The Red Wyvern

  “You won’t get very far without food and suchlike,” Lilli said.

  “Oh, that’s all waiting in the tunnel. I’ve been hiding things there, a bit at a time. Your mother spent most of the day with the queen.”

  Sure enough, when they shoved back the door Lilli saw a big pack on a wooden frame leaning against the wall. Brour lit a candle lantern by snapping his fingers over it, then shoved the door back but not closed.

  “You won’t get this open by yourself,” he remarked. “We’ll risk the odd chance of someone finding it.”

  Brour rummaged in his pocket and handed her two candles for her journey back. He took off the cloak, rolled it, and tied it to the frame. The book went into a leather sack and then into the pack. With a grunt of effort he swung the pack onto his back.

  “I came to Dun Deverry as a peddlar, and I’ll leave the same way. No doubt the king of Eldidd can use my services, so west I’ll go.”

  The very way he stressed the word “west” made her wonder if he were lying to her.

  “West, is it?” she said.

  “It is.” Yet he couldn’t look her in the eye. “Ah well, bring that lantern, Lilli, and let’s be off.”

  Since carrying the pack took most of Brour’s breath, they said little on the long trudge through the dust and slimy puddles to the door out. At the bottom of the steps Brour divested himself of the pack, then shoved open the door. Sunlight flowed down the stairs of the cellar. He heaved the pack out, then scrambled after. Lilli followed him out for the breath of fresh air. Here in the daylight she could see the ruins clearly—broken walls and burnt timbers such as decorated many a dead lord’s dun. Black ravens flew through, shrieking as they dodged round a stump of broch.

  “Come with me, Lilli,” Brour said. “I fear for your life, I truly do.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You’re sure, lass? Ye gods, the whole city stinks of ruin! I swear to you, you’d be safe with me. I’d not lift a hand against you, but treat you like a daughter.”

  “I know you would. It’s not that.” Lilli hesitated, wondering why she did trust him so much—not that it mattered. “But my place is here. I’m a woman of the Boar clan. I can’t just run away. What would Bevva think of me?”

  Brour sighed, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand while he considered.

  “Ah well,” he said at last. “Mayhap you know best. It won’t be safe out on the roads, anyway. My small dweomers will protect me well enough, but if some lord’s warband took a fancy to your pretty face, I couldn’t stop them. Now remember, give me a good long start, then tell your uncle about the bolthole. You’ll rise high in his favor.”

  “I will, then. And my thanks.”

  Brour smiled, a twitch of his child’s pouty mouth, and swung the pack onto his back. With one quick wave he set off, threading his way through the tumbled stone of the ruins. Lilli climbed onto a hunk of wall and looked around her, studying the terrain. Uncle Burcan would want to know where this treasure lay. At a distance toward the rising sun lay the Belaver, a gleaming silver road. In the opposite direction lay meadows and a deserted farm, a ruin of a house inside worn and grassy earth mounds that once had formed a wall. From her perch she could see Brour, striding down a dirt road with the rising sun at his back. Good luck, she thought after him. Good luck wherever you go!

  She scrambled back down and returned to the tunnel. It was something of a struggle, but she managed to pull the door shut. Once she had a fresh candle in her lantern, she hurried back to Dun Deverry. All the long way, the question tormented her: what if someone had gone into the root cellar for some reason, seen the open door, and without thinking shut it? She wanted to run, but if she did, the candle would blow out, leaving her in darkness. By the time she reached the safety of the filthy cellar she was nearly weeping.

  Now all that remained was telling Uncle Burcan about the escape route. Since the weight of the pack would slow Brour down, she decided that she’d best wait two full days. She blew out the lantern and closed the door to the bolthole; then she climbed the steps to the ward. As she hurried back to the main broch, she kept an eye out for pages and suchlike who might tattle to Merodda. What was going to count now was avoiding her mother until she could clean the mud off her skirts.

  She slipped into the great hall, then paused in surprise. Even though it was already mid-morning, the king’s table was surrounded by angry lords, arguing furiously with Burcan while the young king cowered behind him. She saw Tieryn Peddyc standing to one side, his arms crossed over his chest, his lips white with rage. A servant girl saw her staring and hurried over.

