A Time of Exile (48 page)

“Taking the smoke into the etheric mold worked splendidly. Humph, I certainly wish I’d known this trick during the civil wars! As for the results, well, let’s take a look in the fire and see, shall we?”

But when they scried out the camp, they saw only trampled blankets, scattered gear, broken tether ropes, and Gwerbret Gatryc, sitting alone at the fire and cradling his inflamed arm while he stared into the face of despair. If it weren’t for the death he would have brought to the people
of Eldidd, Nevyn might have found it in his heart to pity him.

In effect, the rebellion ended that night. Most of the common-born riders disappeared into the countryside, slinking back to their families and taking their old places on their father’s farm or in his shop to wait and see just how lenient Aeryc was going to be. To protect their families, the remaining rebel lords and their last few loyal men surrendered to Aeryc, who pardoned the riders and hanged the lords. Gatryc committed suicide, but his infected wounds would have killed him in a few days anyway. While Aeryc rode at a leisurely pace to Cannobaen, all Eldidd waited and trembled. With their fathers slain, boys were the only lords the province had, but everyone knew that Aeryc would attaint the rebel duns and redistribute them to loyal men from Pyrdon and Deverry itself.

Pertyc wasn’t in the least surprised when Halaberiel announced that he and his men would be leaving before the king arrived. There was no need, as the banadar remarked, to turn his highness’s whole view of the world upside down over a petty little rebellion like this.

“But I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming, my friend,” Pertyc said. “And it gladdens my heart that none of your men were killed over this.”

“Mine, too.” But Halaberiel spoke absently. “And I’ll be seeing the rivers of home soon enough.”

“You must be glad of it.”

“I suppose.”

Pertyc hesitated on the edge of comment.

“I’m growing old.” Halaberiel said it for him. “I think that somewhere deep in my heart I was hoping for a glorious death in battle, clean and sudden. And now it doesn’t seem likely, does it? I see naught but peace ahead for my last few years. Ah well, what the gods pour, men must swallow, eh?”

“Just so. I understand.”

“I thought you might. Well, if I see your wife, shall I give her any message from you?”

“That the children are well. That I wish she still loved me.”

“She never stopped loving you, Perro. She just couldn’t bear to live with you. It was the Round-ear ways, not you.”

“Oh.” Pertyc considered this revelation for a long moment. “Well, then, tell her that if she wants, she can come and take Beclya away with her. And as for me, say that I never stopped loving her, either.”

Surrounded by an honor guard of a mere four hundred men, King Aeryc arrived at Cannobaen on a day that threatened rain but never actually delivered it. Although Pertyc suspected that Nevyn had something to do with the accommodating weather, he never had the nerve to ask the old man. Even though the king had left most of the army back in Aberwyn, there still, of course, was no room inside Dun Cannobaen’s walls for those that he had brought; they made a camp in the meadow where the villagers grazed cattle in the summer while Aeryc, Gwenyn, and an escort of fifty rode on to meet Lord Pertyc at his gates. For the occasion Pertyc insisted that every member of his warband, all eleven of them, take a bath and put on clean clothes; he followed his own order, too, and went over protocol with Nevyn, who seemed to know an amazing amount about dealing with kings.

When Aeryc arrived, dismounting some feet away and striding up to the gates, Pertyc was ready. He and Adraegyn both bowed as low as they could manage; then they knelt, Pertyc on one knee, the boy on both.

“My liege, I’m honored beyond dreaming to welcome you to my humble dun.”

“It is small, isn’t it?” Aeryc looked around with a suppressed smile. “It won’t do, Lord Pertyc.”

“My apologies, then, from the bottom of my heart.”

“No apologies needed. But I suggest that we repair as soon as possible to your other dun.”

“My liege? I have no other dun.”

“Indeed you do, Gwerbret Aberwyn.”

Pertyc looked up speechless to find the king grinning.

“Pertyc, my friend, thanks to this rebellion there are exactly two men left on the Council of Electors for southern Eldidd: you and me. If I nominate you to head the
gwerbretrhyn, and you second the motion, well, then, who’s to say us nay?”

