Daggerspell

  “I’ll be working on the prisoners,” Aderyn said.

  Beckoning to the servants, he walked away, looking for those who were the worst off.

  “Ah, by the hells,” Jennantar said. “I still don’t see how Corbyn got away. I was sure you and Daumyr had him trapped.”

  “So was I.” Sligyn shook his head in furious bafflement. “It was foul, stinking, evil luck, that’s all. Lot of little things, like Daumyr’s sword breaking. And then that horse went down in front of mine, and I couldn’t reach him. Luck, ill luck.”

  One of the prisoners laughed, an hysterical mutter under his breath. When Rhodry swung around to look at him, he flung up one arm and cringed back. His blond hair was crusted with blood.

  “I’m not going to strike a wounded man,” Rhodry said. “But what are you laughing about?”

  “My apologies, I didn’t even mean to. But it wasn’t luck that let our lord escape. By the gods, you’ll never kill Corbyn! It’s the demon-shot sorcerer. He made a prophecy, you see.”

  “A what?”

  “Loddlaen made this prophecy. He got it from his scrying stone.” The prisoner paused to lick dry lips. “It says that Lord Corbyn can never be slain in battle except by a sword, but he’ll never be slain by any man’s hand. It’s true, my lord. You saw what happened on the field today. It must be true.”

  Sligyn’s florid face turned pale. Aderyn turned to listen.

  “Aderyn?” Rhodry said. “Is there any truth in this?”

  “The lad’s not lying to you, my lord. So Loddlaen must have made a prophecy.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Does the cadvridoc really want me to tell him if the prophecy’s a true one?”

  “It must be, or you’d be assuring me that it’s false.”

  Aderyn gave a sigh that was more like a groan.

  “I’m sworn never to lie, but at times, I wish I’d never made that vow.”

  Rhodry turned and blindly walked away. He felt his death lay a heavy arm around his shoulder and walk with him. Puffing a little, Sligyn caught up with him near the edge of the camp.

  “Now, here. I don’t believe a word of it, eh? Doesn’t matter if it is true. Lot of horseshit.”

  “Is it, now? If Aderyn can turn himself into an owl, why can’t he know the true or false of a prophecy?”

  Sligyn started to reply, then looked away and chewed furiously on his mustache.

  “It’s a cursed strange feeling, being doomed by dweomer,” Rhodry went on. “And doomed I am. When Corbyn chooses to cut his way to me, no one’s going to be able to stop him. When we face off, I won’t be able to kill him.”

  “Only one thing to do, eh? Send you back to Cannobaen.”

  “Never! And what good would my life do me, if I spent it as a shamed man?”

  All at once Rhodry felt his berserker’s laugh, welling out of his mouth. He tossed back his head and howled until Sligyn grabbed him and shook him into silence.

  By late afternoon, the news was all over the camp. Rhodry had never had the experience before of seeing an army’s morale crumble like a bit of dried mud rubbed between a man’s fingers. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Although the noble-born blustered and swore like Sligyn, they looked at Rhodry with a horrified pity. Rhodry walked through the camp and tried speaking personally to the men in the hopes of wiping away a fear so strong that he could smell it. At first, some of the men tried to jest with him, but as the afternoon wore on, they drew back as if he were a leper, this man whom the gods had cursed, lest his ill luck rub off on them.

  To spare them the sight of him, Rhodry walked to the edge of the camp with Amyr, the only man in his warband who seemed glad of his company. Blond and bland looking, Amyr at sixteen was new to the warband, but he had more honor than most.

  “My lord, when we face Corbyn again, I’ll fight right next to you. I swore I’d follow you to the Otherlands, and I will.”

  “I honor you for it, but there’s no need. I’m going to challenge Corbyn to single combat and let him put an end to it.”

  “What?”

  “Just what I said. Why by the hells should the rest of you die in a hopeless cause? We’ll never kill Corbyn, and so, well and good, once he kills me, the rebellion’s over.”

  Amyr turned to him with tears in his eyes.

  “Speak well of me after I’m dead, will you?” Rhodry said.

  His mouth working, Amyr walked a few steps away. As Rhodry looked down the road, he saw a small troop of horsemen coming up from the south. He waited until he was reasonably sure that Amyr could see them, then pointed them out. As the troop came closer, Rhodry could pick out the colors on their shields, a mixed lot from his various allies, and Jill at their head.

