The Fire Dragon

‘He knows this country well,’ Ammerwdd said. ‘I’ve no doubt he’s got some trick in mind, or some battlefield that will be to his liking but not to ours.’

‘I agree,’ Maryn said. ‘I suggest we camp here today and send out scouts. They can cover a good deal of territory once they’re free of the army.’

After a great deal of discussion, the rest of the lords went along with the plan. All that morning the army waited as horsemen came and went, fanning out into the countryside in the hopes of getting a glimpse of Braemys’s position.

Nevyn spent much of the wait with Maddyn in his tent. Although the herbs had purged the worst of the contagion, the bard still lay ill, so exhausted he was cold and shivering despite the afternoon warmth. From the vomiting, his lips and the skin around them were cracking. When Nevyn rubbed herbed lard into them, he noticed that his skin had no resilience. Nevyn pinched a bit twixt thumb and forefinger so gently that Maddyn never noticed, but the little ridge of skin persisted rather than smoothing itself out.

Fortunately, near to camp some of the men had found a spring of pure water; Nevyn sent Branoic off with a clean bucket to fetch some back.

‘The contagion has depleted his watery humours,’ Nevyn told him. ‘We’ve got to replenish them.’

Sometimes Maddyn could keep the pure water down, and sometimes it came back up again, but eventually he did manage to drink enough to allay the worst of Nevyn’s fears. Through all of this Branoic hovered miserably outside, glad for every little errand that Nevyn found for him to do.

‘He’s been my friend from the day I joined the daggers,’ Branoic said. ‘I’ll do anything I can, my lord.’

‘Good,’ Nevyn said. ‘He needs water and food both, but he won’t be able to keep down more than a bite or swallow at a time.’

‘If all that arse-ugly pork’s gone, why is he still so sick?’

‘I wish I knew. Men who’ve eaten spoiled food often stay ill for a long time after, but I’ve no idea why.’

Branoic stared wide-eyed.

‘There’s a cursed lot of things I don’t know,’ Nevyn went on. ‘No other herbman I’ve ever met knows them either. Why contagion lingers is one of them, and how it spreads is another.’

‘I see.’ Branoic rubbed the back of his hand against his chin. ‘That’s not what I’d call reassuring, my lord.’

‘Honesty rarely is. Now, go tend Maddyn. I’ve got to make myself presentable for the prince’s council of war.’

In a darkening twilight two of Daeryc’s men galloped in with news. A herald led them to the prince, who was sitting in front of his tent with Nevyn and some of his vassals around him. In the firelight they knelt to him and told their tale. They’d ridden directly east – or so they’d reckoned from the position of the sun. Their shadows were stretching long in front of them by the time that they topped a low rise and saw, some miles further off, a huge cloud of dust drifting at the horizon.

‘It had to be the Cantrae men, your highness,’ one of the scouts said. ‘Naught but an army could raise that dust, and the gods all know there’s not enough men left for more than one.’

‘Just so,’ Maryn said, grinning. ‘How far away were they?’

‘From our camp, your highness?’ The scout thought for a moment. ‘Well, at least a day’s travel for an army that size, but not a cursed lot more, I’d say. We watched for a bit longer, too. The dust didn’t seem to come nearer.’

‘Looked like it were shrinking a bit,’ the second scout volunteered. ‘And I thought, I did, they be settling down for the night’s camp.’

‘Good.’ Maryn stood up and glanced at the noblemen. ‘I doubt me if we’ll see battle on the morrow.’

‘Mostly likely not,’ Gwerbret Ammerwdd said. ‘But I say we should stand ready for it anyway.’

The rest of the noble-born nodded, muttered a few words, and glanced back and forth among themselves. Nevyn was aware of Gwerbret Daeryc, watching him with one eyebrow raised. Nevyn smiled blandly in return. He had nothing to add to the scouts’ report, not at the moment, at least.

Late that night, when the camp lay asleep except for the night sentries, Nevyn went into his tent and summoned his body of light. He rose straight out through the tent’s roof into the etheric plane, where the stars hung down close, it seemed, as huge glittering silver spheres. With the scout’s report to guide him, he travelled fast over the red and glowing countryside below. Eventually he saw on the horizon a strange light, a flickering expanse of yellows and oranges, shot through with dancing reds, that looked just like a wildfire burning across a grassy plain would have looked in the physical world. He knew, however, that here on the etheric he was seeing the massed auras of Braemys’s army.