“My liege, my thanks, but I’m not worthy.”

“Horseshit. Rise, Aberwyn, and stand me to some of your mead. His highness is as thirsty as a salt herring.”

When, much later that day, Pertyc consulted with Nevyn, the old man told him that the king was invoking an ancient law. Any member of the Council of Electors who backed a rebellion against a lawful king did by holy charter forfeit his seat upon the council. Although Pertyc was frankly terrified by his sudden elevation, he knew in his heart that he’d regret it the rest of his Ufe if he turned it down. Besides, he realized soon enough that as gwerbret he had considerable say in the disposition of the rebellion’s aftermath. Since the king was minded to mercy—he was farsighted enough to be more interested in preventing future rebellions than in punishing the current one—he granted many of the petitions to mercy Pertyc was minded to make. Not all, of course—the families of the rebel gwerbrets would be stripped of lands and title both, as would Yvmur’s clan and Cawaryn’s clans, by birth and marriage both. His young widow, barely a wife, was allowed to live, but only as a priestess, a virtual prisoner in her temple.

But Danry’s widow and his younger son stayed in possession of Cernmeton, as did Ladoic’s of Siddclog, and so on among almost all the minor lords. Pertyc was finally able to repay Ganedd, too, when the young merchant came to him to beg mercy for his father. Dun Gwerbyn, however, was a different matter. When Aeryc wished to dispose it upon a loyal though land-poor clan of western Deverry, the Red Lion, Pertyc had not the slightest objection to make.

And such are the twists of the human mind that from then on, the Red Lion clan felt nothing but friendship toward the Maelwaedds, while the Bears of Cernmeton, worn down by gratitude, came to hate them.

W
hen Pertyc, Gwerbret Aberwyn, and his family and retinue were ready to take up residence in their new city, the gwerbret insisted that Nevyn stay in Cannobaen as its virtual lord for as long as he liked. When the spring came, the place settled down rapidly into the drowsy routine of keeping the light burning and the lightkeeper’s family fed. Nevyn poked around the broch and finally decided to use a chamber up on the top floor for his work. After he got it swept and cleaned, it was pleasantly sunny—when Cannobaen had sun, a rare thing in the summer—and its three windows gave him a dramatic view of the sea and the countryside. Once it was furnished with a long table, a set of bookshelves, a charcoal brazier, and a comfortable chair, he could pick up his interrupted work on the talisman again, though he did set mornings aside to tend the ills of the local folk. Every now and then a letter came from Aberwyn, either telling him what news there was or asking his advice on some small matter. Nevyn would answer promptly, then return to reveling in his solitude.

It was on a warm morning in late summer, just about
the time of the last apple harvest, that Nevyn saw from his tower room a horseman riding toward Cannobaen. Thinking that it was the usual messenger from Pertyc, and that the servants would see to it that the man had a meal and a place to sleep, he went on studying some diagrams of sigils that he’d brought from Bardek. In a while, though, there was a cautious tap at the door. Swearing under his breath, he opened it to find Maer. His eyes were so weary, and his face so thin and pinched, that he seemed to have aged ten years. Nevyn was shocked to see the silver dagger back in his belt.

“If I’m disturbing you, my lord, I’ll just ride on.”

“What? Of course not! I take it you’re not here as Pertyc’s man.”

“I’m not.” He looked down at the floor and bit his lower lip as if he were fighting back tears.

“Well, let’s go down to the great hall and have some ale, and you can tell me what’s gone wrong.”

“It’s simple enough, my lord. Glae’s dead.”

Nevyn stared, gape-mouthed.

“Childbirth?” he said at last.

“Just that, and our son dead with her. The baby was just too big, the midwife said, and it was like the birthing beat them both to death.” His face went dead white, and he trembled, remembering. “Ye gods, I had to get out of Aberwyn. His grace asked me to stay, but I just couldn’t bear it. So I thought I’d come tell you the news and say farewell, and then it’s back on the long road for me.”

