The Spirit Stone (9 page)

‘Well and good, then,’ Casyl looked into the stone again and smiled. ‘It’s passing strange. Just looking at this gem, just holding it—I’ve never felt like this before. It brings peace, but a peace that’s alive, not like dropping off to sleep or suchlike.’ Casyl laid a fingertip gently on the stone. ‘Is there anything I should do to tend it?’

‘There’s not, but the keeping of it secret and the honouring of it.’

‘A marvel indeed. Here, why would you give me such a thing?’

‘Because you’re the king, and the king is the shield of his people. Through you I can help bring them safety.’

Casyl nodded, turning solemn, staring into the opal’s depths for many a long moment. Finally he looked up. ‘Come now, good Nevyn. Surely you’ll let me give you a good price for this stone.’

‘I won’t, your highness. The dweomer asks no price for its aid to good men. It’s a gift to you and the kingdom.’

‘Then you shall have a gift in return.’ Casyl grinned, abruptly boyish. ‘Anything in my kingdom you desire is yours. Well, except my wife.’ He laughed aloud. ‘I’ve never had such a splendid gem before! Name what you desire, good Nevyn—I truly mean it, anything at all.’

Olnadd’s right,
Nevyn thought.
The king does like the grand gesture.

‘Fine horses, other jewels, gold, land,’ Casyl went on. ‘Have you ever desired a vast demesne? Here, the tieryn of Buccbrael has just died, and he has no heir but a daughter. Shall I apportion his lands and the lass to you?’

‘Your highness, I honour your generosity, but my craft leaves me no time for ruling lands and marrying young wives. I want nothing at all. Your gratitude is the greatest reward an old man’s heart could have.’

‘Oh, but there must be somewhat. Here, it would be dishonourable of me to let you go away empty-handed. How can I be dishonourable to the man who’s given me the very jewel of honour’s soul?’

Nevyn was about to make another self-deprecating reply when he felt a cold touch of dweomer-warning down his back. He knew in the strange wordless way of the dweomer that there was something he was supposed to have from Casyl.

‘Your highness, I’m most touched and overwhelmed. May I think about this for a bit? A king’s boon is too rare and splendid to be spent upon a whim.’

‘True spoken. Think on this boon carefully, and—’ Casyl paused, thinking. ‘In three days, when the sun’s marking out the same hour, I shall receive you in the great hall. Come to me then.’

‘My humble thanks.’ Nevyn bowed to him. ‘Done, then.’

‘Splendid! Now, let’s go down to the great hall. Let me give you a goblet of mead to accompany my thanks.’

‘My thanks, your highness, but I’d prefer dark ale.’

Before they left the private chamber, Nevyn taught Casyl how to wrap up the opal in its silks. Even though he’d bound the stone over to the king, he preserved one link back to himself, so that he could tell if the stone should somehow be endangered. He had no desire to see all his hard work wasted.

The king personally escorted Nevyn to the great hall and sat him down at the honour table. A young page brought the ale, but Casyl himself filled Nevyn’s tankard. As he sipped the good strong brew, Nevyn was aware that every single man and most of the women in the hall had stopped whatever they were doing to stare at him, this shabby old man that the king treated like a long-lost grandfather. When the time came for him to leave, Nevyn could feel their gazes following him the entire way out of the hall. Walking outside into the cool of late afternoon made him feel as if he were tossing aside a burden, the weight of so much envy.

A company of the king’s horsemen came trotting through the gates. Nevyn stepped back out of the way as the men dismounted and grooms rushed forward to take the horses. Most of the riders were laughing, shouting jests back and forth and talking about ale and their dinner, but Lord Gwairyc stood alone and watched them with a small contemptuous smile. Or was it truly contempt? More of a shield, that smile, against the contempt of other men. Before Gwairyc could notice him, Nevyn went on his way, but at the dun gates he stopped to speak with the two guards, who bowed to him. Apparently the news of his sudden high standing had spread fast.

‘Tell me somewhat,’ Nevyn said. ‘Lord Gwairyc, there, who just rode in. Do you know him?’

‘Well, my lord,’ one guard said, ‘Everyone knows
of
him. He wouldn’t have much to do with the likes of us.’

‘They say he’s splendid on the field,’ the other guard put in. ‘He’s got no more fear in him than a ravening wolf. And you’d best not cross him, either, my lord. Touchy, he is, and I swear he’d kill a man for one wrong word.’

‘Ah, I see. Does he have any close friends?’