Although he now had a reasonable idea of their distance, he decided to risk going closer. The army had set up camp on his side of Loc Glas and the river that flowed south from it. He could approach them with no danger from the seething water veils, and Braemys had no dweomermaster in his retinue. Unchallenged Nevyn floated over the horse herd, drowsing at tether in a meadow. The tents lay just beyond. Nevyn rose up high for an overview; while he had no time to count them, he could tell that this force was a good bit smaller than Maryn’s.

Something about the camp struck him as odd. He let himself drift on the etheric flow, hovered like a hawk on the wind while he tried to think. The rational faculties function sluggishly if at all out on the etheric. Still, he studied the camp and stored up images of it before he turned back and returned to his tent.

As soon as he was back in his body and fully awake, he understood what he’d seen. No carts. No packsaddles, either, stacked at the edge of the meadow. With the first streak of grey dawn, he got up and trotted through the sleeping camp to Maryn’s tent. He found the prince awake, standing outside and yawning.

‘News, your highness,’ Nevyn said. ‘Braemys has left his baggage train behind. His men must be carrying what food they can in their saddlebags. He’s marching for a quick strike.’

Maryn tossed back his head and laughed. ‘Good,’ the prince said at last. ‘Today might see the end of this, then.’

‘Perhaps. I can’t help but wonder if Braemys has some tricky manoeuvre in mind.’

The camp went on armed alert. Under Oggyn’s command, the contingent of spearmen assembled the provision wagons, extra horses, servants, struck tents, bedrolls, and suchlike out in a meadow, then stood guard round the perimeter. The army saddled and bridled their horses, then donned armour, but rather than tire their mounts, they sat on the ground beside them to wait. Since the prince had sent some of his silver daggers out as scouts, they would have ample warning should Braemys be making a fast march to battle. In the dust and shouting that accompanied all these preparations Nevyn slipped away from camp. He walked about a mile back west to a copse of trees he’d spotted earlier. The matter of Braemys’s missing wagon train irked him.

In the shelter of an oak he lay down on the ground, crossed his arms over his chest, and went into trance. During daylight the etheric world glowed, pulsing with life, and the blue light shimmered and trembled all round him. The sun, a vast blazing sphere, shot huge arrows of gold down upon the earth. The reddish auras of grass and trees writhed and stretched out long tendrils of etheric substance to capture the gold and feed upon it. In all this confusion Nevyn could barely sort out east from west. He rose up high, where he could comprehend the view and pick out roads and rivers from the general splendour. With the silver cord paying out behind him, he travelled back east, heading for the spot where he’d seen Braemys’s army.

Nevyn was expecting to meet up with the enemy, and indeed, he overtook them some miles closer to Maryn than he’d left them the night past. The army straggled over a long stretch of road, and thanks to this loose formation he could see that not a single wagon followed the riders. He swung north to keep clear of the tangled mass of auras and physical dust, rose higher in the blue light, and saw off on the horizon northward a glow. It appeared as a dome of pale light, mostly yellow, shot here and there with red. On the etheric, with his physical body and its correlates far behind him, he was hard pressed to tell just how close it might have been.

Isn’t this interesting? Nevyn thought. A second force, perhaps. He angled away from the road and headed towards the pulsing dome of light. As he travelled, he noted landmarks below that might, once he’d returned to his normal intellect, give him some idea of distance and location. The dome itself never seemed to move or change its size. Once he drew close, he could see why. Not a second force, but Braemys’s missing baggage train spread out over long-deserted fields. It was enormous, as well, a good many times larger than Maryn’s – even though Braemys was leading a far smaller army. When Nevyn dropped down closer for a look, he saw many small auras, pale and trembling, among the larger glows: frightened children, he realized with a shock. Many of the large auras belonged to women, as well. What were they doing there? And why north, what must have been a good long distance north? A puzzle, all of it.

Nevyn hovered for a few moments, memorizing the lay of the camp and the land around it both, then turned and headed back south. Sped by his curiosity, he saw the landscape below unrolling as fast as a Bardek scroll dropped by a careless scribe. In what seemed like a few moments he once again hovered above Braemys’s army, which had stopped marching and stood in the road. Nevyn could feel the tug of the silver cord that connected him to his body; he was tiring fast, and staying too long in the etheric offered danger even to a master of dweomer such as he. But at the same time he felt an urgency to stay, some deep intuition from his innermost being. Like a hawk on the wind he hovered above the army and saw a small group of men sitting on horseback out in a meadow. Braemys and his lords, I’ll wager!

