The Spirit Stone. Katharine Kerr

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СКАЧАТЬ by chance or wyrd, Nevyn saw the reborn Gerraent early the next morning, when Nevyn and Olnadd went together to the dealer in books to buy Petyc’s bribe. As they were walking back to the priest’s house, they heard the clatter of hooves and the chime of silver bridle rings. Horsemen were trotting straight for them. All the nearby townsfolk ran for safety, darting into doorways or down alleys, plastering themselves against the walls of the houses. Silver horns blew; men shouted, ‘Make way in the king’s name! Make way!’ Nevyn and Olnadd found a safe spot in the mouth of an alley just as twenty-five riders on matched grey horses trotted past. At their head, unmistakably arrogant, rode Gerraent, his blond head tossed back, his blue eyes narrow and cold. Nevyn pointed him out to Olnadd.

      ‘Do you know who that captain is, by any chance?’

      ‘Only by name,’ Olnadd said. ‘He’s something of a hero, you see, but I truly don’t remember his tale. His name’s Lord Gwairyc, and he did somewhat or other in the war a few years ago that won him King Casyl’s favour. You’ll have to ask Petyc about it. I don’t keep up on the court gossip. I’ll send him a note asking him to join us tonight.’

      Directly that evening, after dinner, Petyc arrived at Olnadd’s house. He may have been the head of the royal scriptorium, but his god held higher rank than his king, and as he remarked to Olnadd, he couldn’t refuse the summons.

      ‘Not that I mind answering it,’ Petyc said with a smile.

      The scribe was a lean man, hollow-cheeked and balding, with deep-sunken dark eyes that flicked this way and that around the room, as if he were looking for hidden enemies. After they seated themselves at Olnadd’s table, the priest introduced Nevyn simply as a friend and scholar of strange lore. Petyc looked him over with a half-smile.

      ‘Nevyn?’ Petyc said. ‘It’s an odd name, Nevyn. You seem too corporeal to be no one at all, though that’s what the name might mean.’

      ‘It does mean no one, and it was a nasty jest of my father’s,’ Nevyn said. ‘No doubt you’ve never heard it before.’

      ‘Oddly enough, our liege the king was consulting with me about it this very morning.’

      Nevyn smiled and waited.

      ‘Petyc keeps the royal archives, you see,’ Olnadd put in. ‘So many a strange question comes his way.’

      ‘No doubt,’ Nevyn said. ‘And did our liege find the answer to his question?’

      ‘He found an answer of sorts.’ Petyc paused, quirking an eyebrow, then continued. ‘But whether the answer applies to you, good sir, I couldn’t say. It seems that in the reign of our liege’s grandsire, King Aeryc, there was talk of a mysterious secret order of priests – or somewhat of that sort – who all bore the name Nevyn. A certain Nevyn paid King Aeryc a great service in the matter of the Eldidd rebellion.’

      ‘Ah,’ Nevyn said. ‘An interesting tale.’

      Olnadd suppressed a smile and studied the ceiling. Petyc considered them both, as nervous but as eager as a stray cat who approaches a bowl of scraps laid out by a farmer’s wife.

      ‘May I ask you somewhat?’ Petyc had gathered his courage. ‘If I pry, then tell me, but do those old tales of other men named Nevyn have somewhat to do with you?’

      ‘They do. What made you guess, besides the name, of course?’

      ‘The name, mostly. Some of the records discuss a clan – I suppose you’d call it a clan – of sorcerers, always headed by a man called no one. I take it you’re sworn to aid the king?’

      ‘Him, too, but we do our best to offer our aid to anyone who needs it, whether prince or bondman.’

      Petyc considered this in some surprise.

      ‘Matters of history have always interested me.’ Nevyn decided to change the subject. ‘It’s a great honour to meet the keeper of the King’s archives. Olnadd tells me you understand their importance, unlike so many scribes.’

      With this sort of opening, the conversation could turn to the safe and pleasant matters of scholarship. As Petyc talked about his chronicles, his intelligence became obvious. He carefully selected what to record with a clear view of what granted an event importance.

      ‘Some of the ancient annals we have would no doubt amuse you,’ Petyc said. ‘They record with great solemnity every two-headed calf and dragon-shaped cloud seen in the kingdom, but omit to tell us anything about the king’s councils.’

      ‘You seem quite interested in ancient times.’

      ‘I am, truly.’ Petyc nodded in Olnadd’s direction. ‘His holiness here was the first to show me how fascinating the past can be. I was just a lad, then, sent to him once I’d been taken on by the dun. He taught me that there was more to books than the shaping of their letters.’

      ‘You were a quick pupil, one of the best I ever had.’ Olnadd glanced at Nevyn. ‘Petyc has an interesting library, some twenty volumes in his own personal collection.’

      ‘That’s an amazing number, truly.’ Nevyn took the hint and the opening. ‘I have a volume with me, actually, that might interest you, Petyc.’

      Nevyn brought out the bribe, a copy, some eighty years old, of the anonymous saga of Rwsyn of Eldidd, a king who’d ruled in the fifth century. When Petyc exclaimed over it, Nevyn could easily press it upon him as a gift without the word ‘bribe’ ever coming near the surface of conversation. With the saga duly accepted, Nevyn mentioned that he’d always wanted to see King Casyl from some better vantage than as a bystander to a formal procession.

      ‘That could be arranged,’ Petyc said. ‘I’d be most honoured, anyway, if you’d visit my humble quarters and look over some of the other books we’ve been discussing.’

      ‘And I should be most honoured to see them. May I visit you sometime soon?’

      ‘Come tomorrow afternoon, by all means. I’ll speak to the chamberlain about your audience with our king, but I fear that the chamberlain will tell you that he’s much too distracted these days. The Cerrgonney war, you know. I mean, rebellion.’

      ‘Oh no doubt. But perhaps I can impress the chamberlain with my sincerity.’

      On the morrow, wearing a clean shirt for the occasion, Nevyn presented himself at the massive iron-bound gates of the dun. When he announced his business, the guards looked him over suspiciously, but they allowed him into the ward while they sent a servant off to fetch the scribe. Petyc appeared promptly, then escorted him inside the rearmost tower of the conjoined brochs. As they were walking down a corridor, a pair of the king’s riders came swaggering along, shoving them out of the way and walking on fast. Petyc made a sour face at their broad backs.

      ‘That reminds me,’ Nevyn said. ‘Do you know anything about one of the King’s captains, a man named Gwairyc?’

      ‘I do. Now, I’ve only met him most briefly and formally, but his liege requested I enter a tale about Gwairyc into the annals for 980. It marked an event important in itself, but as well our liege meant it as a mark of honour to the captain. To give the man his due, it was splendidly brave. I suppose.’

      ‘An event of warfare, then?’

      ‘Just that.’ Petyc СКАЧАТЬ