  “It’s ever so nasty,” the girl whispered. “The queen has sent Lady Bevyan away from court.”

  “What? Why? How could she?”

  “I know not why, my lady. For not much of a reason at all, I’d wager. But oh! the shame of it!”

  Lilli ran across the great hall and gained the staircase, got up it as fast as she could, then ran down the corridor to Bevyan’s chambers. She burst in without knocking to find Bevyan standing by the bed, calmly folding her bedsheets and laying them in a wooden chest for her journey, while Sarra sat weeping on a chair nearby.

  “You’ve heard, have you, dear?” Bevyan said to Lilli. “Now don’t worry, it’s not as bad as all that.”

  “But it is! How could she? What a nasty rotten awful thing to do!”

  “It is all of that, dear, but it’s nothing that I can’t bear. Oh, Sarra, come now! You need to get your things together, so do stop that bellowing!”

  Sarra wiped her face on the trailing hem of one sleeve.

  “That’s better,” Bevyan said. “Now why don’t you fetch the pieces of Braemys’s wedding shirt for Lilli? We don’t want to pack them by mistake.”

  With a nod and a hard swallow, Sarra did as she was told. Once she’d left the room, Lilli turned to her foster-mother.

  “But why?” Lilli said. “Why would she send you away?”

  “She said that I’d angered her.” Bevyan actually smiled. “No doubt I did, too, by pointing out a few truths. She’s a silly child, and she’s in a terrible position, one she doesn’t have the strength for. But here, dear, help me pack these bedclothes. We’re to leave today.”

  “Today? Oh, that’s not fair!”

  “Life is very often not fair, dear. My lord has already sent his messengers to Lord Camlyn—that’s where we’ll stay tonight, you see.”

  “You won’t be safe out there!”

  “Peddyc is giving us an escort of thirty men. They’ll be our fort guard when we get home, too.”

  Lilli picked up a blanket and began folding it in quarters.

  “I saw the tieryn in the great hall,” Lilli said. “He looked ever so angry.”

  “No doubt. He demanded that Burcan intercede with your mother for me.”

  “My mother?”

  “The queen mostly does what your mother says, you know.”

  All at once Lilli felt as if her legs had lost all their strength. She sat down heavily on the edge of the stripped bed and rubbed her face with both hands, determined not to weep and distress Bevyan. She felt more like screaming in rage, anyway, that in the same day she’d lose the only two people in her life who’d ever cared about her welfare.

  • • •

  “And just why,” Burcan snarled. “did you send the Lady Bevyan away from court?”

  “I did no such thing,” Merodda said. “Queen Abrwnna was the one—”

  “Oh hold your tongue! The queen does what you tell her.”

  All at once Merodda realized that he was genuinely angry. A surprise, that. She put on her best soothing smile.

  “It was a woman’s matter, my lord. You needn’t waste your time upon it.”

  “If Tieryn Peddyc feels slighted—”

  “Oh. Oh, I see. Well, Bevyan is wondering just who Lilli’s father is. She made it clear that she knows enough to be suspicious of—of—us. I had to do something.”

  Burcan co
nsidered. Slowly the bloodred rage ebbed from his face.

  “You’re afraid that Peddyc’s wavering, are you?” Merodda said. “Well, I suspect Bevyan of having somewhat to do with that. It’s all very well for her to talk about peace and how splendid it would be to end the wars. She and her lord will get pardons from the Usurper should he win. We won’t be granted such a pleasant boon.”

  “Just so. But if you’ve sent her away, we won’t be able to keep an eye on her. What if she’s one of the ones you saw in your omens, the circle plotting against us?”

  “Then perhaps she should be permanently disposed of.”

  “Nonsense! I won’t hear of it!”

  “Why not? I don’t trust her.” Merodda looked straight into his eyes. “Besides, you’re the one who’s wondering if Peddyc is still loyal to our king. What if he went over to Cerrmor? How many men would he take with him?”

  “Far too many, but ye gods! You don’t keep a man’s loyalty by murdering his wife. Have you gone daft?”

  “Not at all. Come sit down and listen. I’ve got a plan.”