  “By the hills, it’s the Cannobaen fortguard! What are they doing here?”

  As soon as she dismounted, Jill enlightened him on the point.

  “Reinforcements, my lord. I saw the battle in a vision, and you know I’m not daft because there was one, wasn’t there? So, by the Goddess herself, where’s my father?”

  Amyr started to giggle, so loudly and so high that Rhodry grabbed and shook him.

  “Pull yourself together! We’ve seen enough dweomer to take a little more.”

  “It’s not that, my lord. It’s Jill.”

  “What? Of course it’s Jill. I can see her.”

  “Not that, my lord. Look—look at Jill. So Corbyn won’t die by any man’s hand, will he?”

  Her thumbs hooked into her sword belt, Jill frowned at them as if she were thinking they’d both gone daft. Her stance, her gesture were so much those of a fighting man that suddenly Rhodry saw Amyr’s meaning. He threw back his head and howled with laughter until Jill could stand it no longer.

  “By every god and his wife as well! Have I ridden into a camp filled with madmen?”

  “My apologies. I’ll take you to your father straightaway, but Jill, oh, Jill, I should fall to the ground and kiss your feet.”

  “Has my lord cadvridoc been hit on the head? What is all this?”

  “I’ll explain after you’ve seen Cullyn. Silver dagger, I’ve got a hire for you.”

  Rather than let Cullyn lie outside with the rest of the wounded, Rhodry had turned his tent over to the man who had saved his life. When Jill came in, Cullyn was asleep in Rhodry’s blankets with his bound and splinted left arm out of the covers. His hair was streaked with dried blood. As she knelt down beside him, Jill wept in a scatter of tears. When she ran her hand through his hair, he sighed in his sleep and turned his head toward her.

  “Jill?” It was Nevyn, ducking under the tent flap. “I heard you were here.”

  “Of course I am. Did you think I wouldn’t know when Da was hurt?”

  Nevyn smiled briefly and knelt beside her.

  “Answer me truly,” Jill said. “Is he going to die?”

  Nevyn considered for so long that her heart pounded.

  “I doubt it,” the herbman said at last. “That’s as honest as I can be. He nearly did die under my hands, but that was the shock, and it’s passed off now. Your Da’s a very, very strong man, but there’s a deep cut on his side. If it goes septic—”

  He let the words hang there. Jill sat back on her heels and wondered why she felt so numb, as if she had no body at all.

  “He won’t wake for some time now,” Nevyn went on. “Rhodry wants to speak with you. I—well, I’d best let you hear it from him. I’ll stay with Cullyn until you return.”

  Jill ducked out of the tent into a crowd. In quiet ranks the entire army stood round the tent. Every man looked at her in the same peculiar way—worshipful, really, as if she were the goddess Epona come to visit them as in the old tales—yet not one said a word to her. When Amyr escorted her to Rhodry, the men followed, as silently as a legion of the dead. Out in front of Sligyn’s tent stood the noble-born, staring at her so intently that Jill wished she could just run away. Rhodry made her a bow.

  “I’ve no doubt you can swing that
sword you wear. Have you ever thought of swinging it in battle?”

  “Many a time, my lord, but Da’s always said me nay.”

  “He’s not going to get a chance this time,” Edar muttered.

  “Oh, here, my lords,” Jill said. “Are you as badly outnumbered as all that?”

  “Not in the least.” Rhodry paused, chewing on his lower lip. “I’ve got a cursed strange thing to tell you.”

  “Now, here!” Sligyn stepped forward. “How well does the lass know how to fight? I won’t have a helpless woman slaughtered. Don’t care how desperate we are. Honor of the thing, eh?”

  Jill glanced around and saw the servants off to one side, standing ready with dinner for the noble-born.

  “My lord Sligyn is the very soul of honor,” she said. “But if he’d be so kind as to fetch me one of those apples?”

  With a puzzled shrug, Sligyn did as she asked.

  “If you’ll stand behind me, my lord,” Jill went on, “and throw that apple up into the air on the count of three?”

  Jill drew her sword and held it point down while she waited for the count. On “three” she spun around, the sword flashing up as the sight of the falling apple filled her vision. Without any conscious aim she hit it perfectly. Two nearly equal halves of the apple fell at Sligyn’s feet. The warbands surged forward, cheering, yelling out her name until Rhodry screamed them into silence.

