“Never.”
“But then, I do not like to cross the archon and the holy laws of my city.” He studied the bill of sale again. “If I break the law, it is as painful and perhaps even more expensive than crossing Baruma.”
“That thing is forged, isn’t it?”
“Ah, the opium must be wearing off.” He held the bill up to the light coming in the window. “It is very cleverly done, very, very professional, but then, one expects that from Baruma. May he mistake a candlestick for a cushion and sit upon it! Try to remember who you are. I perhaps can help you. You have kin and clan in Deverry?”
“My father was an important merchant there. That much I remember.”
“Aha! Doubtless, then, he will buy his son back at an honest price if only he can find him. If. Do your best to remember. I cannot keep you too long—what if Baruma comes back and asks for you?”
Taliaesyn shuddered, but this time, he despised himself for doing so.
“I see you understand.” Brindemo gave a shudder of his own. “But I sell you to decent place if all else fails, and then, when the beloved father comes searching, I tell him where. Perhaps he thanks me with hard coin?”
“Of course.” Taliaesyn found it surprisingly easy to lie, considering what was at stake. “He’s always been generous.”
“Good.” He reached up and clapped his hands together. “We give you food, a place to sleep.”
At the signal a black-skinned man came through a door near the dais. Close to seven feet tall, he was also heavily muscled and wearing a short sword in an ostentatiously jeweled scabbard. Even without the sword Taliaesyn wouldn’t have been inclined to argue with someone whose hand was as broad as an ordinary man’s head.
“Darupo, bring him something to eat. I’ll wager Baruma’s been keeping him half starved.”
The fellow nodded, gave Taliaesyn a sympathetic glance, then disappeared again. While he was gone, Brindemo returned to his game, moving ivory pegs along tracks in the board in response to throws of dice much like the ones in Deverry. In a few minutes Darupo returned with an earthenware bowl of vegetables in a spicy sauce and a basket of very thin bread, almost like rounds of parchment. He showed Taliaesyn how to tear off strips of bread and use it to scoop up the sloppy mixture in the bowl. For all that the stew was difficult to eat, it was delicious, and Taliaesyn dug in in sincere gratitude. It occurred to him that feeding him well was a sound commercial proposition, because buyers would pay more for a healthy slave than a sick one, but he was too hungry to care about the ethics of the thing. At his dicing, Brindemo sighed suddenly and looked up.
“The omens are wrong no matter what I do.” He waved his hands miserably at the board. “I have this dark feeling in my heart, or however you Deverry men say it. I might turn a good profit off you, Taliaesyn of Pyrdon, but I rue the day that the gods brought you to me.”
A thin drizzle sheeted across Aberwyn’s harbor and turned the cobbles as slick as glass. Wrapped in his splendid scarlet cloak, the royal herald scurried across the gangplank to the pier and made the galley rock behind him. The high prow, a rearing wyvern, seemed to be bowing to the assembled crowd. Down at the land end of the pier, Nevyn started forward to greet him, then hesitated, turning to Cullyn, who was there as head of the honor guard.
“Make sure the marines get something hot to drink as soon as they reach the dun, will you?”
“Gladly. Poor bastards, rowing half the way from Cerrmor in this wet.”
Nevyn hurried down to exchange the ritual salutations with the herald, whose self-control was amazing. For all that he was wet, exhausted, and rheumy, his voice boomed out on every syllable, and he bowed with the grace of a dancer.
“I, Orys, come on the king’s business. Who is this who receives me?”
Nevyn hesitated briefly, then decided that he didn’t truly want to explain the jest in his name at a time like this.
“I am called Galrion, councillor to the regent, her grace, Tieryn Lovyan. The king’s justice is ever welcome in Aberwyn.”
“My thanks, good councillor. I see horses have been provided.” He suddenly smiled, the ritual done with. “Shall we get ourselves out of this wretched rain?”
“By all means, Lord Orys.”
In the great hall of the gwerbrets of Aberwyn huge fires roared in both hearths. Standing warrior-straight by the table of honor, Lovyan was waiting for them, with the red, white, and brown plaid of the Clw Coc draped over her chair and the blue, green, and silver plaid of Aberwyn thrown back from her shoulder. When the herald bowed to her, she acknowledged him with a small wave of her hand, but this was no time for a curtsy. She was as much lord here now as ever her son had been.
