A Time of Omens. Katharine Kerr

chewed over the problems involved in getting Maryn to Cerrmor, Maddyn stared fascinated at the map in the flaring candlelight. Although he couldn’t read, he could pick out the rivers and the mountains, the Canaver and the Cantrae hills where he’d lived his early life, the long rivers of central Deverry running down from the northern mountains, and finally, the Aver El, the river with the foreign name whose source lay in the lake just outside the window of the conference room.

      All the borders of the kingdoms and their provinces were there too, marked in red. Even without letters Maddyn could see that it was going to be a long ride and a dangerous one from Loc Drw down to Cerrmor. As long as the prince was in Pyrdon he was safe, but the Pyrdon border lay a good hundred miles from the border of the Cerrmor holdings. Part of his journey, therefore, would have to lie through hostile Cantrae lands.

      ‘It aches my heart that some enemy knows of Maryn’s Wyrd.’ Casyl’s voice brought Maddyn back to the present meeting. ‘What matters the most, of course, is where their lands are, and whether or not the prince is going to have to pass through them, though I can’t help wondering just who they are, and where their loyalties lie.’

      ‘I strongly suspect, my liege,’ Nevyn said, ‘that their loyalties lie only to themselves, but I’ll wager they’re not above selling information to whoever can buy it.’

      Caradoc nodded in a grim agreement.

      ‘There’s mercenary troops, and then there’s mercenary spies,’ the captain pronounced. ‘I’ve come across a few of the latter. Fit for raven food and naught else, they were. All the honour of stoats.’

      ‘If that’s the case,’ Casyl went on, ‘then I’ll wager the chief buyer for their foul goods is the king in Cantrae.’

      ‘Don’t forget, my liege, that Cerrmor is doubtless boiling over with intrigue at the moment,’ Nevyn said. ‘For a long while now there have been omens of the coming of the True King as well as much speculation as to his name. I’m sure that by now Maryn’s bloodlines are well known there. And then we’ll have a good many ambitious men who won’t see why the omens couldn’t apply to them or their sons – with the right trimming and fitting, that is.’

      ‘Just so.’ The king traced out the Pyrdon border with his fingertip. ‘There could be several different enemies laying for our prince. Here, Nevyn, do you know who’s regent down in Cerrmor? Or has the fighting over the throne already begun?’

      ‘I fear the latter, my liege, but I don’t truly know. If you’ll excuse me, I intend to find out.’

      The king nodded a dismissal, taking this hint of dweomer with a casual indifference. It was odd, Maddyn thought to himself, just how easily one did get used to dweomer, as if it were the natural order of things and a world without magic the aberration. Maryn was practically jigging where he stood in sheer excitement. Although Maddyn could sympathize – after all, the lad’s Wyrd lay close at hand – he was also worried, just because he could remember being fifteen and sure that he would never die, no matter what happened to other men. He knew better now, and he had no desire to see his prince learn as he had: the hard way. It seemed that the captain agreed with him.

      ‘If the Cantrae king comes out in force, my liege,’ Caradoc said. ‘There aren’t enough men in Pyrdon to keep our prince safe.’

      Casyl winced.

      ‘Forgive my bluntness, your highness, but –’

      ‘No apologies needed, captain. The point is both true and well-taken. What do you suggest? I can see that there’s somewhat on your mind.’

      ‘Well, my liege, maybe our enemies, whoever they are, know that the prince will be trying to reach Cerrmor, but they still have to find him on the road. I suggest that you send a troop of picked men, the sort you’d choose to guard the prince, down the east-running road. Then, a while later, we leave, heading toward Eldidd, say. The prince goes with us – as a silver dagger. Who looks in a dung heap for a jewel?’

      ‘Just so.’ Casyl nodded in slow admiration. ‘Just so, captain.’

      ‘Oh splendid!’ Maryn broke in. ‘I’ve always wanted to carry one of those daggers. Have you looked at one close up, Father? They’re truly beautiful.’

      ‘So they are.’ Casyl suppressed a smile. ‘One thing though, captain. I understand that you left Cerrmor in some disgrace. Will you be endangering yourself by returning?’

      ‘If I live that long, my liege, I suppose I will. Haven’t thought about all that in twelve, thirteen years, truly.’ He glanced at Maryn. ‘I suppose I could petition the True King for a pardon, if things came to that.’

      ‘You have my pardon already, captain.’ Maryn drew himself up to full height, and all at once they could see the man he’d be someday. ‘No doubt you’ll redeem yourself thrice over by the time I ride into Dun Deverry as king.’

      Abruptly Casyl turned away and paced over to the window. Maddyn was the only one who noticed that his liege’s eyes were full of tears.

      The next morning, Nevyn came out to the barracks and fetched Caradoc and Maddyn both for what he called a ‘little stroll’. They went down to the lake shore just outside the walls of the dun and sat down on the rocks right next to the water. For a moment Nevyn merely looked around him, but his eyes were so heavy-lidded and strange that Maddyn assumed the councillor was working some dweomer.

      ‘I think we should be safe here,’ Nevyn remarked, confirming his suspicions. ‘The presence of the water will act as a sort of shield, you see, from the wrong sort of prying eyes. Now then. Captain, I’ve received news from Cerrmor of a sort. The capital’s in an uproar, but it’s being torn apart by despair, not politicking. The only thing that’s keeping the Cerrmor side together is the regent, a certain Tieryn Elyc, an honourable man and a shrewd one, apparently, but even he hasn’t been able to stop a great many lords from switching their loyalties to Cantrae.’

      ‘Elyc? That’s not Elyc of Dai Aver, is it?’

      ‘The very one. You know him?’

      ‘Did once, a cursed long time ago now. If he hasn’t changed, he’s a decent sort, truly.’

      ‘Well and good, then. In theory he’s charged with running the kingdom until Glyn’s eldest daughter marries and has an heir, but I doubt me if he’ll be able to impose order for that many years.’

      ‘How old is the lass?’ Maddyn said.

      ‘Thirteen, just old enough to wed this year. Our prince will have to marry her, of course, and as soon as ever he can. I’ve no doubt that her mother will see reason if only we can get Maryn there. I’m told that everyone in the city lives in terror of anarchy.’

      ‘Then no doubt they’ll welcome him with shouting and flowers in their hair,’ Caradoc said. ‘Good.’

      ‘Perhaps, but first we have to get him there. I suggest we leave on the morrow.’

      Since Caradoc wanted to keep the plan as secret as possible, he and Maddyn told the other silver daggers that they were going to ride a raid on the Eldidd border to provide a distraction when the Marked Prince left for Cerrmor with his escort. No one thought to question the plan, which was a decent one in its way. In a chilly dawn Maryn and Nevyn made a great show of riding out with a hundred members of the king’s own guard and a wagon train filled with supplies and gifts for the Cerrmor lords. Ahead of them rode a herald holding the banner of Pyrdon. With them on the road went the king with an honour guard of his own – to escort them to the border, or so it was said. The queen wept openly; silver horns blared; the assembled populace cheered the young prince and his splendid Wyrd. Only Maddyn and Caradoc knew that hidden among the silver daggers’ supplies were shabby clothes and armour for Maryn, and that those coffers of gifts were empty.

      When the silver daggers assembled in the ward later that morning only their own women came to watch. As he kissed Clwna good-bye Maddyn felt a pang of guilt; she was expecting them all home in a week or two, while he knew that it would be months before they