ll try not to.’

Bellyra wasn’t able to say why this mention of Otho gave her the idea, but it occurred to her that afternoon to give Maddyn a token of some sort, a little trinket such as queens often bestowed upon favoured courtiers, to take to the wars and bring him luck. That evening, she had Otho summoned and met him outside the door to the women’s hall, while her serving women stood with her for propriety’s sake.

‘I want to give my bard a pin to match that silver ring,’ Bellyra told the smith. ‘One with a rose design.’

‘Easy enough to do, your highness,’ Otho said. ‘I’ve still got a bit of silver left over from the – er well, let’s just say I found it, like, after your husband took Dun Deverry.’

‘I don’t want to know any details.’

‘Just as well, your highness. I’ll get right to work on that.’

‘My thanks, good smith.’

All smiles, Otho bowed, then stumped down the corridor to the stairway. Degwa waited till he was well out of earshot.

‘Your bard, your highness?’ Degwa raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, my husband’s, truly, but then, my husband was the one who set him guarding me.’

‘Of course.’ All at once Degwa blushed. ‘Er, ah, I’ll just see if the servant girls have swept out your chamber. I asked them rather a long while ago, and they’d best have done it properly.’

Degwa turned and rushed back into the women’s hall. Bellyra and Elyssa exchanged a weary smile, then followed her inside.

On a wet chilly morning Prince Maryn and his councillors assembled in the main ward. With them stood young Prince Riddmar, Maryn’s half-brother, who would receive the Cerrmor rhan when Maryn became king. He was a lean child, Riddmar, blond and grey-eyed like his brother, with the same sunny smile. At Nevyn’s urging, Maryn had taken the boy on as an apprentice in the craft of ruling. Riddmar accompanied the prince everywhere these days, listening and watching as Maryn prepared to claim the high kingship of all Deverry.

This particular morning Maryn was sending off a message to the rebel lord, Braemys. For one last time the prince was offering him a pardon if he would only swear fealty – a small price, in the eyes of the prince and his councillors both. Gavlyn, the leader of the prince’s heralds, knelt at Maryn’s feet; he would be taking this message himself, rather than entrusting it to one of his men.

‘His guards are waiting by the gates, my liege,’ Nevyn said. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of providing our herald with an escort. The roads aren’t safe.’

‘I thought Braemys had taken all the bandits into his army,’ Maryn said.

‘He offered. Who knows how many took him up on it?’

‘A good point. They may be as suspicious of him as he is of me.’

‘True spoken.’ Nevyn held up the long silver tube containing the prince’s message and waved it vaguely at the sky. ‘I’d pray to the gods and ask them to make him take your pardon, but it would be a waste of breath.’

A fortnight later Nevyn’s remark proved true when the herald returned. After the noon meal Nevyn was sitting at the table of honour with the two princes when Gavlyn strode into the great hall, still carrying his beribboned staff. Maryn rose and beckoned him over.

‘I’m too impatient to send a page to summon him,’ Maryn remarked, grinning. ‘Once I’m king I’ll have to mind my formalities, I suppose.’

Nevyn nodded his agreement but said nothing. He was watching Gavlyn make his way through the crowded tables. Gavlyn walked fast, snapping at any servants in his path; he was scowling, Nevyn realized, more furious than he’d ever seen the man. As he passed, the men at each table fell silent so that it seemed he worked some dweomer spell to turn them all mute as he passed. By the time he reached the table of honour, the entire great hall, riders, servants, even the dogs, sat waiting in a deathly stillness to hear his news. When he started to kneel, Maryn waved him up.

‘Stand, if you’d not mind it,’ the prince said. ‘Your voice will carry better.’

‘Very well, my liege.’ Gavlyn turned towards the waiting crowd and cleared his throat.

Maryn picked up his tankard of ale and took a casual sip. Gavlyn raised his staff.