“Greetings, honored voice of the king. What brings you to me?”
“Grave news, Your Grace.” He reached into his shirt and brought out a silver message tube. “I have with me a proclamation of the most serious import.”
Except for the crackling of the fires the hall went utterly, breathlessly silent. Since the king had kept the contents of that proclamation a secret from everyone at court, not even Nevyn knew what it contained. He glanced around, noting the men of both warbands sitting stock-still at their tables across the hall; the servants practically frozen in their places; Rhys’s wife at the staircase, her face pale; Tevylla and Rhodda, slipping in the back door and hovering there.
“I would be honored, O voice of the king,” Lovyan said, her voice firm and steady, “if you would read it out to this assembly.”
With a flourish Lord Orys slipped the parchment free of the tube, laid the tube on the table, and unrolled the proclamation with a snap.
“Here be it known, in the province of Eldidd as in every province of our kingdom of Deverry, that I, Lallyn the Second, king by right of blood and right of sword, do, with full compliance of the laws and of the priesthood of Holy Bel, take it as my duty to concern myself with the line of succession of the gwerbrets of Aberwyn, being as the gwerbretrhyn is both a well-loved and an important part of our realms. While Rhys Maelwaedd, Gwerbret Aberwyn, still lives, let no man dare convene the Council of Electors to meddle with the lawful passage of the rhan to his possible heirs.”
Nevyn’s heart thudded once.
“Furthermore.” The herald paused to clear his throat. “Let it be known in Eldidd as in all parts of our beloved kingdom that I, Lallyn the Second, acting under the authority granted to me by Great Bel, king of all the gods, do hereby disavow and overrule utterly in all its particulars the pronouncement of the aforesaid Rhys, Gwerbret Aberwyn, of the ban of clan exile upon his brother, Rhodry Maelwaedd of Dun Gwerbyn.”
There was a great deal more, but no one could hear it over the cheering and shouting of the warbands, wave after wave of approval and laughter. When Nevyn looked through the crowd he found Cullyn standing at the rear door with Tevylla. In the uncertain light it was hard to tell, but he thought he saw tears glinting in the captain’s eyes. Through all the cheers Lovyan stood perfectly still, her face expressing nothing but a mild relief, a certain pleasure at the thought that justice had finally been done. Nevyn had never admired her more.
Much later, when the herald was taking his well-earned rest in the best guest chamber. Nevyn had a chance to talk with the tieryn alone, in the reception chamber of her suite. There she could allow herself a crow of triumph, and she even jigged a few steps of a country dance upon the Bardek carpet.
“So Blaen won, may the gods bless him! Truly, Nevyn, I didn’t know what to expect when Orys unrolled that bit of lamb leather.”
“No more did I. So. We have a year and a day to get Rhodry back here to claim his restoration to the clan.”
Her triumph disappeared, and she sank into a chair like an old woman.
“Ah, my poor little lad! If only we had you home! Nevyn, by the gods, you’re hiding somewhat from me. Where is Rhodry?”
“Your Grace, please, trust me. I don’t want to tell you. I beg you: take my word for it that he lives, and let the matter
drop there. I promise you that the dweomer will do its best to bring him home for you.”
“I don’t know if I can accept … Well, what is it?”
A frightened page came creeping into the chamber.
“Your Grace? Lady Madronna sent me. His Grace is calling for you.”
Hiking up her skirts like a farm lass, Lovyan ran from the chamber, with Nevyn close behind. They came into the sickroom to find Rhys propped up on pillows. His face was a dangerous sort of scarlet, and his breath rattled in his sunken chest. Over everything hung the stink of diseased urine.
“Mother!” He had to gasp out every word. “I heard the servants talking. The misbegotten king’s recalled Rhodry, hasn’t he? Don’t you lie to me!”
“I see no need to lie to you, Your Grace.” Lovyan came over to the bedside and held out her hand. He caught it in one of his and clasped it hard, as if he were drawing strength from her touch. “Rhys, please, it’s best for Aberwyn. It’s best for the Maelwaedd clan.”
