A Time of Exile (60 page)

“Don’t forget, my liege, that Cerrmor is doubtless boiling over with intrigue at the moment,” Nevyn said. “For a long while now there have been omens of the coming of the true king. I’m sure that by now, Maryn’s bloodlines are well known there. And then we’ll have a good many ambitious men who won’t see why the omens couldn’t apply to them or their sons—with the right trimming and fitting, that is.”

“Just so, captain.” The king traced out the Pyrdon border with his fingertip. “There could be several different enemies layine for our prince. Here, Nevyn, do you know who’s regent down in Cerrmor? Or has the fighting over the throne already begun?”

“I fear the latter, my liege, but I don’t truly know. If you’ll excuse me, I intend to find out.”

The king nodded a dismissal, taking this hint of dweomer with a casual indifference. It was odd, Maddyn thought to himself, just how easily one did get used to dweomer, as if it were the natural order of things. Maryn was practically jigging where he stood in sheer excitement. Although Maddyn could sympathize—after all, the lad’s Wyrd lay close at hand—he was also worried, just because he could remember being fifteen and sure that he would never die. He knew better now, and he had no desire to see his prince learn as he had: the hard way. It seemed that the captain agreed with him.

“If the Cantrae king comes out in force, my liege,” Caradoc said. “There aren’t enough men in Pyrdon to keep our prince safe.”

Casyl winced.

“Forgive my bluntness, your highness, but—”

“No apologies needed, captain. The point is both true and well-taken. What do you suggest? I can see that there’s somewhat on your mind.”

“Well, my liege, maybe our enemies, whoever they are, know that the prince will be trying to reach Cerrmor, but they still have to find him on the road. I suggest that you send a troop of picked men, the sort you’d choose to guard the prince, down the east-running road. Then, a while later, we leave, heading toward Eldidd, say. The prince goes with us—as a silver dagger. Who looks in a dung heap for a jewel?”

“Just so, captain.” Casyl nodded in admiration.

“Oh splendid!” Maryn broke in. “I’ve always wanted
to carry one of those daggers. Have you looked at one close up, Father? They’re truly beautiful.”

“So they are.” Casyl suppressed a smile. “One thing, though, captain. I understand that you left Cerrmor in some disgrace. Will you be endangering yourself by returning?”

“If I live that long, my liege, I suppose I will.” He glanced at Maryn. “I suppose I could petition the true ng for a pardon, if things came to that.”

“You have my pardon already, captain.” Maryn drew himself up to full height, and they could see the man he’d be someday. “No doubt you’ll redeem yourself thrice over by the time I ride into Dun Deverry as king.”

The next morning, Nevyn came out to the barracks and fetched Caradoc and Maddyn. They went down to the lake shore just outside the walls of the dun and sat down on the rocks right next to the water. For a moment Nevyn merely looked around him, but his eyes were so heavy-lidded and strange that Maddyn assumed the councillor was working some dweomer.

“I think we should be safe here,” Nevyn remarked, confirming his suspicions. “The presence of the water will act as a sort of shield, you see, from the wrong sort of prying eyes. Now, then. Captain, I’ve received news from Cerrmor of a sort. The capital’s in an uproar, but it’s being torn apart by despair, not politicking. The only thing that’s keeping the Cerrmor side together is the regent, a certain Tieryn Elyc, an honorable man and a shrewd one, apparently, but even he hasn’t been able to stop a great many lords from switching their loyalties to Cantrae.”

“Elyc? That’s not Elyc of Dai Aver, is it?”

“The very one. You know him?”

“Did once, a cursed long time ago now. If he hasn’t changed, he’s a decent sort, truly.”

“Well and good, then. In theory he’s charged with running the kingdom until Glyn’s eldest daughter marries and has an heir, but I doubt me if he’ll be able to impose order for that many years.”

“How old is the lass?” Maddyn said.

“Thirteen, just old enough to wed this year. Our prince will have to marry her, of course, and as soon as ever he can. I’ve no doubt that her mother will see reason if only we can get Maryn there. I’m told that everyone in the city lives in terror of anarchy.”

“Then no doubt they’ll welcome him with shouting and flowers in their hair,” Caradoc said. “Good.”

“Perhaps, but first we have to get him there. I suggest we leave on the morrow.”

Since Caradoc wanted to keep the plan as secret as possible, he and Maddyn told the other silver daggers that they were going to ride a raid on the Eldidd border to provide a distraction when the Marked Prince left for Cerrmor with his escort. No one thought to question the plan, which was a decent one in its way. In a chilly dawn Maryn and Nevyn made a great show of riding out with a hundred members of the King’s own guard and a wagon train filled with supplies and gifts for the Cerrmor lords. Ahead of them rode a herald holding the banner of Pyrdon. With them on the road went the king with an honor guard of his own—to escort them to the border, or so it was said. The Queen wept openly; silver horns blared; the assembled populace cheered the young prince and his splendid Wyrd. Only Maddyn and Caradoc knew that hidden among the silver daggers’ supplies were shabby clothes and armor for Maryn, and that those coffers of gifts were empty.

K
ATHARINE
K
ERR
spent her childhood in a Great Lakes industrial city and her adolescence in a stereotypical corner of southern California, from whence she fled to the Bay Area just in time to join a number of the various Revolutions then in progress. Upon dropping out of dropping out, she got married and devoted herself to reading as many off-the-wall, obscure, and just plain peculiar books as she could get her hands on. As the logical result of such a life, she has now become a professional storyteller and an amateur skeptic, who regards all True Believers with a jaundiced eye, even those who true-believe in Science.

Kerr is the author of the Deverry series of historical fantasies;
Polar City Blues; Resurrection;
and the new series, The Dragon Mage, of which
The Red Wyvern
is the first volume.