‘Lord Braemys, regent to Lwvan, Gwerbret Cantrae in his minority, sends his greetings and this message,’ Gavlyn paused, as if steadying himself. ‘He says: my ward, Lwvan of the Boar clan, is the closest living kin of King Olaen, once rightful high king of all Deverry, now dead, murdered by the usurper or mayhap his men. Therefore Lwvan, Gwerbret Cantrae, is the true heir to Dun Deverry. Lord Braemys requests that Maryn, Gwerbret Cerrmor, keep the holding in good order till Lwvan rides to claim it at Beltane.’

Maryn’s hand tightened so hard on the tankard that his knuckles went white. ‘Is there any more?’ Maryn’s voice held steady.

‘None, my liege. I thought it quite enough.’

Gavlyn lowered the staff and pounded it once upon the floor. His audience burst out talking and rage flooded the great hall. The riders were cursing and swearing, the servants gabbled together, the message went round and round, repeated in disbelief. With a final bow, Gavlyn left the prince’s presence. Maryn rose, glanced at Nevyn, then strode off, heading for the staircase. Young Riddmar got up and ran after him. More slowly Nevyn followed, and Oggyn joined him at the foot of the stairs.

‘The gall,’ Oggyn snapped. ‘My prince –’

Maryn pushed past him and started up, taking the stairs two at a time, too fast for Riddmar to keep up. Nevyn let Oggyn and the boy go ahead of him and paused, glancing around the crowd. He finally saw Owaen and Maddyn, standing at the rider’s hearth. Getting their attention was even harder, but at last Maddyn did look his way.

‘You and Owaen!’ Nevyn called out. ‘Come with me!’

They found the prince in the council chamber, standing at the head of a long table with Oggyn to one side. Afternoon sun spread over the polished wood and gilded the parchment maps lying upon it. In one smooth motion Maryn drew his table dagger and stabbed it into a map, right through the mark that signified Cantrae.

‘That arrogant little pissproud bastard,’ Maryn said, his voice still level. ‘I’ll have his head on a pike for this.’

No one spoke. With a shrug the prince pulled his dagger free and sheathed it, then turned to them with his usual sunny smile.

‘No doubt Lord Braemys planned to vex me,’ Maryn said. ‘An angry man takes foolish risks.’

‘Just so, my liege.’ Oggyn bowed to him. ‘Most well said.’

‘What gripes my soul the hardest,’ Maryn went on, ‘was that reference to poor little Olaen. Ye gods, if I ever find the man who murdered that child, I’ll hang him!’

Nevyn turned his attention to Oggyn, who was struggling to keep his face bland and composed despite it being beaded with sweat. Fortunately for Oggyn, Prince Maryn turned away and started for the door.

‘I need some time alone, good councillors,’ Maryn said, ‘to compose myself. We shall hold council later this afternoon.’

The door slammed behind him. When Riddmar started after, Nevyn caught the lad by the shoulder and kept him back. Oggyn caught his breath with a sob that drew him a curious look from the young prince.

‘Ah er well,’ Oggyn said, ‘I never know what to say when his highness flies into one of his tempers. I’ll confess it frightens me.’

‘Me, too,’ Riddmar said.

‘He does it so rarely, is why,’ Nevyn said. ‘Well, silver daggers, I’m sorry I took you away from your meal. Prince Riddmar? I suggest you go with your brother’s captains.’

‘I will, my lord,’ Riddmar said. ‘Owaen’s teaching me swordcraft, anyway. We could have a lesson.’

‘Good idea,’ Owaen said. ‘Maddo, come on.’

The silver daggers left, taking the boy with them. Once the door had shut behind them, Oggyn crumpled into a chair and covered his white face with both hands. ‘If he had let little Olaen live,’ he said into his palms, ‘the wars would never have ended.’

‘I know that as well as you do,’ Nevyn said.

With a groan Oggyn lowered his hands and stared at the floor. Nevyn itched to point out that Oggyn should have talked the prince round to a legal execution rather than poisoning the lad, but he held his tongue. He had chosen to keep silence at the time. Breaking it now would be unbearably self-righteous.

‘We’d best get back to the great hall,’ Nevyn said. ‘We both have our duties to attend to.’

