Darkspell (30 page)

When Nevyn went up to the tower room, he found Mael caressing a copy of his book, leather bound and neatly written in the spiky temple hand. The prince was so eager to show it to him that it took almost half an hour before Nevyn could get to his real business.

“The real marvel is that the king’s going to subsidize another twenty copies,” Mael finished up. “Do you know why?”

“I do. It’s his way of solemnizing your release. He’s setting you free next week.”

Mael smiled, started to speak; then his face froze in disbelief. His fingernails dug into the soft binding of the codex in his hands.

“I’ll be riding with you as far as the Eldidd border,” Nevyn went on. “Gavra and your son will meet us outside Cerrmor. Ebrua will stay here, but then, you can hardly blame her. She loves her husband, and she’s never even met you.”

Mael nodded, his face so pale that it looked like snow.

“Oh, by the gods of both our peoples!” he whispered. “I wonder if this caged bird remembers how to fly.”

Although Prince Ogretoryc and his wife now lived in a splendid suite of apartments at court, they had never forgotten the times when Primilla had been the only person to pay court to them, and they were usually willing to receive her in those moments they set aside for craftspeople and merchants. The prince was a tall young man with raven-dark hair and cornflower-blue eyes, good-looking in a rough sort of way and inclined to be expansive as long as he wasn’t crossed. This particular morning Primilla brought him a present, an expensive little merlin for his favorite sport of hawking. The prince immediately took the bird on his wrist and chirruped to it.

“My thanks, good dame. He’s a lovely little bird.”

“I’m most honored that he pleases his highness. When I heard about his highness’s father being released, I thought a celebratory gift was in order.”

His eyes suddenly dark, Ogretoryc began paying great attention to the merlin, who turned its hooded head his way as if recognizing a kindred soul. In her chair by the window, Laligga moved restlessly.

“Of course,” she said with a carefully arranged smile. “We’re ever so pleased about Mael’s release. But how odd to think that my father-in-law’s become a scribe.”

Ogretoryc shot her a sideways glance that could have meant any number of furious things.

“My thanks for the gift, good Primilla,” he said. “I’ll take him straightaway to my falconer.”

Since it was clear that the audience was over, Primilla curtsied and withdrew to the public area of the royal great hall, crowded with various suppliants and the merely curious. As she talked with the councillors and scribes she knew, she picked up a number of hints that a good many important people would be glad to see Mael reinstated in his old place and his son reduced to being merely the heir. Perhaps it was for reasons of sentiment or honor that they felt so. Perhaps. Primilla sought out Councillor Cadlew and asked him outright why some were eager to see Mael return as liege lord of Aberwyn and Cannobaen.

“You seem vastly interested in Mael’s affairs,” Cadlew remarked.

“Of course. The guild needs to know where to spend its gifts. We don’t care to curry favor from the wrong lord.”

“True spoken. But, here, don’t spread this any further, will you? The princess Laligga’s given herself airs ever since her husband became Aberwyn. There’s more than a few who’d enjoy seeing her in a reduced state. And there are some widows, too, who’d fancy themselves consoling a prince in his later years.”

“So. This is all a woman’s matter?”

“Far from it. The princess has offended more than the ladies in residence, and the widows have brothers who see a chance at influence.”

“I see. Do you think Mael will be reinstated?”

“I hope not, for his sake. It would doubtless be very dangerous for his continuing good health, and you won’t get one more word out of me, good dame.”

What she had was quite enough. Primilla made sure to contact Nevyn immediately, because she had no desire to see Mael come home only to be poisoned by his kin.

From the window in Mael’s chamber, the ward of Dun Cerrmor looked as tidy and small as a child’s toy. Little horses trotted across barely visible cobbles; tiny men strode around and disappeared into little doors. Only the loudest noises drifted up to his window. That afternoon Mael was leaning on the windowsill and studying the familiar view when he heard the door open behind him.

“Glyn, king of all Deverry, approaches,” the guard sang out. “All kneel.”

Mael turned and knelt just as the king strode in. For a moment they studied each other in a kind of bemused shock. They both had aged so much since their last brief meeting.

“As of today,” Glyn said at last, “you’re a free man.”

“My humble thanks, Your Highness.”

Glyn glanced once around the chamber, then left, taking all the guards with him. Mael stared at the empty doorway for a long time, until at last Nevyn appeared in it.

