Talidd left well before the evening meal with the remark that he had a better welcome nearby. He sounded so martyred, and so genuinely injured, that Nevyn felt like kicking him all the way out of the great hall. For Lovyans sake, he refrained. Instead he went up to look in on Donilla, who was by then resting in her own bed with the swaddled babe beside her. In some minutes Lovyan joined him there, her expression as placid as if shed never heard Talidds name, and made a few pleasantries to the younger woman. Nevyn left when she did, following her to the chamber in the suite that had been allotted to her on this visit. Although plain, it was obviously furnished with Dun Bruddlyns best; her cousin and his lady both had reason to be grateful for her gift of this demesne, as she remarked.
Although its turning out to be a troubled gift, sure enough, Nevyn said. I didnt realize Talidd felt so strongly.
Him and half the lords in the tierynrhyn. I knew thered be trouble when I gave it to Garedd, but thered have been trouble no matter what I did. Well, I suppose if Id apportioned it to you, no one would have grumbled, but you didnt want it, and so here we are.
Come now, Lovva! You almost make me feel guilty.
I like that almost. But truly, whenever an overlord has land to give, theres bound to be injured feelings. I only wish that Talidd didnt have a seat on the council. Ah ye gods, what a nasty thing this is becoming! Even if Rhyss wife did have a babe now, no one would believe it was his.
Just so. I
With a bang of the door and a gleeful howl of laughter, a child of about two came charging into the chamber with a nursemaid in pursuit. She was slender for her age, with a mop of curly, raven-dark hair and violet eyes, almost as dark a purple as an elfs all in all, a breathtakingly beautiful child. With a gurgle, she threw herself into Lovyans exalted lap.
Granna, Granna, love you, Granna.
And I love you, too, Rhodd-let, but youre being naughty and interrupting.
Rhodda twisted in her lap and looked solemnly at Nevyn. The family resemblance was profound.
Id almost forgotten about Rhodrys daughter. She certainly hasnt inherited her looks from her mothers side, has she?
None, but Maelwaedd blood tends to be strong, and Olwen, poor lass, was one of those blonde and bland sorts. Rhodrys bastard might have a very important role to play in what lies ahead, so I keep her with me at all times to supervise her upbringing, of course. For all her talk of political purposes, she kissed the top of the childs head with a genuine fondness, then motioned to the nursemaid. Now let Mistress Tevylla take you away and give you some bread and milk. Its almost time for bed.
Although Rhodda whined, begged, and finally howled, Lovyan held firm and scooped her up bodily to give her to her nurse, who was hovering by the chamber door. Nevyn hadnt truly noticed her before, but he saw now that she was a striking woman of about thirty, with dark hair, dark eyes and almost severely regular features. Once she and her small charge were gone, Nevyn asked about her.
Tevva? Lovyan said. A charming woman, and with a will of steel, which she needs around Rhodda, I assure you. Shes a widow, actually, with a son of her own, whos oh ye gods, I dont remember his age, but old enough for Cullyn to be training him for the warband. Her man was a blacksmith down in my town, but he died suddenly of a fever two winters ago. Since she had no kin, the priests recommended her to my charity, and I needed a woman for Rhodda. That child is a worse handful than even her father was. She sighed, and since they were alone, she could be honest. I suppose its the elven blood in their veins.
Id say so, for all that Rhodda doesnt have much of it.
A full quarter, let us not forget. Dont fall for your own lies about a trace of elven blood in the Maelwaedds.
Well, its not a lie, because there is one, but of course, it doesnt apply here. I take it you plan to make the child a good marriage some day?
An influential marriage, certainly, and I plan to teach her now to make any marriage suit her own purposes. If she can learn to channel all that wilfulness, shell be a woman to reckon with in Eldidd, illegitimate or not.
Although Nevyn agreed with vague words rather than burden her further, he privately wondered if the child could ever be tamed and forced into the narrow mould of a noble-born woman. Sooner or later, her wild blood was going to show.
Before he left Dun Bruddlyn, Nevyn made a point of scrying out Rhodry and, when he found him well, telling Lovyan so. As he rode out, leading his pack-mule behind him, he felt a dread that was as much logic as it was dweomer-warning. The summer before, he and those others who studied the dweomer of Light had won a series of victories over those who followed the dweomer of darkness. They had not only disrupted an elaborate plot of the dark masters but had also ruined one of their main sources of income, the importing of opium and various poisons into the kingdom. The dark ones would want revenge; they always did, and he reminded himself to stay on guard in his travels. Of course, it was likely that theyd scheme for years, trying to lay a plan so clever and convoluted that it would be undetectable. It was likely, but at the same time, the dweomer-warnings came to him in a coldness down his back. Since the dark masters were so threatened, they would doubtless strike back as soon as they could. The only question was how.