In her sunny chamber, Lilli was sitting at her table and studying the dweomer book when the prince strode in. He slammed the door, then stood leaning against it with his hands behind his back. He’d set his mouth tight, and his eyes had turned as cold as storm clouds. Lilli shut the book and rose to curtsey to him.

‘What troubles your heart, my prince?’

‘Your cursed cousin, Braemys.’ Maryn paused, looking her over with cold eyes. ‘Your betrothed.’

‘He’s no longer my betrothed.’

‘He was once. What I wonder is if he ever claimed his rights.’

‘Never! I never bedded him.’

‘Unlike –’ Maryn broke the saying off.

His eyes had turned cold as steel in winter. Involuntarily Lilli took a step back. He neither moved nor spoke, merely studied her face as if he would flay it to see the soul beneath.

‘Were you happy when they betrothed you?’ Maryn said at last.

‘He was better than the other choice my uncles gave me, was all. Uncle Tibryn wanted to marry me off to Lord Nantyn.’

At that Maryn relaxed. ‘If I were a lass,’ he said, ‘I’d marry a kitchen lad before I’d marry Nantyn.’

‘And so would I have.’

‘No doubt Braemys looked like a prince by comparison.’ Maryn pried himself off the door and walked over to her. ‘But he’s refusing my offer of fealty.’

‘I was rather afraid he would.’

‘Me, too. Of course.’

Maryn hesitated, considering her, then put his hands either side of her face. ‘Do you love me, Lilli?’

‘I do.’

‘With all your heart?’

‘Of course.’

Maryn bent his head and kissed her. Lilli slipped her arms around his neck and let him take another. When they were together, it seemed to her that she’d never loved anyone or anything as much as she loved her prince.

‘Can you stay for a while?’ she whispered. ‘Please?’

‘I shouldn’t. I meant to ask you about Braemys, is all. Ye gods, I feel half-mad at times, when I think of you.’

For a moment she nearly wept, simply because he was leaving, but he bent his head and kissed her.

‘I’ll return in the evening, my lady,’ he whispered. ‘Hold me in your heart till then.’

Before Lilli could speak he turned and ran out of the room. The door slammed so hard behind him that it trembled. Despite the spring sun pouring in the window, she felt cold. It’s like I’m half-mad too, she thought. All at once she no longer wanted to be alone.

Lilli left her chamber and headed for the kitchen hut out back of the broch complex. Since she was terrified of meeting Bellyra face to face, she’d taken to begging her meals from the cook at odd moments of the day, but the only way out of the central broch lay through the great hall. Lilli paused on the spiral stairs, saw no sign of Bellyra, then crept down, keeping to the shadows near the wall. When she reached the last step, Degwa trotted up, so preoccupied that she nearly ran into Lilli. On the serving woman’s dress gleamed a silver brooch, set with glass.

‘Pardon,’ Degwa said briskly.

‘Granted,’ Lilli said. ‘How fares the princess?’

Degwa looked elsewhere and flounced off without saying a word more. Lilli choked back tears and rushed outside. She was hoping to find Nevyn in his chamber, but just as she reached the side broch she met him coming out, dressed in his best grey brigga and a clean shirt.

‘What’s so wrong?’ Nevyn said. ‘You look ill.’

‘I feel ill,’ Lilli said. ‘But not from my wretched lungs, my lord. It was only a woman’s matter. I don’t want to keep you. I can see you’re off on some important business or suchlike.’

‘I just came back from a visit to the temple of Bel, if you mean these fancy clothes. Now – what’s so wrong?’

‘It’s Degwa. She just snubbed me in the great hall, but that’s not the worst of it. Have you noticed the brooch she’s wearing today?’

‘I did at that.’ Nevyn looked puzzled. ‘What of it?’

‘It belonged to my mother.’

Nevyn pursed his lips as if he were going to whistle.

‘Someone must have looted it when the siege ended,’ Lilli went on. ‘And then given it to Decci.’

