The Fire Dragon. Katharine Kerr

both hands and shook him like a rat whilst Branoic pounded on his enemy’s back. For a moment they swayed back and forth like drunken men; then Owaen tripped, and they both fell. Clasped in each other’s arms they rolled around on the cobbles while they swore and kicked and punched each other. All Maddyn could do was dance around them and try to make himself heard.

      ‘Stop it!’ Maddyn was screaming. ‘Not in front of the princess! You cursed hounds, stop it!’

      ‘Here!’ It was Nevyn, running with all the speed and grace of a young man. ‘What – by Lord of Hell!’

      Nevyn flung up one hand, then snapped it down with the gesture of a man throwing dice. Silvery-blue flames shot from his fingers and struck the cobbles with a crack like thunder and a burst of light. With a yelp the two wrestlers broke their holds and rolled a little way apart. Owaen sat up, rubbing his right eye which was swelling shut. Maddyn darted forward and grabbed Branoic to keep him off his prey, but Branoic made no objection. He sat up, rested briefly, then got up and stood rubbing his bloody, bruised knuckles while he panted for breath. Owaen scrambled up after him. Dirt and muck smeared their white shirts and the rest of them as well.

      ‘There,’ Nevyn said mildly. ‘That’s better. Now what’s all this?’

      ‘Prince Maryn gave Branoic his grant of land and letters patent today,’ Maddyn said. ‘He gave Branoic the right to use eagles for his blazon.’

      ‘And?’ Nevyn said. ‘Oh wait. The feud. Ye gods, lads! When did it start? Over ten years ago at least!’

      Branoic nodded, staring at the ground. Owaen started to speak, then suddenly turned to Bellyra and knelt. Blood ran down his cheeks. His face was so pale that it reminded her of a fish’s belly.

      ‘My apologies, your highness,’ Owaen stammered. ‘For losing my temper like this in front of you. I meant no insult. Ye gods, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?’

      If she didn’t, Bellyra realized, Prince Maryn would have him flogged.

      ‘Of course I forgive you,’ she said hastily. ‘Do get up, Owaen! Branoic, I forgive you too. But I’d much prefer to never see such again.’

      ‘My lady is too generous.’ Branoic ducked his head in her direction. ‘I’ll do my best not to shame myself in front of her again.’

      ‘Good. Don’t. And now you owe me an explanation. What eagles?’

      ‘It was my father’s blazon, your highness,’ Branoic said. ‘Not that I was ever a legitimate son of his. But when I joined the silver daggers, Owaen had me take it off my gear. It looked like his mark, says he – that falcon he puts on everything he owns.’

      Owaen crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at the cobbles.

      ‘And now my husband’s given you an eagle blazon?’ Bellyra thought for a moment. ‘Well, make them a different colour. That’s what the heralds did with the wyvern device, isn’t it? The usurper’s clan used green for theirs, and so we took the same wyvern but made it red.’

      ‘My lady is as clever as she is beautiful.’ Nevyn said. ‘Branoic?’

      ‘A wise thought, your highness, and do it I will. Here. Owaen’s falcon is red. What if I have a silver eagle? And I can have the heralds turn its head in the opposite direction, too.’

      ‘Owaen?’ Nevyn turned to the captain.

      ‘That will suit, my lord.’ Owaen looked up at last. ‘My apologies to you again, your highness.’

      Bellyra collected her pages with a wave and turned to go. In the doorway to the main broch Lilli stood shading her eyes with one hand while she watched the scene in the ward. Yet when she saw Bellyra looking her way, she spun around and ran, disappearing into the shadows inside. Poor child! the princess thought. She’s still terrified of me, and here I would have liked her so much if only she weren’t Maryn’s mistress.

      ‘You’ve both had a silver dagger’s luck,’ Maddyn said. ‘The prince could have had you both flogged for this, fighting out in the ward like a pair of drunken bondmen.’

      ‘True-spoken,’ Owaen mumbled. He was gingerly exploring his injured eye with dirty fingers. ‘I didn’t know the princess would be right there.’

      ‘You might have looked.’ Maddyn turned to Branoic. ‘You, too.’

      Branoic shrugged and refused to look at him.

      ‘Owaen?’ Nevyn put in. ‘You’d better stop poking at that eye. Let the chirurgeon look at it. Tell him I said to make you up a poultice to draw the swelling off.’

      ‘I will.’ Owaen hesitated, then turned on his heel and strode off.

      ‘Very well, lads,’ Nevyn said. ‘I’d best be getting back to my chamber. I –’ He stopped at the sight of Lilli, trotting across the cobblestones towards them. ‘So you’ve come down? No doubt you’re worried about your betrothed.’

      ‘I am, my lord,’ Lilli said, ‘if you’ll forgive me.’

      ‘Of course. The memory work can wait till later.’

      Nevyn left Branoic in Lilli’s care and strode across the ward to the side broch that housed his tower room. He wondered if Lilli realized that Branoic had as much of a gift for dweomer as she did. Once the wars were done, and they married, he was planning on teaching both of them. Normally a dweomermaster could take only one apprentice at a time, but the circumstances were hardly normal. He owed Branoic a deep debt from an earlier life, when the person who was a burly silver dagger now had been not only a woman, but Nevyn’s betrothed, Brangwen. I failed her so badly then, he thought. May the Great Ones grant that I may redeem myself now! Yet even though the thought carried the force of a prayer, no omen came to him, as if the matter lay beyond the power of the Great Ones to control.

      Up in the big half-round room of the women’s hall, warmth and comfort reigned. When Bellyra walked in, her maidservant took her cloak, curtsied, and hurried off to the bedchamber. Near the hearth, where a fire crackled, the princess’s serving women rose to greet her. Through the wickerwork partition that separated the hall from the sleeping rooms, she could hear the nursemaid’s voice, singing the two little princes to sleep for their nap.

      ‘Your highness, you look exhausted,’ Degwa said. ‘Do you think it’s wise, the way you climb around the towers and suchlike?’

      ‘Most unwise, I’m sure,’ Bellyra said. ‘But it’s better than brooding about the baby and wondering what’s going to happen to me once it’s born.’

      Degwa winced. Bellyra took her usual chair close to the fire, but she sat spraddled, propped up by cushions. Degwa sat opposite. Elyssa brought a cushioned stool for the princess’s feet, then fetched a chair for herself and placed it beside.

      ‘My poor highness!’ Degwa said. You look so uncomfortable.’

      ‘I am,’ Bellyra said. ‘And tired, too.’

      ‘It’s all that climbing around in the dun,’ Elyssa joined in. ‘Do you truly think you should, my lady?’

      ‘You could quite wear yourself out,’ Degwa said.

      ‘You’re both right enough,’ Bellyra said. ‘But it gets tedious, sitting around all day. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I finish my book.’

      ‘That troubles me, truly,’ Elyssa said. ‘But mayhap you’ll think up another one. About the Holy City itself, say.’

      ‘It’s the oldest place in all Deverry, after all,’ Degwa put in. ‘There must be splendid tales about it.’

      ‘And all the legends, too,’ Elyssa went on. ‘About King Bran and how he saw the white sow and all of that. It would make a lovely beginning.’

      ‘Now there’s a good idea!’ Bellyra suddenly smiled. She could just see how to do the opening pages. ‘My thanks.’