“Get up, my friend,” the old man said. “It’s time to try your wings.”

As Mael followed him down the dark winding stairway, he stared at the walls, stared at the ceiling, stared at every person they met. When they went out into the ward, the sunlight rushed over him like water. He looked up and saw the wall of the dun rising above him, not below, and suddenly he was physically dizzy. Nevyn caught his arm and steadied him.

“The mind’s a strange thing,” the old man said.

“So it is. I feel bewitched or suchlike.”

At first the noise and confusion were overwhelming. It seemed that the entire ward was filled with men, shouting,
laughing, leading horses by in a great clatter. Maidservants hurried back and forth with buckets of water, loads of firewood, armfuls of foodstuffs. The bright red and silver colors of Cerrmor were everywhere, troubling his recluse’s sight. Yet after a few minutes Mael’s dizziness turned to greed. He walked slowly, savoring every sight, from a splendid lord on horseback to a pile of old straw by the stables. When one of the king’s boarhounds graciously allowed him to pat it, he was so pleased that he felt like an idiot child, whom everything delights because he can place a value on nothing. When he remarked as much to Nevyn, the dweomerman laughed.

“And who’s to say that the idiot child’s not the wisest of us all?” Nevyn said. “Let’s go along to my chambers. Gavra should be joining us soon.”

But Gavra was already waiting in Nevyn’s sparsely furnished reception room. Mael ran to her, swept her into his arms, and kissed her.

“Oh, my love,” he said. “I’m afraid to believe this. I keep thinking we’ll wake on the morrow and find it only a cruel dream.”

“It blasted well better not be, after all the trouble I’ve gone to over the shop! Getting it transferred to Ebrua gave me such a headache that I had to take some of my own herbs.”

Nevyn estimated that it would take them about four days to reach the Eldidd border where, or so it had been arranged, an honor guard from the Eldidd court would be waiting for him. Yet on the third night, when they were making camp about ten miles west of Morlyn, a different sort of party came to meet them: Primilla and two young men, carrying quarterstaves. With a shout of greeting Nevyn hurried over just as they were dismounting, and Mael trailed after him.

“What’s all this?” Nevyn said.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve come with some possibly ominous news.”

“Indeed?” Mael broke in. “Is the court going to want me poisoned?”

“I see the philosopher remembers his old life as a prince very well indeed,” Primilla said. “But I’m not sure if he’s in any true danger. It’s merely that it’s never wise to take unnecessary chances. We came to escort you to a safe place until I’m quite sure we can meet the court on our terms, not theirs.”

“My thanks, then,” Nevyn said. “I haven’t saved the lad’s life from the rope only to lose it to a vial of poison.”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to slip through the woods as sly as foxes, and then—” She paused for a smile. “And then hole up like badgers.”

All week, since the farmers had been bringing in wagonloads of firewood to pay their spring taxes to the Cannobaen light, Avascaen was up and around long before sunset, helping them unload the wood and stack it in the long sheds. On that particular day, when he saw dust coming down the road, he assumed that another wagonload was on the way.

“Here come the lads,” he told Egamyn. “Run and see which shed’s got the most room left.”

With a sigh for the tedium of it all, Egamyn strolled slowly away while Avascaen swung the creaking, complaining gates open. With his hand still on the rusty bar, he froze and stared at the party in the road. Riders—pack mules—that strange woman with the blue hands—and behind them—it couldn’t be—it had to be, gray hair or not. With a shout bordering on a sob, Avascaen raced out into the road to welcome Prince Mael home. When he caught the prince’s stirrup as a sign of fealty, Mael bowed to him from the saddle.

“Look at us, Avascaen! When I rode away, we were both lads, and now we’re all gray and grizzled.”

“So we are, my prince, but the sight of you gladdens my heart, anyway.”

“And it gladdens mine to see you. Will you shelter us?”

“What? Of course, Your Highness. Why, you’ve come at the perfect time. Scwna’s just been airing out your chambers, you see, like she does every spring, so they’ll be nice and clean for you.”

“Has she, now? Every spring?”

“Every spring. We’re like badgers, my prince. We hold on.”

Mael swung down from his horse, grabbed Avascaen’s hand, and shook it hard. When he saw the tears in the prince’s eyes, Avascaen began to feel a bit rocky himself.