  Burcan looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged.

  “Very well,” he said. “I don’t know why I waste my time doubting you.”

  Merodda smiled and allowed him to kiss her.

  • • •

  What with the wagon to be packed and the escort to be chosen, Bevyan left Dun Deverry just before noon. A smouldering Peddyc rode with her down to the city gates, then for another mile or so past them. When they reached the west-running road to Hendyr, he called for a halt, then leaned from his saddle to kiss her farewell.

  “Now do watch yourself, my love,” Bevyan said. “I’ve survived worse than this insult.”

  “Indeed? Well, you’d best not have to survive suchlike again, or I’ll—” With great difficulty Peddyc caught himself, glancing round at his men. “Now then, set a good watch over my lady on the road, lads. The messenger should be well ahead of you by now, and so Lord Camlyn’s lady will be expecting you.”

  “Done, my lord,” Young Doryc, the temporary captain of her escort, bowed from his saddle. “And we’ll hold your dun until you return. Have no fears about that.”

  Peddyc allowed himself one weary smile, then raised his hand and motioned them forward. Bevyan turned in her saddle for a last look back and saw him waiting at the crossroads. When she waved, he turned his horse’s head and rode off toward Dun Deverry.

  In the pleasant shade of the tree-lined road the horses ambled while Bevyan half-drowsed in her saddle. Her escort talked quietly among themselves; the cart coming along behind creaked while the harness jingled. Sarra began to sing one of the long songs the women traded back and forth to amuse themselves while they worked at various tasks. Bevyan started to join in, then realized what they were singing, the ballad of “Brangwen and Gerraent.”

  “Oh, not that song,” she snapped. “Forgive me—I am a bit rattled, I suppose.”

  “It’s just that the ballad’s one of your favorites.” Sarra glanced at her in surprise.

  “I’d just rather sing somewhat else. Let’s do the one about Lord Benoic. Here, I’ll start.”

  By the middle of the afternoon they’d finished so many ballads that they fell silent with sore voices. Bevyan was just thinking of calling a halt so they could water the horses and rest when ahead on the road someone shouted, a man’s voice, incomprehensible but filled with danger.

  “Hold!” Young Doryc threw up one hand. “What’s all this?”

  The men halted, but their horses milled in sudden alarm. Bevyan heard horses pounding down the road fast, turned in her saddle to see a squad of armed men pouring out between the trees behind them. Sarra screamed, one high-pitched note, as another squad swarmed to the head of the line to cut the Ram’s party off. The Ram’s men were drawing swords and cursing as the strangers galloped straight for them. There would be no explanation, no parley. The enemies were carrying enemy shields, oval in shape and painted with three ships for a blazon.

  “Cerrmor!” Doryc yelled.

  The first wave of riders broke over the lad and knocked him from his horse. Shouting, slashing with their swords, the escort tried to form a ring around the two women, but the enemies mobbed in, two and three to a loyal rider. Bevyan had to fight to control her panicked horse, who reared and whinnied, kicking out randomly when it came down again. She heard Sarra screaming, heard the scream suddenly cut off, twisted in the saddle just in time to see her serving woman fall bleeding over her horse’s neck. Bevyan yanked the palfrey’s head around and kicked it hard. The horse leapt forward, darting toward the side of the road, but two riders swung round and cut her off. One raised a bloody sword, then stopped, half-frozen by shame when she stared him right in the face.

  “Where’s the glory in killing women?” she hissed. “May the Goddess curse you all!”

  He hesitated, mouth half-open, staring at her in agony. His companion swore, leaned forward, and stabbed. She saw and recognized the wide blue eyes beneath the edge of his helm.

  “Burcan!”

  The pain hit in a wave of fire that broke over her and dragged her tumbling down to the dust in the road. For a moment the world spun. Blackness claimed her with the hot smell of blood.

  • • •

  Rather than watch Bevyan ride away, Lilli hid in her chamber. Since she’d walked many miles through the escape tunnel and back, she fell asleep on her bed—only to wake suddenly. She sat bolt upright and listened, sure she’d heard a woman screaming, but the chamber lay silent around her. Through the narrow window the sunlight of late afternoon streamed in, flecked with dancing dust motes.