‘The king honours him, my lord.’ The first guard thought for a long moment. ‘I can’t think of anyone else.’

In gathering twilight Nevyn walked back to Olnadd’s house. Around him, merchants and craftsmen were hurrying home to their dinner. In open windows lanterns glowed, and the smell of cooking drifted in the warm evening air. A group of little children were laughing and tossing a leather ball back and forth while they waited for their mother to call them in for dinner. Nevyn suddenly felt that he understood Gwairyc, cut off like him from normal life and easy companionship. Once he finished his work in the city, he might never see Olnadd again, since he went where the dweomer led him, not where he wished to. Gwairyc would dine in an honoured place in the great hall and sleep in a crowded barracks, but that little smile—Gwairyc was lonely, Nevyn realized. A younger son, a man with an empty rank and no prospects, he’d found the only way to gain a position and honour, by endlessly risking his life until the day he died young in his king’s service.
Of the two of us, he’s got the harsher wyrd,
Nevyn thought,
no matter how weary I grow.

This idea brought with it the first real pang of sympathy for Gerraent that Nevyn had ever felt. The sympathy seemed to grow of its own accord. At dinner, as he told Olnadd and Affyna about his day, an idea came to him, so strange that at first he refused to consider it. Affyna unwittingly gave it to him when he told them about the king’s offer of a boon.

‘I can’t accept some expensive gift, of course,’ Nevyn said. ‘I see what you mean about the grand gesture, Olnadd. Turning him down would be like snubbing a child who offers you his favourite toy, some grubby wooden horse or suchlike. You don’t want it, but how can you say him nay?’

‘But here, Nevyn,’ Affyna broke in. ‘If you took a gift that would help someone else, I’m sure it would be honourable enough.’

‘Now that’s true spoken. There’s plenty of poor folk in the kingdom who can use the king’s gold.’

Nevyn considered the boon in this new light.
Somewhat I could sell, and then give the proceeds to the poor,
he thought,
or maybe another jewel to make a second talisman.
He was going to miss having regular work to give meaning to his long days.

‘Oh, I meant to ask you,’ Affyna said. ‘Did you find out about that captain who interested you?’

‘Gwairyc? I did. Petyc knew his tale.’

‘Oddly enough, I met him once. I have a friend, Ylaenna, who has the prettiest daughter. Oh, she’s a beauty, that lass! Well, somehow or other, she met this Gwairyc, and he was sniffing around her good and proper until Ylaenna’s husband put a stop to it.’

‘I take it Gwairyc has little honour around lasses.’

‘Well, now.’ Affyna considered for a moment. ‘No doubt he doesn’t, but you know, I thought there was more to the lad than anyone would allow.’

‘You have the best heart in the world,’ Olnadd said, grinning. ‘I swear, you’d find something good to say about a murderer or suchlike.’

‘Oh come now, the lad’s not that bad!’ Affyna said. ‘But I suppose you’re right enough. It’s a short life that the royal horsemen lead, but there’s a good heart in Lord Gwairyc, if only someone could bring it out in him.’

‘I doubt me if it was his heart that Ylaenna was worrying about,’ Olnadd muttered.

‘Oh!’ Affyna made a mock-slap in his direction. ‘There’s no need to be coarse!’

Her opinion of the captain brought Nevyn first a feeling, then a thought, that he did his best to argue out of existence. Why should he do one cursed thing for Gerraent? Why should he put himself out a jot for that arrogant soul?
Because he’s another human being,
Nevyn reminded himself,
one of the race you’ve sworn to serve.
Late that night, as he was meditating in his chamber, his mind continually brought up the memory image of Gwairyc’s lonely little smile. Perhaps Affyna was right, and a good man lay under that surface, if someone could find and release him.

Nevyn groaned aloud. Transmuting Gerraent’s soul promised to be a much harder job than his fifty years of work enchanting the opal. He did have one perfectly legitimate reason to let Gwairyc be. Lilli, his apprentice, would take all his time once he found her.
Surely she’s been reborn by now!
Nevyn thought with some irritation. He had several days to see if indeed, she was alive somewhere in or near Dun Deverry. If not, then he could worry about Lord Gwairyc.

Over the next two days, he wandered the city in search of her. He even made a point of meeting the reputedly lovely daughter of Affyna’s friend, just on the off-chance that she might be Lilli reborn, but though she was undoubtedly beautiful, she was not his former apprentice. At night he both meditated upon Lilli and her harsh wyrd and actively hunted for traces of her soul upon the astral plane. He found nothing.