‘I’ll wager I know who it was,’ Nevyn said. ‘Councillor Oggyn kept a number of your mother’s things. He returned the dweomer book to me, but no doubt he kept whatever else he looted. Do you want the brooch back?’

‘I don’t, but do you think it might be cursed or suchlike?’

‘It might, at that. It’s a nasty thing to speak ill of the dead, but I fear me your mother brings out the worst in me. There are certain workings that can charge an ordinary thing as if it were a talisman. That blasted curse tablet is just such a thing, as no doubt you realize. Your mother might well have set a weaker spell on her jewellery to do harm to any who might steal it.’

‘I see. But I don’t dare ask Decci for it.’

‘Of course not. Leave it to me, but I can’t do it immediately. I’m going to attend upon the prince for a brief while. We’ll be writing out the formal declaration of the summer’s fighting. Tomorrow at dawn the messengers go out to announce the muster.’

‘I see.’ For a moment Lilli felt like vomiting out of simple terror. ‘Oh ye gods, I hope this summer sees the end to it.’

‘So do I.’ Nevyn sighed with a toss of his head. ‘So do I.’

The prince had sent out the call for his vassals to muster for war so often that the meeting went swiftly. Nevyn suggested a final flourish of words, the scribe wrote out the first copy, Nevyn read it aloud, and the prince approved it. Nevyn and Maryn left the scribes at their work of copying the message several dozen times and strolled together out in the ward. The sun was hanging low in the sky and sending a tangle of shadows over the cobbles, and the warm day was turning pleasantly cool. Prince and councillor climbed up to the catwalks that circled the main wall of the inner ward and leaned onto it, looking down the long slope of the grassy hill.

‘I need your advice on somewhat,’ Maryn said. ‘I didn’t want to ask publicly and embarrass the lad, but it’s about young Riddmar.’

‘Let me guess. He wants to ride to war with us.’

‘Just that.’ Maryn turned his head and grinned at him. ‘I like his spirit, but I don’t want him dead before he’s barely grown.’

‘A very good point, your highness. We need him in Cerrmor. In fact, I suggest you tell him just that.’

‘His safety’s too important to the continuing peace in the kingdom? Somewhat like that?’

‘Exactly. It has the virtue of being true. I remember you at about the same age. Whenever someone told you you were too young to do a thing, you wanted to do it three times as badly.’

Maryn nodded, smiling in a rueful sort of way. ‘My old tutor’s still giving me grand advice,’ he said at last. ‘My thanks.’

‘Most welcome, I’m sure. I have to confess that I’m not looking forward to riding out, myself.’

‘Doubtless not. I’ll be glad of the distraction.’

‘Distraction?’

Maryn leaned onto the top of the wall and looked out into nothing. Nevyn waited, considered asking again, then decided that Maryn would tell him about his troubles in his own good time.

When he left the prince, Nevyn went straight to the women’s hall, which his great age allowed him to enter. He was lucky enough to find Bellyra alone, sitting on a chair at the window. She’d put her feet up on a footstool and sat spraddled with her hands resting on her swollen belly.

‘You’re going to have that child soon, from the look of it,’ Nevyn said.

‘The midwife says another turning of the moon, at least – I’d wager on two, myself. It’s so big it must be another beastly son. Do sit down, Nevyn. What brings you to me?’

Nevyn perched on the wide stone of the window sill. ‘Where’s Degwa at the moment?’ he said.

‘I don’t know. If you’ll summon a page, I’ll have him look for her.’

‘No need. I wanted to talk with you about her, you see. Or rather, about that brooch Councillor Oggyn gave her.’

‘You’ve seen that? It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?’

‘It also belonged to Lady Merodda.’

‘Who? Oh, wait – you mean the sorceress who poisoned people.’ Bellyra hesitated briefly. ‘Lilli’s mother.’

‘Just so. I hate to bring Lilli up –’

‘Don’t apologize! I’m truly sorry I got so angry with her. It’s hardly her fault. Maryn’s very charming, and she’s very young.’ She leaned her head against the high back of the chair and seemed to be studying the ceiling beams. ‘Men are just like that, I suppose.’