And yet other, more mundane matters demanded his attention as well. The gwerbretrhyn was too rich, too desirable, to stay peaceful if the line of succession should be broken. As much as he hated involving himself in the schemings and feudings of noble clans, Nevyn knew that his duty to Rhodrys dweomer-touched Wyrd also imposed on him a duty to Rhodrys rhan and to his innocent subjects, who preferred peace to war, unlike noble-born men like Talidd. He would fight with every weapon he had to keep Aberwyn safe. For all that Lovyan was sceptical about his political skills (and he knew full well that she was), he was better armed for this fight than any man in the kingdom, right down to the wisest of the High Kings councillors. Oh, I learned a trick or two that time, he thought to himself, and our Rhodry was right in the middle of that little mess, for all that he was a humble rider then, and an outlawed man! Although it had been well over a hundred years ago, he knew what it was to battle for the throne of not merely a gwerbret, but a king.
Part One Deverry and Pyrdon, 833845
When Dilly Blind went to the river,
To see what he could see,
He found the King of Cerrmor
A-washing his own laundry
Old Eldidd folk song
1
The year 833. Slwmar II, King in Dun Deverry, received a bad wound in battle. The second son of Glyn II, King in Cerrmor, died stillborn. We took these as bad omens. Only later would we realize that Bel in His Wisdom was preparing peace for His people
The Holy Chronicles of Lughcarn
The flies were the worst thing. It was bad enough to be dying, but to have the flies so thick was an unjust indignity. They clustered, buzzing, round the wound and tried to drink the blood. It hurt too much to try to brush them away. The wound was on his right side, just below the armpit, and deep. If someone could have stitched it for him, Maddyn supposed, he might have lived, but since he was all alone in the wild hills, he was going to die. He saw no reason to lie to himself about it: he was bleeding to death. He clutched the saddle-peak with his left hand and kept his right arm raised, because the wound blazed like fire if he let his arm touch it. The blood kept oozing through his shattered mail, and the big shiny blue-black flies kept coming. Every now and then, a fly bit his horse, which was too exhausted to do more than stamp in protest.
The flies were the worst thing. It was bad enough to be dying, but to have the flies so thick was an unjust indignity. They clustered, buzzing, round the wound and tried to drink the blood. It hurt too much to try to brush them away. The wound was on his right side, just below the armpit, and deep. If someone could have stitched it for him, Maddyn supposed, he might have lived, but since he was all alone in the wild hills, he was going to die. He saw no reason to lie to himself about it: he was bleeding to death. He clutched the saddle-peak with his left hand and kept his right arm raised, because the wound blazed like fire if he let his arm touch it. The blood kept oozing through his shattered mail, and the big shiny blue-black flies kept coming. Every now and then, a fly bit his horse, which was too exhausted to do more than stamp in protest.
Maddyn was the last rider in his warband left alive. Since, when he died, the enemy victory would be complete, it seemed honourable to try to postpone their victory for a while; it seemed important then, as he rode slowly through the golden autumn haze, to cheat them of their victory for twenty minutes more. Ahead, about a mile away, was a lake, the surface rippled gold and shining in the sunset. Along the edge stood white birches, rippling in the rising wind. He wanted water. Next to the flies, being thirsty was the worst thing, his mouth so dry that he could barely breathe. His horse ambled steadily for the lake. It wouldnt matter, his dying, if only he could drink first.
The lake was coming closer. He could see the rushes, dark strokes against bright water, and a white heron, standing one-legged at the edge. Then something went wrong with the sun. It wasnt setting straight down, but swinging from side to side, like a lantern held in someones hand as they walked. The sky was dark as night, but the sun kept swinging back and forth, a lantern in the night, back and forth, wider swings now, up up high up all the way to noon above him and blazing. Then there was darkness, the smell of crushed grass, the flies buzzing and the thirst. Then only darkness.
A lantern was burning in the darkness. At first, Maddyn thought it was the sun, but this light was too small, too steady. An old mans face leaned over him. He had a thick mane of white hair and cold blue eyes.
Ricyn. His voice was low but urgent. Ricco, look at me.
Although Maddyn had never heard that particular name before, he knew somehow that it was his, and he tried to answer to it. His lips were too dry to move. The old man held a golden cup of water to his lips and helped him drink. The water was sweet and cold. I wont die thirsty after all, Maddyn thought. Then the darkness came again.