On the third day, when he was to return to the king to claim his boon, Nevyn woke to a realization. His old chains of wyrd, the tragedies over many lives that bound him to Gerraent and those other souls who had participated in his original fault—they would always take precedence in his life. Lilli had great talent for the dweomer, and most likely she would catch the attention of some other dweomermaster. If not, then he would find her when it was his wyrd to find her, and not a moment before.

Late in the warm and muggy day, Nevyn puffed back up the hill to the royal dun. The guards ushered him in with bows, and a page came running to greet him.

‘His highness told us to look for you, my lord,’ the page said. ‘He’s in council at the moment, but he begs that you’ll not be offended, and that you’ll wait for him in the great hall.’

‘I shall be honoured,’ Nevyn said. ‘Lead on.’

As they walked together across the ward, Nevyn noticed that Lord Gwairyc’s contingent of horsemen had just ridden in. The men were dispersing while the grooms were leading their mounts away. Near the broch Lord Gwairyc was standing and speaking with another nobleman. As they passed him, Gwairyc glanced Nevyn’s way. For a moment, their eyes met, only briefly, but what Nevyn saw there shocked him: no recognition, no hostility, nothing, really, but a cold indifference. Always before, Gerraent reborn had recognized him, as an enemy perhaps, but still, he had recognized him.

The page, Nevyn noticed, seemed terrified of the captain. In a moment he saw why. The groom leading Gwairyc’s dappled grey gelding had one hand on the horse’s bridle; with the other he held and idly swung the reins like a whip. Just as they were passing Gwairyc, the groom swung them too vigorously and clipped the startled horse across the nose. Gwairyc took two long strides, grabbed the groom by the shoulder, and hit him across the face so hard that the fellow yelped and staggered back.

‘I’ll take him in myself,’ Gwairyc snarled. ‘He’s twice as valuable as you are, and don’t you ever forget it.’

The groom pressed one hand over his bleeding nose and ran off, stumbling a little, without looking back. The page who’d been attending to Nevyn caught the old man’s sleeve.

‘Let’s go inside, my lord,’ he whispered.

‘By all means,’ Nevyn said. ‘We don’t need ill-temper coming our way.’

They hurried into the great hall, a cool refuge from the heat of the day as well as from Lord Gwairyc. Riders and servants were gathering at their hearth, while across the hall a few courtiers had already come in to sit together and gossip. At the table of honour Lord Gathry was waiting. He personally pulled out Nevyn’s chair for him, then sat down beside him.

‘Here, page,’ Gathry said. ‘Run and fetch mead and goblets. No doubt our guest is thirsty.’

The boy nodded and trotted off.

‘My thanks,’ Nevyn said, ‘Tell me somewhat, good sir. Do you know Lord Gwairyc?’

‘As much as any man can know him, I suppose. He’s part of the royal household now.’ Gathry paused for a twist of his lips. ‘There’s some talk that our liege will make him an equerry.’

‘Indeed? This idea seems to displease you.’

‘Oh, not at all, of course. If our liege chooses to do so, of course I have no objection.’ Gathry glanced around, turning to look behind him as if he expected Gwairyc to crawl out of a crack between the stones in the wall. ‘A good man, truly. Most devoted to our liege.’

‘Ah, I see. May I ask you just how devoted?’

For a moment, Gathry looked puzzled by the question; then he considered.

‘Now, truly, there are some at court who don’t care for Gwairyc and talk against him, but I must give the man his due, my lord. I think he’d walk into a fire if our liege asked him. The lords who grumble against him feel shamed. Their own allegiance runs a bit thinner than that, if you take my meaning.’

‘Oh, indeed I do, and my thanks.’

Nevyn turned in his chair and looked back at the doors. Gwairyc was standing alone, his arms crossed tight over his chest, his face utterly stripped of all feeling. No one spoke to him when he walked in and took his place at the head of one of the riders’ tables. A handful of men at a time, the king’s riders clattered in, laughing among themselves. Nevyn watched, and while he saw many men nod to Gwairyc or even bow to him, no one seemed to say a friendly word, nor did Gwairyc ever say one in return. Nevyn began to think of him as a soul standing on the edge of some abyss, just as when a man, all unmindful, strolls along the sea-cliffs to take a bit of air at night and cannot see the dirt crumbling just a few inches from his foot. A man so cut off from his fellows risked falling into evil ways, maybe not in this life, with his devotion to the king to guide him, but in his next the cliff edge might give way beneath him and let him fall into the darkness that recognizes nothing but its own wants and whims.