The thought caught him like a gust of wind and blew him to the cluster of men on horseback, but he was too late to join their conference. The lords all drew their swords, black smears of death in the golden auras, clashed them together as if sealing an oath, then turned their horses and trotted back to the waiting army. Once again Nevyn felt the tug of his silver cord. When he glanced down he saw his body of light growing dangerously thin. He focused his will and began to capture etheric light, wrapping it in long silvery blue strands around himself. His simulacrum soaked it up as cloth soaks water, and once again he felt strong and solid.

By this time the army below had begun to move. In an instant Nevyn understood why he’d forced himself to stay: the column was splitting itself into two parts. One, with the Boar banners at its head, was heading fast off to the southwest – to circle round from the Red Wyvern’s flank? Most likely. Only when that second column was well under way did the remains of the army set out westward again. At its head fluttered banners carrying the crossed sword device of Lughcarn. This time, when Nevyn felt the silver cord hauling at his body of light, he gave in to the impulse and sped back west to his body and Prince Maryn. He had some news for the council of war now, good and proper.

All that same day, Lilli had been restless. She would read a page in the book only to realize that she’d comprehended not one word of it. In the middle of the morning she gave up on her studies and headed downstairs. She was crossing the great hall when a boyish voice hailed her, and she turned to see Prince Riddmar trotting over to her. His pale-haired resemblance to Maryn struck her like an omen. If one day she had a son by the prince, he would look much like this, no doubt.

‘Good morrow, Lady Lilli,’ Riddmar said. ‘Are you going out for a ride or suchlike?’

‘I thought I’d just have a bit of a walk. Why?’

‘Oh, I’m bored.’ The boy pulled a long face. ‘It’s so wretched, not getting to go to the war. I wanted to ride down to the lake, but Lady Elyssa told me I couldn’t go alone.’

‘And quite rightly, too. You’re too valuable to risk to some traitor or Cantrae spy.’

‘That’s what my brother said.’ Riddmar sighed with deep drama. ‘May I walk with you?’

‘Of course. I’m just going for a stroll.’

Although Riddmar had lived in the dun for some months, he still had a great deal of trouble sorting out the warren of walls and towers that made up Dun Deverry. As they walked, Lilli pointed out various landmarks and showed him the main paths through the confusion.

‘Some of these buildings and suchlike look so clumsy,’ Riddmar remarked at one point. ‘Like that odd tower you can see from the main ward.’

‘The one that leans so badly? Your brother told me that it was built that way on purpose, so defenders could drop rocks down on attackers.’

‘Oh. That makes sense, truly.’

All at once Riddmar blushed and looked away.

‘What’s wrong?’ Lilli said.

‘Er, ah, well, I was just – well, remembering somewhat my brother told me.’

‘About me?’

The boy blushed again, betraying the answer.

‘What was it?’ Lilli said. ‘Everyone knows I’m his mistress. You don’t need to be embarrassed.’

‘I know that.’ Riddmar looked down at the hard-packed dirt of the ward. ‘It was just an odd thing.’

‘What?’

‘Well.’ Riddmar began drawing lines in the dirt with the toe of one boot. ‘He said he hoped that I never loved a woman the way he loves you.’ He looked up. ‘I don’t understand that.’

‘He should be more careful of what he tells you.’

‘I’ve not made you angry, have I? I’m sorry. He sort of blurted it out one night when he wanted me to go away so he could – could visit you.’

‘I’m not angry. Just weary all of a sudden. Here, let’s go back to the great hall. I need to rest.’

As they were walking up to the main broch complex, Elyssa came trotting out, lifting her skirts free of the muck as she hurried across the cobbles. She saw them, waved, and waited for them to catch up to her.

‘There you are, your highness,’ Elyssa said to Riddmar.

‘I stayed in the dun,’ Riddmar said. ‘Just like you told me.’

‘My thanks for that. The captain of the fortguard’s looking for you. He wants to give you another lesson in swordcraft.’

‘Splendid!’ Riddmar broke into a grin.

‘He’s down at the royal stables, the one the silver daggers use when they’re here.’

‘My thanks.’ Riddmar made her a sketchy bow and did the same to Lilli. ‘I’ll be in his company if you have need of me.’

