The Dragon Revenant (42 page)

“Forgive me, sir,” Nevyn said to the archon. “This is my granddaughter and the gwerbret’s betrothed, and there, just behind her, is the gwerbret’s half-brother.”

When Graffaeo, a portly little man on the pale side, bowed to her in the Deverry manner, Jill managed to drop a curtsey. Salamander was smiling in such an arrogant way that she couldn’t begrudge the archon his sour scowl.

“I am well acquainted with this male personage, Lord Galrion,” Graffaeo rumbled. “But where is the gwerbret himself?”

“Here.” Rhodry strode to the dais, scorned the stairs, and leapt in one smooth motion three feet up. “So. I’ve heard your name often enough, honored one, over the past few weeks.”

Goaded beyond human limits his men began to cheer, a wordless yelp of sheer release. Caught up in the spirit of the thing the various slaves and servants joined in, applauding gracefully in their corners until Graffaeo threw both arms in the air for silence.

“I am pleased to welcome you to my humble house, Lord Rhodry of Aberwyn.” His smile was a flash of wolf in a pudgy face. “And I trust, since your servants are here to escort you home, that we will hear no more of this peculiar lawsuit.”

For the rest of that afternoon and long into the evening, after the slaves had lit a hundred oil lamps in the glittering room and an impromptu meal had been served, Jill was a spectator at the strangest tournament she’d ever seen, round after round of mock combats fought only with words and precious few plain ones at that. She was shocked to see just how devious, just what a master of innuendo Nevyn could be when he set himself to it, and, of course, the archon would never have been elected if he hadn’t been as subtle as a greased stoat. It was some hours before she realized that this battle was being fought not over principles, but out of fear. If there had been no Hawks of the Brotherhood to threaten his life, Graffaeo would have bankrupted himself gladly to help them safely home and revenge the murdered priests, but there were, always present, always threatening, the Hawks. Not, of course, that the archon ever mentioned their name—he talked mostly of regrettable circumstances and electoral discontent. Yet everyone knew what he meant, just as everyone realized that he as well as they assumed that the Hawks were behind the deaths at the hermitage.

“Of course,” Nevyn said at one point. “There’s bound to be an outcry among the voters when the news of the slaughter spreads—as it’s doubtless doing right now. My manservant does happen to be watching over our horses out in the stables.”

“Oh, my good sir, no doubt it would have spread quite quickly no matter what either of us did.” Graffaeo moved neatly to undercut the dweomermaster’s small victory. “Never fear. I shall do everything I can to reassure the people that the matter is well in hand.”

“Justice must be served, um?” Nevyn saluted him with a wine cup. “Even if the meal is meager?”

Graffaeo flushed scarlet.

“Justice
will
be served, sir. One way or another.”

Nevyn paused with the cup halfway to his mouth and considered the archon over the brim. Under their bristling white brows his ice-blue eyes seemed strangely sympathetic.

“One way or another, indeed.” He lowered the cup. “I realize, of course, that you’re in a very difficult position, with so many factors and factions to weigh and balance. What a pity that someone couldn’t just take this little matter off your shoulders—unofficially, of course, while the official investigation goes forward.”

“Ah.” Graffaeo took a dried fig from a silver tray and considered its many convolutions. “A pity, indeed. If such a thing were possible, it would of course earn my extreme gratitude.”

“Of course.” Nevyn had a sip of wine and looked casually away toward a fresco that depicted the Star Goddesses presenting a heroically drawn figure with a lodestone. “What a beautiful painting that is! The artist must be well known.”

“Oh, he is, he is. We were lucky to get him.”

“Does anyone remember the names of the apprentices who mixed the plaster and ground the colors, or the journeyman who took the artist’s drawings and pounced and scored them upon the wall?”

“What? Why should they?” Then the archon smiled in gentle understanding. “Indeed, why should anyone remember that?”

“Indeed. The agents of the great are never remembered, though much of the, shall we say, less pleasant work falls to them.”

“A pity, in its way.” The archon picked up the silver tray. “May I offer you a sweetmeat, Lord Galrion?”

“My thanks.”

When Nevyn took a handful of almonds, Jill realized that a bargain had just been concluded—though what it was, she couldn’t say.

For the appearances of the thing they lingered some minutes more, but as soon as possible Nevyn made their escape in a flurry of bows and protests of mutual admiration. As they all waited out in the lamplit courtyard for the horses to be Drought round, Salamander was beside himself, practically jigging where he stood.

“Oh, most brilliant stroke, Lord Galrion!” He spoke in Deverrian, as secret as a whisper up here in the hill country. “Well-played indeed!”