  “By the hells!” Sligyn sputtered. “Couldn’t do that myself, eh? Well!”

  “My thanks, my lord,” Jill said. “But don’t let me give myself airs. My father can cut one into quarters like that.”

  Rhodry laughed, but it was a mad sort of delight brimming in his eyes.

  “And why do you want me to ride with you?” Jill said.

  “Because of dweomer, silver dagger. Loddlaen’s made a prophecy about Corbyn, and Aderyn’s had to admit that it’s true. It runs this wise: Corbyn will never die in battle but by a sword, and yet he’ll never die by any man’s hand.”

  “Oho! They always say that every dweomer prophecy’s like a sword blade.” Jill held hers up flat in illustration. “It’s sharp on both sides.”

  The cheers of the army went to Jill’s head like mead. When Sligyn yelled at them, the men dispersed, laughing and jesting as they headed back to their campfires. Jill sheathed her sword, then turned to Rhodry, who was holding a silver piece to pledge her the hire.

  “If you take my coin, you’re pledging yourself to die for me if need be. Do you truly want to do it, Jill? Never would I wheedle and plead.”

  “And because you won’t, I’ll take it.” Jill held out her hand. “But if I kill Corbyn for you, you’re giving me one of those western hunters I saw in your herd.”

  With a laugh, Rhodry dropped the coin into her palm.

  “Done, and you’re a true silver dagger, sure enough.”

  As Jill pocketed the coin, she glanced at Rhodry’s face, and their eyes met. Suddenly she realized that she knew him to the very core of her soul, that somehow, in some strange way, she’d seen that crazed berserker’s smile on his face a thousand times before. It seemed that he must have recognized her, too, because suddenly his smile faded, and he stared deep into her eyes as if he were trying to read some secret hidden there. Abruptly he turned away and beckoned to the servants.

  “Bring mead! So we can pledge my avenger.”

  “Your what?” Sligyn snapped.

  “Well, by every god and his horse’s behind,” Rhodry said, and that daft grin was back. “Do you think I can ask a lass to save my life? I’ll cut Jill’s way to Corbyn, who’ll kill me, no doubt, and then she can end the rebellion by killing him.”

  Swearing, yelling at the top of their lungs, the noble-born tried to argue Rhodry down, but he stood firm, his eyes half mad with honor. Jill grabbed his manservant by the arm.

  “Run get Nevyn. He’s in your lord’s tent.”

  As he followed the servant back, Nevyn was cursing Rhodry in his very soul. Although his heart ached at the thought of Jill riding to war, he knew that he could never stop her. He had, however, expected that Rhodry would have the sense to let her keep him alive. When he reached the arguing crowd, he found Jill standing off to one side. Her eyes pleaded with him for help.

  “Now, what’s all this, you stupid dolt?” Nevyn said to Rhodry. “Use the wits you were born with!”

  “Wit has naught to do with it.” Rhodry tossed his head. “It’s a matter of honor. I can ask a woman to kill the rebel I’ll never be able to kill myself, but I’ll live shamed if I ask her to save my life. I’d rather die.”

  “Methinks, lord cadvridoc, that you’re cutting the point of honor far too fine.”

  “Am I, now? A Maelwaedd I am, blood and bone, and the honor of my clan is known to every lord in Deverry. Cursed if I’ll put the slightest smear on that name.”

  When Rhodry set his hands on his hips and glared at him Nevyn growled in utter frustration.

  “You put me in mind of an old saying. When a Maelwaedd lord starts splitting fine points of honor, it takes three gods to make him hold his tongue.”

  “Then maybe you’d best start calling on them.”

  Nevyn grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him close.

  “Now, you listen to me, Rhodry Maelwaedd!” He gave him a little shake. “There’s more at stake here than your cursed honor! Have you forgotten the dweomer?”

  Rhodry turned a little pale.

  “I see you had,” Nevyn went on. “Your Wyrd is Eldidd’s Wyrd. You’ve been marked by dweomer from the moment you were born, you little dolt! Why do you think I was always hanging around your court? I’m not letting you throw your life away now, if I blasted well have to ensorcel you!”