The next time that he woke, he realized that he wasnt going to die. For a long time, he lay perfectly still and wondered at it: he wasnt going to die. Slowly he looked around him, for the first time wondering where he was, and realized that he was lying naked between soft wool blankets on a pile of straw. Firelight danced over the walls of an enormous stone room. Although his wound still hurt, it was nicely bound with linen bandages. When he turned his head, he saw the old man sitting at a rough wooden table by the stone hearth and reading in a leatherbound book. The old man glanced up and smiled at him.
Thirsty, lad?
I am, good sir.
The old man dipped water from a wooden barrel into the golden cup, then knelt down and helped him drink.
My horse? Maddyn said.
Hes safe and at his hay. The old man laid a hand on Maddyns forehead. Fevers broken. Good.
Maddyn just managed to smile before he fell asleep. This time, he dreamt of his last battle so vividly that it seemed he could smell the dust and the horse-sweat. His warband drew up on the crest of the hill, and there were Tieryn Devyr and his men waiting across the road over a hundred to their thirty-seven, but they were going to make the hopeless downhill charge anyway. Maddyn knew it by the way Lord Brynoic laughed like a madman, lounging back in his saddle. There was naught they could do but die; they were trapped, and they had naught left to live for. Even though he felt like a fool for doing it, Maddyn started thinking about his mother. In his mind, he could see her clearly, standing in the doorway of their house and holding out her arms to him. Then the horn blew for the charge, and he could only think of riding. Down the hill, on and on, with Devyrs men wheeling to face them the clash came with a shriek from both sides. In his dream Maddyn relived every parry and cut, choked again on the rising dust and woke with a cry when the sword bit deep into his side.
Here, lad. The old man was right beside him. Alls well now.
Can I have some water?
All you want.
After Maddyn gulped down six cupsful, the old man brought him bread and milk in a wooden bowl. Since his hands were shaking too badly to hold a spoon, the old man fed him, too, a spoonful at a time. The best feast in the Gwerbret of Cantraes hall had never tasted as good as that meal did.
My thanks, Maddyn said. Truly, I owe you the humblest thanks I can give for saving my life.
Saving lives is somewhat of a habit of mine. Im a herbman.
And wasnt that the luck of my life, then!
Luck? The old fellow smiled in a sly sort of way. Well, truly, it may have been, at that. My name is Nevyn, by the by, and thats not a jest; it truly is my name. Im somewhat of a hermit, and this is my home.
My name is Maddyn, and I rode for Lord Brynoic. Here, do you realize that Im an outlawed man? By every black-hearted demon in the hells, you should have let me bleed to death where I fell.
Oh, I heard me of Brynoics exile, sure enough, but the pronouncements of tieryns and suchlike mean little to me. Cursed if Ill let a man die, when I can save him, just because his lord overstepped himself at court.
With a sigh, Maddyn turned his head away. Nearby was his shield, leaning against the wall, and a tidy stack of his other gear, including his small ballad-harp, wrapped safe in its leather sack. The sight of the fox device stamped on everything he owned made tears burn in Maddyns eyes. His whole warband, all his friends, men hed ridden with for eight years now all dead, because Lord Brynoic had coveted another mans land and failed in his gamble to get it.
Did the tieryn bury our dead? he whispered.
He did. I found the battlefield some days after I brought you home. From the sight of the slaughter, Im surprised that even one man escaped.
I ran like a coward. I made the charge and got my wound. I knew I was dying, then, and I just wanted to die alone, somewhere quiet, like. Ah ye gods, I never dreamt that anyone would save me!
No doubt it was your Wyrd to live.
It was a harsh Wyrd, then. Im still an outlawed man. I threw away the last bit of honour I had when I didnt die with my lord and my band.
Nevyn made a soothing remark, but Maddyn barely heard him. For all that his shame bit at him, deep in his heart he knew he was glad to be alive, and that very gladness was another shame.
It was two days before Maddyn could sit up, and then only by propping himself against the wall and fighting with his swimming head. As soon as he was a bit stronger, he began wondering about the strange room he was in. From the smell of damp in the air and the lack of windows, he seemed to be underground, but the fire in the enormous hearth drew cleanly. The room was the right size for that massive hearth, too, a full fifty feet across, and the ceiling was lost above him in shadows. All along the wall by his bed was a carved bas-relief, about ten feet above the floor, that must at one time have run around the entire room. Now the severely geometric pattern of triangles and circles broke off abruptly, as if it had been defaced. Finally, on the day when he was strong enough to feed himself for the first time, it occurred to him to ask Nevyn where they were.