Nevyn made a non-committal noise.

‘But about that brooch.’ Bellyra looked at him again. ‘Does Lilli want it back?’

‘Not in the least. I’m just afraid there might be a curse upon it.’

‘Like that other wretched thing? The lead tablet?’

‘Somewhat like that. Not as strong, surely, but even a little evil is too much. I can probably break it, the spell I mean, if Lady Degwa will let me have it for a night or so. That is, if it truly is ensorceled.’

Nevyn had his chance to examine the brooch in but a little while, when Degwa returned to the women’s hall with a basket of fresh-baked bread and a bowl of butter for the princess. She curtsied to Nevyn as well as she could with her hands full, then set her burdens down on a small table near Bellyra’s chair.

‘Would you like some of this bread, Lord Nevyn?’ Degwa said.

‘I wouldn’t, but my thanks.’

Degwa drew her table dagger and began to cut a chunk off the round loaf. ‘Your highness? It’s quite warm and nice.’

‘It smells wonderful,’ Bellyra said. ‘Slather on the butter, please. Don’t spare it.’

Degwa smiled and did as she’d been asked. Once the princess had her chunk of bread, Degwa pulled up another chair and sat down, facing Nevyn.

‘Her highness is looking quite well,’ Nevyn said. ‘You and Elyssa are taking splendid care of her.’

‘My thanks, my lord. We do try.’

‘Despite my nasty habit of climbing all over the dun?’ Bellyra joined in, smiling.

‘Er, well, your highness, I wouldn’t call it nasty. Worrisome, mayhap.’

Bellyra laughed and took another bite of bread.

‘That’s a lovely brooch,’ Nevyn said to Degwa. ‘May I see it?’

‘Certainly.’ Degwa unpinned it. ‘It was a gift from an admirer.’

When she handed it over, Nevyn examined it: a flat riband of silver, twisted into a knot and set with two pieces of ruby-red glass. The feel of it bothered him, and while the two women chatted, he opened his dweomer sight. Although metals have no auras, of course, it exuded a faint greyish mist, particularly thick around the glass sets. When he turned it over, he saw a small mark graved at one end of the band: the letter A, the first letter of the word for boar. He’d seen it used before as a clan mark for the Boars of Cantrae.

Although he disliked the idea of spoiling Degwa’s pleasure in the gift, he valued her safety more. He shut down the dweomer sight.

‘How very odd,’ Nevyn said. ‘This seems to have belonged to Lilli’s mother at one time.’

‘What, my lord?’ Degwa leaned forward. ‘How can you tell?’

‘Her mark is on the back. It’s quite small.’

Degwa took the brooch back and made a great show of looking for the mark, but like most women of her class, she’d weakened her eyes with long years of fine needlework. At length she gave it up with a shrug.

‘Well, if you say so, my lord,’ she said, and her disappointment trembled her voice. ‘I do wish it hadn’t. We’ve heard far too much about that woman from the servants since we’ve been here.’

‘I could be wrong,’ Nevyn said. ‘Would you mind if I took it to show Lilli? She’ll know for certain.’

‘If it has the Boar mark upon it, I shan’t want it.’ Degwa held it up, then tossed it to Nevyn. ‘Have the silversmith melt it down, for all I care.’

‘Now here,’ Bellyra joined in. ‘It’s still lovely, and Oggyn –’

‘I shall talk to the councillor about this,’ Degwa said. ‘I must say it doesn’t speak well of the man, that he’d give a woman friend a gift of battle loot and from her long sworn enemies at that.’

‘Oh come now,’ Bellyra said. ‘I’ve got lots of lovely things that Maryn got in ransom from some lord or another.’

‘I assure her highness that I meant no insult.’ Degwa turned slightly pink in the cheeks. ‘But I’d rather not accept cast-off jewellery from the Boar clan’s stye.’

With that Degwa got up and swept out, leaving Nevyn with the brooch. When the door slammed behind her, he winced.