  “That was Sarra’s voice,” she said aloud. “An awful sort of dream, I suppose.”

  Dread, cold clammy irrational dread, wrapped her round so tightly that for a moment her breath caught, ragged in her chest. She got up, but the feeling kept hold of her, making her tremble. To get away from the silence she hurried down to the great hall, filling with people as time for the evening meal drew near. But she couldn’t stand the noise, either, and went outside, wandering through the twilight wards and towers of the dun. The dread walked behind her and clutched her shoulders in cold fingers until she ached.

  Finally, when the stars were coming out in a velvet sky, she fetched up near the main gate. The guard was changing, and weary men climbed down from the catwalks, calling out to one another and talking mostly about food. Just as the gates were closing, Lilli heard a silver horn on the road outside. Men shouted; she could hear hooves clattering in a trot and the jingle of tack. The guards threw their weight on the handle of the winch and stopped the gates, which halted, open just far enough for a single rider to pass by.

  First through into the pool of torchlight inside the ward was Uncle Burcan. Lilli shrank back against the wall where no one would notice her and watched the Boarsmen ride their horses in. Some of them were wounded, she noticed; they must have run across a disloyal lord or Cerrmor raiders. At each saddle peak hung a shield, painted with the Boar blazon, but behind each saddle they carried a shield-shaped burden wrapped in old sacking—odd, she thought, and peered through the uncertain light for a better look. One sack had slipped to dangle down and expose the ship blazon of Cerrmor. Decidedly odd, and with that thought her dread threw its arms around her and clutched. Something was wrong, horribly wrong.

  Lilli waited until the warband had long left the ward, then went back up the hill to the great hall. Inside, the Boarsmen had taken their places with the other riders at the long tables, but there was no sign of Uncle Burcan. Lilli hurried upstairs before anyone noticed her. If she never got a message from her mother, she couldn’t be expected to wait upon her. Unfortunately Merodda had seen her go and followed her, calling out on the landing.

  “Lilli, wait! I want a word with you.”

  Lilli stopped and arranged a smile. Merodda hurried over, her mouth twisted in rage. Here was the crux, and Lilli visualized her aura growing hard and smooth around her, just
as Brour had taught her.

  “Where’s Brour?” Merodda snapped. “Do you know?”

  “I don’t, Mother. He’s not in your chambers?”

  Merodda cocked her head to one side and peered into Lilli’s face. Lilli went on smiling and imagined her aura as a wall, turning to stone, a fortress around her.

  “He’s not,” Merodda said at last. “He’s not in the great hall, and the bards don’t know where he is, either. How very odd!”

  “There’s some servant lass he fancies, isn’t there? I heard gossip about it.”

  “I never thought of that.” Merodda looked up with a startled little laugh. “You might be right.”

  Merodda turned and swept off, heading back to the great hall. Lilli walked decorously back to her chamber, but she felt like dancing in glee. It had worked! Brour’s trick had worked! She need never fear her mother’s ability to ferret out lies again. Yet once she was alone, watching the candle-thrown shadows on the stone, she remembered Bevyan, sent away from court into political exile, and all her pleasure in the dweomer vanished. She spent the evening hiding in her chamber, and mercifully, Merodda never sent a page to summon her. All night she had horrible dreams, where a blond woman, naked in moonlight, her mouth full of bloody fangs, ranged among the sheep like a mad dog, killing as she went.

  At the noontide Lilli learned the meaning of her omens. She was sitting at her mother’s table and trying to eat bread that seemed to stick in her exhausted throat. A ripple of excitement at the door caught her attention: a road-dusty messenger strode in. Although he bowed to king and regent, he hurried past them and flung himself down to kneel at Tieryn Peddyc’s side. At that moment Lilli knew. She felt cold sweat run down her back and thought: Bevva’s dead. Without thinking she rose, leaning flat-handed on the table to watch the rider talking urgently to the tieryn while Anasyn leaned over to listen. Peddyc’s face turned white, then flushed scarlet, then whitened again. With a toss of his head he got up from his chair and headed for the royal table. Even from her distance she could see that Anasyn wept.