He made a sound halfway between a snarl and a cough. Deeply troubled, Nevyn hurried over.
“His Grace shouldn’t vex himself. He should rest.”
“Rest? When the king’s made a mockery of me?” His breathing was so shallow that it was hard to hear his words. “Why couldn’t he have waited till I died? He could have done that, curse him.”
“He couldn’t, Your Grace. If you should die without an heir, Aberwyn would be naught but a bone for dogs to fight over.”
For a moment that seemed to soothe the gwerbret; then he frowned as if he were thinking something through.
“Where is Rhodry?”
“On his way home, Your Grace.”
“Ah.” He paused a little while, panting, gathering breath, his ribs heaving under the fine wool coverlets. “He’s not back yet, is he now? Cursed young cub. He shan’t have what’s mine, not yet.”
“Rhys, please!” Lovyan’s voice shook with tears. “Can’t you forgive him?”
Rhys turned his head toward her, and the look in his eyes was one of weary contempt, as if he were wondering how she could possibly misunderstand something so obvious. Suddenly he coughed, a choking gurgle, and spasmed, his back arching as he fought for air. Nevyn grabbed him, slid an arm under his shoulders, and supported him until he spat the blood-tinged gobbet of phlegm out. Rhys’s eyes sought out Lovyan’s face.
“But, Mam,” he whispered, “it was mine. Truly it was.”
Then he was gone, with one last ripple of spasming, a cough that never quite came. By the door Madronna threw her head back and howled in agony, keened over and over until Lovyan rushed to her and threw her arms around her to let her sob. Although the tieryn’s face ran with tears, she was silent. Nevyn closed Rhys’s eyes and crossed his arms over his shattered chest.
“May peace be yours in the Otherlands, Your Grace,” he whispered, so softly that the women couldn’t hear him. “But I have the ghastly feeling that your hatred won’t let you rest.”
He left the women to their grief and went down to the great hall. At least he could make the formal announcement and spare Lovyan that grim duty. As he was walking up to the honor table he remembered the herald and sent a page to wake him. Although several of the men called out to Nevyn in a friendly way, no one seemed to notice that he was grim, heartsick not so much for Rhys as for what his death meant to Aberwyn. They were all too busy celebrating Rhodry’s recall. Once the drowsy herald was present, Nevyn climbed up onto the honor table and yelled for silence. The hall went abruptly quiet, the warbands turning, apprehensive at last, as they waited for him to speak. Nevyn was in no mood for fine words.
“Gwerbret Rhys is dead.”
There was a collective suck and gasp of breath.
“Her Grace, Lovyan, Tieryn Dun Gwerbyn, is now regent for her younger son: Rhodry Maelwaedd, Gwerbret Aberwyn.”
The sound was unmistakable, a would-be cheer cut off out of respect for the dead, laughter that vanished into coughs and mumbles, smiles that disappeared into looks of stricken shame. Poor Rhys, Nevyn thought; I think me I understand you a bit better now. Yet as he looked over the hall, he wondered with bitterness in his heart if Rhodry would ever sit in the gwerbretal chair, if his loyal warbands would ever see again the young lord that they loved.
APPENDIX
CHARACTERS AND THEIR INCARNATIONS
Current
Incarnation Ca. 840
Nevyn Nevyn
Rhodry Maddyn
Jill Branoic
Cullyn Owaen
Blaen Caradoc
Gwin Aethan
GLOSSARY
Aber (Deverrian) A river mouth, an estuary.
Alar (Elvish) A group of elves, who may or may not be blood kin, who choose to travel together for some indefinite period of time.
Alardan (Elv.) The meeting of several alarli, usually the occasion for a drunken party.
Angwidd (Dev.) Unexplored, unknown.
Archon (translation of the Bardekian atzenarlen) The elected head of a city-state (Bardekian at).
Astral The plane of existence directly “above” or “within” the etheric (q.v.). In other systems of magic, often referred to as the Akashic Record or the Treasure House of Images.
Aura The field of electromagnetic energy that permeates and emanates from every living being.
Aver (Dev.) A river.
Bara (Elv.) An enclitic that indicates that the preceding adjective in an Elvish agglutinated word is the name of the element following the enclitic, as can + bara + melim = Rough River. (rough + name marker + river.)