‘My apologies, your highness,’ Nevyn said. ‘I seem to have botched that thoroughly.’

‘Better than letting her wear a thing with a curse on it,’ Bellyra said. ‘I take it, it must be cursed, or you wouldn’t have made up that story about wanting Lilli to see it.’

‘Just so. That’s what I get for lying.’

‘Not exactly lying. Stretching a point, mayhap. But poor Decci! She’s really quite demented when it comes to the Boars.’

That evening, when Nevyn was leaving the great hall after dinner, Oggyn followed him out, pulling on his beard and harrumphing under his breath. They walked a little way out into the open ward, where they couldn’t be overheard.

‘A word with you, if I may,’ Oggyn said.

‘Certainly. Did Degwa tell you about the brooch?’

‘She most assuredly did. I fear me I’ve greatly displeased her.’

Although Nevyn was expecting the councillor to be angry with him, in the twilight Oggyn looked mostly miserable. He shoved his hands into his brigga pockets and kicked at a loose cobblestone with the toe of his boot.

‘I’m sorry,’ Nevyn said. ‘But the brooch has some sort of spell on it, and she couldn’t go on wearing it.’

‘By the gods! I never thought of that.’ Oggyn looked up sharply. ‘That Merodda woman –’

‘Exactly. After this, if I might make a suggestion, could you consult with me before you give away any more of the lady’s possessions? They’re yours by right of conquest, but just in case –’

‘I understand, never fear! I’ll do that.’ Oggyn sighed heavily. ‘The true trouble is, I’m always short up for coin, and even if I had any, where would I find the smith to make Lady Degwa some new trinket?’

‘Otho is quite a bit more skilled than any Cerrmor silversmith.’

‘I do not traffic with silver daggers.’ Oggyn’s voice turned cold. ‘Good eve. My thanks for the warning.’

Oggyn turned on his heel and strode away, head held high. Ye gods! Nevyn thought. A matched pair!

Nevyn took the brooch up to Lilli’s chamber, where he found her sitting at her table. In front of her the open dweomer book lay in a pool of candlelight from a silver candelabra.

‘Is this enough light for you to read?’ Nevyn said.

‘Not truly.’ Lilli paused to rub her eyes with both hands. ‘It’s given me a bit of a headache.’ She shut the book and put it to one side. ‘What brings you to me?’

‘I thought you might want to see this brooch. It does have some sort of weak warding spell upon it.’

When he laid it upon the table, Lilli leaned forward to study it, but she left her hands in her lap. ‘I remember my mother wearing that,’ she said at length. ‘It was a gift from Uncle Tibryn.’

‘Can you see the dweomer upon it?’

‘I can. It looks like grease, dirty kitchen grease.’

‘Ah. I see it as a sort of grey mist. Do you remember what I told you about dark dweomer casting shadows?’

‘I do. And how the shadows will look different to different minds. It’s a good thing you got this away from Degwa. It must be nasty, though I can’t say what it would have done.’

‘No more can I, but let’s be rid of it.’

Nevyn raised one hand above his hand, then summoned the silver light. In his mind he saw it flow down from the astral like a trickle of water. He concentrated on the image, focused it, strengthened it with his imagination, then with a simple word of power brought it through to the physical. It swirled around his hand and burned like a torch, though without smoke. He heard Lilli gasp and knew she’d seen it.

‘Begone!’ Nevyn snapped his hand down and pointed at the brooch. Silver fire poured over silver metal, then vanished.

‘It’s lifted!’ Lilli said. ‘The shadow, I mean.’

‘Good. It was a weak spell, so it cost very little to banish it. Unlike that wretched curse tablet.’

‘Just so.’ Lilli reached for the brooch, then stopped. ‘May I?’

‘By all means. Do you want it back? Degwa refuses to have it, since it once belonged to the Boar clan.’

Lilli picked up the brooch and held it up to the candle-light. It gleamed as if it had been newly polished with ash and river sand. Most likely Merodda had cast the spell herself, Nevyn decided. Creating the curse tablet, however, had lain beyond her skill. Only a master of evil could have ensorceled that.