“Hold your tongue, you chattering elf!” Nevyn sounded weary. “Don’t gloat over somewhat that could well kill us all.”

“But I don’t understand,” Jill said. “What did you get from him?”

“His permission to go after the Hawks. If I fail, it’ll be no affair of his, but if I succeed, there won’t be any talk of my legal culpability, either.”

“But how do you know? It was all cursed unclear to me.”

“My dear turtledove,” Salamander broke in. “It’s no one word or phrase—the truth resides in the sum of the entire evening. Never have I seen concessions better wrung! Our Nevyn is so subtle, so recondite even, that I’m beginning to wonder if he’s half an elf himself.”

“I know you mean that for a compliment, but stop gloating!” Nevyn snapped. “You didn’t see the slaughter in that temple.”

“Well, true enough, master. I fall abashed.”

In a clatter of hooves on the cobbles and the ringing of bridles, slaves brought the horses round the corner of the longhouse. At their head, all diffidence and openmouthed grovel, his red hair gleaming in the lantern light, walked Perryn. At the sight of him Jill quite literally snarled like a dog and clasped her hand over her sword hilt. When he yelped and shrank back, her disgust rose strong enough to choke her. That—that ugly creature—that skinny little beast who looked more like a gnome than a man—that wretch was what had terrified her, terrorized her rather with his peculiar and unclean dweomer! Without a single thought she strode over, slapped him across the face with one hand and punched him as hard as she could in the stomach with the other. He moaned and doubled over.

“Enough!” Nevyn caught her wrist from behind.

“But, my lord! After what he did to me! I’ll kill him!”

“You won’t, and because I say so. Naught that I could say would talk you out of it, so leave him alone because I order you to.”

That she could accept—barely. She shook off’ the old man’s grip and strode over to Rhodry, who was standing at the head of his warband—she could think of the men no other way, now that he was with them—and watching her with a small, approving smile.

“Do you remember that stinking little weasel?” she said.

“Entirely too well. I caught him on the road, you know, after you’d left him. The gray gnome guided me right there, and I beat the demons out of his heart and hide and the filth out of his guts. It’s a lovely memory, that one.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?”

“I swore a vow that I wouldn’t.” Rhodry frowned, thinking hard. “I don’t remember why now, or what god presided. But a vow’s a vow.”

“It is, truly. Well and good, then—I just wondered.”

“As well you might. But here, my love, I’ve been aping a man with a memory, sure enough, but that doesn’t mean I have one. That old man, Galrion, the one you keep calling ‘no one? Who by all the hells is he?”

She felt then as Perryn must have when her fist punched gut into backbone. All her despair came flooding back, a wondering if Rhodry would ever be well again, if he couldn’t even remember Nevyn.

“A man you can trust with your life, and the greatest sorcerer in all Deverry, just for starters.” She managed to force out a reassuring smile. “I’ll tell you about his other talents later.”

Since he agreed with Brother Merrano that the priests of Dalae-oh-contremo had endured enough armed barbarians within their walls, Nevyn sent Salamander, Perryn, and Praedd back to the temple to round up the gear and horses left behind, then took everyone else to an inn that Merrano recommended: a large, clean place run by a pious man and, better yet, surrounded by a high wall with iron spikes embedded in the plaster on top. This time of year, fortunately, they had the compound pretty much to themselves, and Jill, rather to Nevyn’s surprise, had an amazing amount of hard coin to give the innkeep to ensure that they would continue to do so.

“Where did you get all that silver?”

“Ah well.” Briefly she turned furtive. “We earned it, actually, but you’d best ask Salamander how.”

“Very well, then. Here, Amyr! You and the rest of the men will be sleeping in what’s usually the common room upstairs. Get them settled, then stay out here to wait for Salamander and the others. Tell Perryn to sleep out in the stable with the horses. Don’t worry about him arguing—he’ll prefer it.”

And he’ll be safer there, too, Nevyn thought somewhat grimly—from Jill, that is. When he’d brought Perryn along, he’d forgotten that Jill would be less than pleased to see the man she saw as a deliberate tormentor. While he understood her feelings, he also had no desire to see Perryn beaten to death right in front of him.

Once Salamander returned, he, Jill, Rhodry, and Gwin all crowded into the tiny reception chamber of Nevyn’s suite and sat on the floor while Nevyn paced restlessly back and forth. Although he knew that they were all waiting for him to speak, he found it hard to begin, because they were expecting him to solve every problem while he knew exactly how tangled the situation had become. Finally he decided to begin with the easiest strand of this web to unwind and pointed at Gwin.