Bel (Dev.) The chief god of the Deverry pantheon.
Bel (Elv.) An enclitic, similar in function to bara, except that it indicates that a preceding verb is the name of the following element in the agglutinated term, as in Darabeldal, Flowing Lake.
Blue Light Another name for the etheric plane (q.v.).
Body of Light An artificial thought-form (q.v.) constructed by a dweomermaster to allow him or her to travel through the inner planes of existence.
Brigga (Dev.) Loose wool trousers worn by men and boys.
Broch (Dev.) A squat tower in which people live. Originally, in the Homeland, these towers had one big fireplace in the center of the ground floor and a number of booths or tiny roomlets up the sides, but by the time of our narrative, this ancient style has given way to regular floors with hearths and chimneys on either side of the structure.
Cadvridoc (Dev.) A war leader. Not a general in the modern sense, the cadvridoc is supposed to take the advice and counsel of the noble-born lords under him, but his is the right of final decision.
Captain (trans. of the Dev. pendaely) The second-in-command, after the lord himself, of a noble’s warband. An interesting point is that the word taely (which is the root or unmutated form of-daely) can mean either a warband or a family, depending on context.
Conaber (Elv.) A musical instrument similar to the panpipe but of even more limited range.
Cwm (Dev.) A valley.
Dal (Elv.) A lake.
Dun (Dev.) A fort.
Dweomer (trans. of Dev. dwunddaevad) In its strict sense, a system of magic aimed at personal enlightenment through harmony with the natural universe in all its planes and manifestations; in the popular sense, magic, sorcery.
Elcyion Lacar (Dev.) The elves; literally, the “bright spirits,” or “Bright Fey.”
Ensorcel To produce an effect similar to hypnosis by direct manipulation of a person’s aura. (Ordinary hypnosis manipulates the victim’s consciousness only and thus is more easily resisted.)
Etheric The plane of existence directly “above” the physical. With its magnetic substance and currents, it holds physical matter in an invisible matrix and is the true source of what we call “life.”
Etheric Double The true being of a person, the electromagnetic structure that holds the physical body together and that is the actual seat of consciousness.
Fola (Elv.) An enclitic that shows that the noun preceding it in
an agglutinated Elvish word is the name of the element following the enclitic, as in Corafolamelim, Owl River.
Geis A taboo, usually a prohibition against doing something. Breaking geis results in ritual pollution and the disfavor if not active enmity of the gods. In societies that truly believe in geis, a person who breaks it usually dies fairly quickly, either of morbid depression or of some unconsciously self-inflicted “accident,” unless he or she makes ritual amends.
Gerthddyn (Dev.) Literally, a “music man,” a wandering minstrel and entertainer of much lower status than a true bard.
Great Ones Spirits, once human but now disincarnate, who exist on an unknowably high plane of existence and who have dedicated themselves to the eventual enlightenment of all sentient beings. They are also known to the Buddhists as Boddhisattvas.
Gwerbret (Dev.) The highest rank of nobility below the royal family itself. Gwerbrets (Dev. gwerbretion) function as the chief magistrates of their regions, and even kings hesitate to override their decisions because of their many ancient prerogatives.
Hiraedd (Dev.) A peculiarly Celtic form of depression, marked by a deep, tormented longing for some unobtainable thing; also and in particular, homesickness to the third power.
Javelin (trans. of Dev. picecl) Since the weapon in question is only about three feet long, another possible translation would be “war dart.” The reader should not think of it as a proper spear or as one of those enormous javelins used in the modern Olympic Games.
Lwdd (Dev.) A blood price; differs from wergild in that the amount of lwdd is negotiable in some circumstances, rather than being irrevocably set by law.
Malover (Dev.) A full, formal court of law with both a priest of Bel and either a gwerbret or a tieryn in attendance.
Melim (Elv.) A river.
Mor (Dev.) A sea, ocean.
Pan (Elv.) An enclitic, similar to fola (defined earlier), except that it indicates that the preceding noun is plural as well as the name of the following word, as in Corapanmeiim, River of the Many Owls. Remember that Elvish always indicates pluralization by adding a semi-independent morpheme and that this semi-independence is reflected in the various syntax-bearing enclitics.