“I’m not a prince anymore,” Mael said. “And I count myself honored to call you friend. Here, I’ve got my new wife and son with me, and let’s pray that this time I’m home to stay.”

As the party filed into the ward, Egamyn, Maryl, and Scwna ran out of the broch to greet them. Avascaen gave Egamyn a smug smile.

“And didn’t I tell you he’d be back?”

He had the satisfaction of seeing his bigmouthed son speechless.

After a companionable afternoon and celebratory dinner, Avascaen went out to tend the light. Just as the sky was fading to a pearly gray, he struck sparks from his steel, set the dry tinder burning, then blew on it until the sparks licked round the kindling. He added logs until, at last, the beacon burned strong and sent its warning out to sea. He walked to the edge and looked at the broch, the windows cheerful with lantern light. The prince was home. I didn’t forget him and he didn’t forget me, he thought, just like badgers, both of us. The world was a satisfying place, filled with justice. Later, when the full moon was at its zenith, Mael came up to the tower. Panting, out of breath, the prince leaned against the guardrail.

“You must have cursed strong legs,” Mael said.

“Oh, you get used to it after a bit.”

They leaned side by side over the rail and looked at the sea, the waves foaming silver in the moonlight as they crashed onto the tiny strip of pale beach.

“Did I tell you that I was kept in the top of a tower during my imprisonment?”

“Well, fancy that. So there you were, looking down, and here I was, doing the same.”

“Just that, but this view is a true sight wider than the one I had. I want to stay in Cannobaen for the rest of my life, but that depends on Prince Ogretoryc. The demesne is his to dispose of now, not mine.”

“If he’s got the gall to turn you out of it, then he’ll have to find himself another lighthouse keeper.” Avascaen considered the problem for a moment. “Now, here, my brother’s got more land than he can farm by himself. He’ll take us in if things come to that.”

“My thanks. I can earn a bit as a letter writer, too.”

For a few minutes they shared a companionable silence.

“By the way,” Mael said, “have there even been any ships out here?”

“Blasted few, but you never know when someone will need the light.”

Since Primilla’s strategy lay in portraying Mael as someone utterly unfit for courtly affairs, she urged him to make his letter to his son as blunt as possible, and she was pleased with the result.

“To Ogretoryc, prince of Aberwyn and Cannobaen and my son, Mael the philosopher sends greetings. Although we have never spoken two words together, Your Highness, it behooves a father to be blunt with his own flesh and blood. I know full well that you wish to keep your positions and your honors at the court of my brother the king. I have no desire for anything but to see you do so. I have become a humble scholar, unfit for the duties of war and rulership after my long imprisonment. All I want is to live out the remains of my life in my old country lodge of Cannobaen, or, if his highness prefers, as a common villager. You may send word to me through Primilla, head of the dyer’s guild. I fear for my life in court circles. I have no desire to taste freedom only to taste poison a few weeks later. Your father, Mael the philosopher.”

When she finished reading, Mael leaned back in his chair and gave her a quizzical smile.

“It should do splendidly,” she said.

“Good. You know, it’s a strange thing to be humble to your own son. If it’s not enough for them that I’ve been disclaimed, now I’ve abdicated. Should keep things all nice and tidy, as our Avascaen would say.”

When Primilla returned to Abernaudd, she waited a day before delivering the letter in order to hear the current gossip. The court—indeed, the entire city—was as full of rumors as a wasps’ nest is of stings. The King had indeed sent an honor guard to the border to receive Mael, but they’d found Nevyn the Cerrmor councillor and Prince Cobryn of Cerrmor there instead, telling them that Mael had decided to travel alone. Everyone suspected treachery, but on Ogretoryc’s part, not Cerrmor’s.

“Now, I say they’re wagering on the wrong horse in this race,” Cadlew said. “If there’s treachery, the princess is behind it, not the prince. Some of her loyal men might have taken a warband out after Mael.”

“Indeed? Now, suppose the philosopher isn’t dead. Does anyone have any idea of where he might be?”

“There’s plenty of guesses, but the tale making the rounds is that Mael’s gone over to the rebels in Pyrdon, who’ll shelter him for the chance to make trouble here in Eldidd. Fortunately, they’re too weak to back him in a drive for the throne—too weak as yet, anyway. After all, once a man’s been a prince, who’s to blame him if he wants it all back again?”