The young prince turned on his heel and ran off, heading across the ward to the stable complex. Elyssa watched him go with a shake of her head.

‘He’s a fiery young colt,’ Elyssa said at last. ‘Which is all to the good.’

‘He’ll need that spirit when he’s Gwerbret Cerrmor. He’s so awfully young. Shouldn’t there be a regent for him?’

‘Well, Prince Maryn will hold that rank formally, but of course, he’ll be here in Dun Deverry. No doubt one of the councillors will go.’

‘It would be splendid if Nevyn were appointed to Cerrmor. Then I could go with him.’

‘Away from the prince?’

‘Just that.’ Lilli laid her hand at her throat. ‘Don’t you think I know the grief I’m causing our princess?’

‘It’s not you who’s doing the causing. But it’s honourable of you to consider her grief. Not many lasses would.’ She paused, her mouth twisting. ‘None of the others did.’

‘No doubt. But it’s not just the princess. Sometimes I want naught more than to get free of Maryn.’

Elyssa made an odd little gasp – out of surprise, Lilli assumed.

‘Lyss, I feel like I’ve got a fever, and it’s burning me up. No doubt if I had to go to Cerrmor I’d weep and carry on for days, but then I could recover.’

‘I see.’ Elyssa studied her for a long moment. ‘You truly mean that, don’t you? You know, the prince is not a man to force himself upon a woman who refuses him.’

‘I know that. It’s just when I see him, I can’t think of anything but him. It’s horrid, actually.’

‘It must be, at that.’ Elyssa considered for a moment. ‘Would you like to see the princess?’

‘I would, truly. How is she?’

‘Much the same. Every little thing makes her weep, and she’s so tired, so tired. Not even her needlework distracts her, and she’s not been able to put one word into her book. A visit might cheer her a bit.’

They went inside and climbed the staircase up to the women’s hall, but Degwa met them at the door and motioned for silence.

‘She’s sleeping,’ Degwa whispered. ‘At last, and I’d not wake her.’

‘Of course not,’ Elyssa said. ‘Lilli can come again later.’

Degwa stepped out and shut the door to the hall behind her. For a moment they all stood together out in the corridor. Degwa cocked her head to one side and considered Lilli with a nasty little smile.

‘I gather,’ Degwa said, ‘that you have a brooch that once belonged to me.’

Elyssa waved a hand and made a little clucking sound, which Degwa ignored.

‘I do,’ Lilli said. ‘But you may have it back, if you’d like. I took it only because I thought you didn’t want it.’

‘Well, I don’t, at that.’ Degwa held her head high in the air. ‘The Boar’s leavings should go to a Boar, no doubt.’

Degwa stomped off, her wooden clogs loud on the stone floor, and hurried down the staircase. Elyssa rolled her eyes to the heavens.

‘Ye gods!’ Elyssa whispered. ‘My apologies, Lilli.’

‘There’s no need for you to apologize. Ah well, Decci is what she is, and that’s true for all of us.’

When she returned to her chamber, Lilli opened her wooden chest and found the brooch that had once been her mother’s. She sat down in her chair and held the silver knot up, letting it catch the sunlight. Why was she keeping it? she wondered. Her mother – a murderess, a sorceress who had used Lilli’s own gifts ruthlessly for the clan’s advantage. And yet Merodda had put out considerable effort to save Lilli from a horrible marriage; at times she had been kind as well, for no reason other than that Lilli was her daughter. A token for those good things, Lilli decided. That’s why I keep it.

Thinking of her blood kin made Lilli remember Braemys, her cousin, her half-brother, and once, too, her betrothed. Dark thoughts gathered, that he was likely to die in the coming fighting. But what if he won the battle? What if Maryn were killed instead? One or the other of them would have to die to settle the feud between them. Deverry men always settled feuds that way, with the death of one or the other. With the brooch clasped tight in one hand, she rose and walked to the window. Outside the sky blazed with gold light, streaked with pink and orange against the darkening blue.

‘Dear Goddess,’ Lilli whispered. ‘Let Maryn be the victor. I beg you.’

And she wondered if she would ever get free of him.

Just at sunset the scouting parties returned to Maryn’s camp. Armed with Nevyn’s report, Maryn had sent Branoic with some of the silver daggers to the southeast, while a squad from Daeryc’s men had ridden straight east. Neither party had seen either half of Braemys’s army, which meant that the enemy was, most likely, making camp for the night.

