The Fire Dragon. Katharine Kerr

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      ‘Just so. That’s what I get for lying.’

      ‘Not exactly lying. Stretching a point, mayhap. But poor Decci! She’s really quite demented when it comes to the Boars.’

      That evening, when Nevyn was leaving the great hall after dinner, Oggyn followed him out, pulling on his beard and harrumphing under his breath. They walked a little way out into the open ward, where they couldn’t be overheard.

      ‘A word with you, if I may,’ Oggyn said.

      ‘Certainly. Did Degwa tell you about the brooch?’

      ‘She most assuredly did. I fear me I’ve greatly displeased her.’

      Although Nevyn was expecting the councillor to be angry with him, in the twilight Oggyn looked mostly miserable. He shoved his hands into his brigga pockets and kicked at a loose cobblestone with the toe of his boot.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Nevyn said. ‘But the brooch has some sort of spell on it, and she couldn’t go on wearing it.’

      ‘By the gods! I never thought of that.’ Oggyn looked up sharply. ‘That Merodda woman –’

      ‘Exactly. After this, if I might make a suggestion, could you consult with me before you give away any more of the lady’s possessions? They’re yours by right of conquest, but just in case –’

      ‘I understand, never fear! I’ll do that.’ Oggyn sighed heavily. ‘The true trouble is, I’m always short up for coin, and even if I had any, where would I find the smith to make Lady Degwa some new trinket?’

      ‘Otho is quite a bit more skilled than any Cerrmor silversmith.’

      ‘I do not traffic with silver daggers.’ Oggyn’s voice turned cold. ‘Good eve. My thanks for the warning.’

      Oggyn turned on his heel and strode away, head held high. Ye gods! Nevyn thought. A matched pair!

      Nevyn took the brooch up to Lilli’s chamber, where he found her sitting at her table. In front of her the open dweomer book lay in a pool of candlelight from a silver candelabra.

      ‘Is this enough light for you to read?’ Nevyn said.

      ‘Not truly.’ Lilli paused to rub her eyes with both hands. ‘It’s given me a bit of a headache.’ She shut the book and put it to one side. ‘What brings you to me?’

      ‘I thought you might want to see this brooch. It does have some sort of weak warding spell upon it.’

      When he laid it upon the table, Lilli leaned forward to study it, but she left her hands in her lap. ‘I remember my mother wearing that,’ she said at length. ‘It was a gift from Uncle Tibryn.’

      ‘Can you see the dweomer upon it?’

      ‘I can. It looks like grease, dirty kitchen grease.’

      ‘Ah. I see it as a sort of grey mist. Do you remember what I told you about dark dweomer casting shadows?’

      ‘I do. And how the shadows will look different to different minds. It’s a good thing you got this away from Degwa. It must be nasty, though I can’t say what it would have done.’

      ‘No more can I, but let’s be rid of it.’

      Nevyn raised one hand above his hand, then summoned the silver light. In his mind he saw it flow down from the astral like a trickle of water. He concentrated on the image, focused it, strengthened it with his imagination, then with a simple word of power brought it through to the physical. It swirled around his hand and burned like a torch, though without smoke. He heard Lilli gasp and knew she’d seen it.

      ‘Begone!’ Nevyn snapped his hand down and pointed at the brooch. Silver fire poured over silver metal, then vanished.

      ‘It’s lifted!’ Lilli said. ‘The shadow, I mean.’

      ‘Good. It was a weak spell, so it cost very little to banish it. Unlike that wretched curse tablet.’

      ‘Just so.’ Lilli reached for the brooch, then stopped. ‘May I?’

      ‘By all means. Do you want it back? Degwa refuses to have it, since it once belonged to the Boar clan.’

      Lilli picked up the brooch and held it up to the candle-light. It gleamed as if it had been newly polished with ash and river sand. Most likely Merodda had cast the spell herself, Nevyn decided. Creating the curse tablet, however, had lain beyond her skill. Only a master of evil could have ensorceled that.

      ‘I think I do want it,’ Lilli said at last. ‘Not to wear, but to keep. There were times, you know, when I felt that my mother did love me. She gave me to Lady Bevyan to foster, and she made sure that Uncle Tibryn wouldn’t marry me off to Lord Nantyn, if naught else.’

      ‘Then keep it in remembrance of her better nature,’ Nevyn said. ‘Every soul has one, and it deserves a little honour.’

      Five days after the call to muster, the first of Maryn’s vassals rode in to Dun Deverry. The gathering of the full contingent took some weeks, as Maryn’s most loyal – and most prosperous – vassals lived far to the south on the sea coast. With the lords and their warbands came carts, driven by servants and piled high with provisions, as each vassal owed Maryn not only men for his army but the food for three months’ campaigning – not such an easy thing to raise, here in the ravaged north. The long years of civil war had starved a good many farm families and killed their sons in battle as well.

      As the fighting men arrived, Branoic started keeping a count by the twenties on a bit of smooth board, but when he got up to a thousand, he stopped. Councillor Oggyn would be doing a better job of it, as he remarked to Maddyn.

      ‘Just so,’ Maddyn said. ‘The prince must be happy to see such a good turnout.’

      ‘No doubt,’ Branoic said. ‘Well, we’re cursed near to the victory. That always inspires a little extra loyalty among the noble born.’

      They shared a laugh. Since Maryn could not officially ennoble Branoic until he was proclaimed king, Branoic still lived among the silver daggers, and they were sitting together in the barracks on a blustery morning. As they talked, Branoic was polishing his mail shirt with a bit of rag. All around them other men were working on their gear: cleaning mail, replacing leather straps or wooden toggles wherever they needed fixing, talking together in low voices about the fighting ahead or boasting about their exploits of the summer past.

      ‘Are you looking forward to riding out?’ Maddyn said.

      ‘Not truly,’ Branoic said. ‘Odd of me. I used to be eager enough to get free of winter quarters.’

      ‘Well, you’ve got somewhat to stay for now.’

      ‘Lilli, you mean?’ Branoic concentrated on threading the rag through a rusty ring. ‘If our prince ever lets her go.’

      Maddyn said nothing for a long moment. Branoic looked up to find him solemn.

      ‘He promised you,’ the bard said at length, ‘that you’d be wed once he had the victory. Our prince СКАЧАТЬ