‘I think I do want it,’ Lilli said at last. ‘Not to wear, but to keep. There were times, you know, when I felt that my mother did love me. She gave me to Lady Bevyan to foster, and she made sure that Uncle Tibryn wouldn’t marry me off to Lord Nantyn, if naught else.’

‘Then keep it in remembrance of her better nature,’ Nevyn said. ‘Every soul has one, and it deserves a little honour.’

Five days after the call to muster, the first of Maryn’s vassals rode in to Dun Deverry. The gathering of the full contingent took some weeks, as Maryn’s most loyal – and most prosperous – vassals lived far to the south on the sea coast. With the lords and their warbands came carts, driven by servants and piled high with provisions, as each vassal owed Maryn not only men for his army but the food for three months’ campaigning – not such an easy thing to raise, here in the ravaged north. The long years of civil war had starved a good many farm families and killed their sons in battle as well.

As the fighting men arrived, Branoic started keeping a count by the twenties on a bit of smooth board, but when he got up to a thousand, he stopped. Councillor Oggyn would be doing a better job of it, as he remarked to Maddyn.

‘Just so,’ Maddyn said. ‘The prince must be happy to see such a good turnout.’

‘No doubt,’ Branoic said. ‘Well, we’re cursed near to the victory. That always inspires a little extra loyalty among the noble born.’

They shared a laugh. Since Maryn could not officially ennoble Branoic until he was proclaimed king, Branoic still lived among the silver daggers, and they were sitting together in the barracks on a blustery morning. As they talked, Branoic was polishing his mail shirt with a bit of rag. All around them other men were working on their gear: cleaning mail, replacing leather straps or wooden toggles wherever they needed fixing, talking together in low voices about the fighting ahead or boasting about their exploits of the summer past.

‘Are you looking forward to riding out?’ Maddyn said.

‘Not truly,’ Branoic said. ‘Odd of me. I used to be eager enough to get free of winter quarters.’

‘Well, you’ve got somewhat to stay for now.’

‘Lilli, you mean?’ Branoic concentrated on threading the rag through a rusty ring. ‘If our prince ever lets her go.’

Maddyn said nothing for a long moment. Branoic looked up to find him solemn.

‘He promised you,’ the bard said at length, ‘that you’d be wed once he had the victory. Our prince doesn’t break his promises.’

‘He’s never done it before.’ Branoic paused, groping for words. ‘But it’s like he’s half-mad or somewhat. Lilli tells me he’s starting to frighten her. He’s jealous, like, and all the time.’

Maddyn muttered something foul under his breath.

‘And him with his own lady, as beautiful and sweet as ever a man could want.’ Branoic felt his bitterness rise in his throat like bile. ‘It gripes my soul, Maddo lad, if you don’t mind me saying it.’

‘Not at all.’ Maddyn seemed to be measuring each word. ‘His lady’s devoted to him, as well.’

‘She is that.’ Branoic was about to continue his tirade, but he could see that Maddyn looked oddly distracted – no doubt all this talk of women was boring him. ‘Ah well, I don’t mean to croak like a frog, the same blasted chorus over and over. We made our bargain, the prince and me, and I’ve no call to be thinking he’ll break it till he does.’

Maddyn was about to reply, but from outside they suddenly heard shouting and cheers. Owaen got up and went to look out the window. ‘It’s Glasloc!’ he called out. ‘Gwerbret Daeryc’s held loyal to the prince!’

The silver daggers cheered as well, whether anyone could hear them or not, then went back to their work. Maddyn, however, neither spoke nor moved, merely sat staring out at nothing.

‘Here,’ Branoic said, ‘are you ill?’

‘In a way, truly.’ Maddyn turned to him with an odd twisted smile. ‘In a way.’

Once again Branoic wondered if he was understanding what Maddyn meant. Since his usual way of dealing with things he couldn’t understand was to shrug them off, he changed the subject.