‘I’ll wager they march here tomorrow, your highness,’ Branoic said. ‘This Braemys – he’s young, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders.’

‘So your betrothed told me once,’ Maryn said. ‘She knew him well, after all.’

‘I take it his highness discussed the matter with her?’

‘I did, truly. Why wouldn’t I?’

Branoic said nothing more, but his slight smile had turned dangerous. For a moment the two men stared at each other, their eyes narrow, their jaws tight-set, Maryn standing with his plaid cloak draped over one shoulder and his hands set on his hips, while Branoic, his clothes dust-stained, knelt at his feet. The other scouts, waiting behind Branoic, took a step back, but Maryn’s servant stopped, dead-still, at the mouth of the tent behind him. Nevyn felt a cold warning run down his back and strode forward, ready to intervene. His movement brought them both to their senses. Maryn forced out a smile and turned it impartially upon all of the waiting men, including Branoic.

‘Well done,’ the prince said. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your fires.’

‘My thanks, your highness.’ Branoic rose and bowed. ‘It’s been a long day’s ride.’

In the company of the other scouts Branoic strode off into the sea of tents. Maryn’s servant sighed aloud and darted away. Nevyn raised an eyebrow at Maryn, who shrugged.

‘My apologies,’ Maryn said. ‘I need to watch my tongue.’

‘A wise thought,’ Nevyn said.

‘That’s the worst of it, isn’t it? Being the prince, I mean. I’m not allowed to lapse like ordinary men.’

‘Even ordinary men need to watch their tongues now and again.’

Maryn gave him a sour smile, then turned and without another word ducked into his tent. In the gathering twilight Nevyn walked back to his own. The worst danger for the kingdom would arrive tomorrow with Braemys’s army, but the worst danger for the prince and those who loved him was waiting back in Dun Deverry.

Deep in the night, once the astral tide of Earth had settled into a steady flow, Nevyn scried again, and once again he found the two halves of Braemys’s army, one to the south, one to the east, camped under the stars without tents or campfires. They had sacrificed everything for speed. If Maryn had lacked the presence of a dweomermaster, he and his army would have found themselves caught between two forces like a bite of meat between two jaws.

As it was, of course, they were warned.

Well before dawn Maddyn woke. He sat up in the silent darkness of his tent and considered the odd sensation troubling him. In a few moments he realized that, for the first time in days, he felt hungry. Somewhere near at hand Branoic had left him a chunk of bread on just this chance, but he could see nothing but a triangle of lighter dark at the tent’s mouth.

‘Curse it all!’

Cautiously he got to his knees and began feeling the ground at the head of his blankets.

Behind him he heard a rustling and a sound that might have been a whisper. A silver glow cast sudden shadows. When he twisted round he saw his blue sprite, glowing like the moon and grinning at him.

‘My thanks,’ he said. ‘And there’s the bread.’

Branoic had left it wrapped in cloth upon his saddle, the only thing in the tent that would serve as a shelf. Maddyn found a covered tankard of watered ale nearby as well. With his sprite for company, Maddyn began dipping the bread in the ale and eating the moist bits, but he’d not got far into the chunk before he realized he was making a mistake. He tried a sip of plain ale and felt his stomach burn and twist.

‘So much for that.’

Maddyn wrapped the bread back up, then lay down again, but it took him a long while to sleep with his stomach cramping and complaining. When he finally dozed off, he dreamt of Aethan, lying dead on the battlefield, and woke in a cold sweat. This time, at least, dawn light streamed into the tent. From outside he heard voices, talking softly; then someone pulled the tent flap to one side and stuck his head in: Nevyn.

‘Ah,’ Nevyn said. ‘You’re awake.’

‘More or less, my lord.’ Maddyn sat up, then clutched his aching stomach with both arms. ‘I tried to eat somewhat in the night.’

‘With bad result, I see. The prince wants to see you.’

‘I’ll come out.’

Much to his relief, Maddyn found that he could crawl out of the tent with some effort and then, with Nevyn’s help, stand up. The prince had already donned his chain mail shirt, but the hood lay on his shoulders, and he wore no helm. In the dawn light his hair gleamed as if the sun itself were honouring him.

‘Don’t try to kneel or bow,’ Maryn said. ‘How do you fare?’

‘Not so well, your highness, I’m afraid.’

‘You look pale about the mouth still,’ Nevyn put in. ‘After the army rides out, I’ll have a better look at you.’