“My heart aches for you, and more for Glae.” Nevyn felt a stab of guilt, a wondering if he could have saved her if only he’d been in Aberwyn, but at that time, he had none of the knowledge nor the surgical tools of a Bardek physician to cut open a womb and try, at least, to save the babe if not the mother. “But don’t make some hasty move, lad.”

“That’s what Lord Pertyc said, too, but I know my own mind, my lord.” He looked up with the faintest ghost of a smile. “But I’ll take that ale, sure enough, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Over the ale Maer told Nevyn more details about Glae’s death, but as he rehearsed what had been for everyone concerned a time of horror, his voice stayed cold and flat, his eyes fixed and distant. Only his bloodless face betrayed
the effort it was costing him to stay calm. During the story the blue sprite appeared to sit beside him on the bench. She was frankly gleeful, clapping soundless hands and showing her mouthful of pointed teeth in a wild grin. Yet when at the end Maer glanced her way, she stopped grinning abruptly and arranged her face into a decent imitation of sadness.

“Does she understand what’s happened, Nevyn?” Maer said.

“She doesn’t, lad. She doesn’t have a real mind, you know. So don’t be harsh with her if she’s glad her rival’s gone.”

“I was furious at first. But then I started thinking about some of the things you’d told me, and I figured well, she’s like a clever dog, no doubt, and naught more.”

“Brighter than that, because she can understand speech even if she can’t use it. Have you ever seen a monkey or an ape?”

“A what, my lord?”

“Animals they have in Bardek. But if you haven’t seen them, my comparison won’t do you any good. Think of her as a little child, then.”

By being persuasive enough for a Bardek politician Nevyn managed to get Maer to stay for three more days, but nothing he said would change the silver dagger’s mind about leaving Pertyc’s service. The gwerbret, it seemed, had told him that he could come back anytime; the most Maer would allow was that someday, if the long road got too cold and hungry, he might think about returning.

“If you live that long, I suppose,” Nevyn remarked one night at dinner. “What are you planning on doing? Getting yourself killed in some battle straightaway?”

“I’m not, my lord. If it was suicide on my mind, I’d have drowned myself in Aberwyn Harbor, but I’m not the sort of man for that. It’s just that, well, what else can I do to earn my dinner but fight?”

“Have you thought of riding west and finding the Westfolk? Calonderiel gave you an invitation, you know, when they were leaving.”

“So he did. Do you think he meant it, my lord?”

“The Westfolk never say anything unless they mean it.”

A flicker of life woke in Maer’s eyes.

“Ganedd’s going to be making one last trading trip west soon,” Nevyn went on. “Why don’t you go with him?”

“He’s got his father’s business now? I thought Ganno would go to sea for sure once he had the chance.”

“Well, his father’s a broken man, you see. He sits and stares all day at the ocean and naught more. So Moligga and the younger lad need Ganedd, and then there’s Braedda.” Abruptly Nevyn caught himself and shied away from the subject of happy marriages. “But you could stay in the Westlands for the rest of the summer, say. Then see how you feel in the autumn. My heart aches for you, but you know, Glae wouldn’t have wanted you to throw your life away.”

Maer started to speak, then wept like a child. Nevyn flung an arm around his shoulders and let him sob, so long and so hard that Nevyn realized he’d kept himself from weeping during all the long weeks since Glae’s death.

In the normal course of things Nevyn’s cure would have worked. Maer would have visited the elven lands, a world different enough to completely distract him, then most likely returned to Aberwyn with his mourning behind him. But Nevyn hadn’t reckoned with the blue sprite, or, rather, with Elessario.

In the endlessly shifting land of the Guardians, the seeming of only a few hours had passed since Dallandra left them to return to Aderyn. When she saw her friend walk down the road toward home, Elessario rushed blindly away. Her feeling of pain was too ill defined to be called grief, but it was bitter enough to make her throw herself down in the grass and weep. At about the time Dallandra was giving birth to Loddlaen, she stopped weeping, the pain forgotten as fast as it had come, and went in search of company. When Dallandra was returning, Elessario was far away, sitting by the soul of a river and watching her friends dance. It was there that the blue sprite found her, at roughly the same time as Maer and Ganedd were joining the fall alardan out in the Westlands.