“Who are you anyway, lad?”

Licking nervous lips Gwin only looked at Rhodry.

“He was a Hawk, my lord,” Rhodry said. “But he’s my man now, and I’ll vouch for him.”

Nevyn turned to Gwin, caught his glance when the man tried to look away, and switched to the dweomer sight that could bore deep into a soul. For a moment other eyes flickered before his—blue and hard and cold, but at root somehow bewildered—and with the snatch of vision came the sound of a man crying, one who hadn’t mourned in years. Then it faded, leaving him puzzled and Gwin terrified, shrinking back into his corner of the tiny room, trying to speak but only mouthing soundless words.

“I won’t hurt you, lad. If Rhodry says you’ve changed allegiance, then I’ll believe him.”

Gwin swallowed heavily, sighed once, and found his voice.

“I’ll tell you everything I know about the Hawks. I was only a journeyman, not a master, but everything I know, I’ll tell you gladly.”

“Good. Later we’ll have a small private chat, you and I. Oh come now, don’t look so frightened. It’ll be a good bit easier than your initiation was, I’m sure.” Suddenly weary, Nevyn sat down on the edge of the miniature dais. “I can see that I need more information before I can make the hard decisions I have to make. Rhodry lad, let’s start with you. After that stupid Cerrgonney feud wound down, what happened? Why did you head for Cerrmor?”

“I can’t tell you, my lord. I don’t remember. Oh, of course,-you don’t know yet. They took my memory away. I only remember bits and pieces of my life before they brought me to Bardek. A Hawk called Baruma—”

“He’s no Hawk!” Gwin snapped. “A member of the cursed foul Dark Brotherhood, but no Hawk.”

“Well and good, then,” Rhodry went on. “This slime-gut demon’s spawn called Baruma took me prisoner and broke my mind to pieces—as far as I can tell, anyway.”

He said it so calmly that it took some moments for Nevyn to realize the significance of what he’d said. Then he swore, and all the rage he’d felt at the sight of the murdered priests boiled up again, as fresh and hot as the spew of a volcano.

“Oh, have they now?” His voice came out as a burning whisper that made everyone in front of him shrink back. He took a deep breath and made himself speak in a more normal tone of voice. “Oh, did they? Then that tears it. That’s enough. I’ve taken all I’m going to take from these people. I’ll need all of your information before I can plan the attack, but I’ve made my decision. Once you’re all safely on your way to Eldidd, then I’m taking up the archon’s little commission and coming back here to wipe these scum off the face of the earth.”

“Begging your pardon and all, my lord,” Rhodry said, and there was the steel of command in his voice. “But I’m not leaving until I’ve helped you do it. I swore a vow to kill Baruma, and kill him I will, even if I die for it and Aberwyn goes up in flames for the lack of me.”

Nevyn opened his mouth to argue, then hesitated. With a ripple of dweomer-cold he realized that he was going to need help on this self-appointed mission. He also could recognize a waste of time when he saw one coming his way.

“Very well, and I suppose none of the rest of you are going to run, either, no matter how long I argue with you. But remember, Rhodry lad. You may be Gwerbret Aberwyn, but I’m the Master of the Aethyr. This is my war, and I’m the cadvridoc. You ride at my orders or you don’t ride at all.”

“Done, then. You have my pledged word.”

It was getting on toward dawn before Nevyn slept that night. First he heard what Salamander, Jill, and Rhodry had to say about their time in Bardek; then he shooed everyone out and closeted himself with Gwin for hours. Although Gwin had never risen far in the hierarchy of the assassin’s guild—he had little talent for dweomer though a lot for killing—he had spent most of his life as a Hawk, ever since he’d stumbled onto the guild’s existence as a runaway slaveboy of ten. He knew names, and places, and secret signs and rituals; he’d overheard scraps of plans and details of feuds within the Brotherhood; he was also willing to spill every one of them, searching through every corner of his well-trained memory as he sat on the floor in Nevyn’s chamber. He had made his change of loyalties as ruthlessly and scrupulously as he would have carried out a mass murder before, yet Nevyn could see that the change had nothing to do with honor and precious little with moral principles. Gwin only knew that his whole life had been a tangle of suffering, and that his love for Rhodry, a feeling both blind and wise, was his one last chance to cut that tangle and win free. Nevyn was more than willing to use any weapon that would get anyone free of evil, just as he would never scorn a medicinal that would save a patient just because it didn’t happen to be mentioned in the best herbal s.