  Rhodry started trembling.

  “Think!” Nevyn snapped. “Which is the worse dishonor, letting Jill do what the dweomer drew her here to do, or heaping some strange ruin upon Eldidd because you were too stubborn to fulfill your Wyrd?”

  Rhodry turned his head and glanced this way and that, as if appealing for help from the frightened lords round them. When Nevyn let him go, he stepped back sharply.

  “Either you swear to me on the honor of the Maelwaedds that you’ll fight to save your life, not lose it,” Nevyn said levelly, “or I’ll take steps here and now.”

  “I’ll swear it.”

  “On the honor of the Maelwaedds?”

  “On the honor of the Maelwaedds.”

  “Good. Then I’ll leave you to your dinner, my lord. Jill, come with me.”

  As Nevyn strode away, Jill hurried to catch up, too frightened to disobey.

  “So much for Rhodry. I’m most sincerely pleased that you had the wit to send for me.”

  “I thought you’d know what to say, but truly, I never dreamt that Rhodry had such a splendid Wyrd. Here, was it really dweomer that drew me here at just the right time?”

  “Of course. Do you doubt it?”

  Jill stopped walking, and her mouth went a little slack.

  “I know all these strange things must ache your heart, child. But Aderyn and I are here to deal with them. Go tend your father. I’ll come look in on him in a bit.”

  Jill ran off so fast that he knew she was terrified. Although he would have liked to have comforted her, he had a crucial piece of work at hand.

  By then, twilight had faded into night, and the astral tides, which influence the flux of forces in the etheric plane, had settled down after their change from the dominance of Fire to the dominance of Water, marking the coming of night. Nevyn found Aderyn, and together they left the camp. About half a mile away was a stretch of woodland that would give them the privacy they needed.

  “Do you think our enemy will truly try to scout us out?” Aderyn said. “After all, he got a taste of your power this afternoon.”

  “But he never got a chance to look me over. He fled as soon as I started the banishings. Well, I can’t know, of course, but I intend to stand guard anyway.”

  “It’s doubtless fo
r the best. So you were right, and there is dark dweomer mixed up in this.”

  “I don’t know how deeply it’s mixed. My guess now is that this fellow is trying to work on the edges of things. Or he was. He betrayed himself nicely this afternoon.”

  “And why was he trying to kill a silver dagger, anyway? I should think our Cullyn would be beneath his notice.”

  “So would I.” Nevyn hesitated, considering. “I can only suppose it was because Cullyn’s the best guard Rhodry could have. Here, it’s been obvious from the first that killing Rhodry is the true point of this rebellion. The rebel lords may think that they’re getting him out of the way to lower their wretched dues, but they’re only so many tools in the paws of this dark master. I’m fairly certain that Loddlaen is only a tool as well. Here, you trained the lad. Does he have the power to make a true-seen prophecy about Corbyn’s death?”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “Well, then, where did he get it from? I’ll wager someone told him. And another thing. Loddlaen has no way of knowing that Rhodry is crucial to Eldidd’s Wyrd, and no reason to kill him, either. I think our real enemy’s been subtly influencing Loddlaen for months, using him like a stick to stir up a stench in a fetid pond.”

  “And why does the dark master want Rhodry dead?”

  “I don’t know.” Nevyn allowed himself a grim smile. “There he has the advantage of us. It’s the dark dweomer that’s always brooding about Wyrd and the future, not men like us who have the Light to trust in. I’ve been content to wait for more omens from the Great Ones about Rhodry’s Wyrd and let them reveal it to me in their own good time. I’ll wager our enemy’s been brooding and prying into closed things, and that he has a very good reason to want Rhodry out of the way. Whatever it is, it bodes ill for Eldidd.”

  Aderyn nodded slowly. In the darkness, it was impossible to see his face, but the whole slumped set of his body showed his grief.

  When they reached the woodland, they found a clearing near the edge. Nevyn lay down, went into his trance, and transferred into the body of light. He flew up slowly, circling the woods, a tangled reddish glow of vegetable auras, until Aderyn’s pure gold aura was a mere spark, far below. This far from the earth, the etheric was an eerie place. Unanchored by any living beings, the blue light shifted and swirled; at times it seemed to glow as thick as sea fog, then suddenly thinned again to reveal the silver glare of the stars above.