Sword of Fire

by Katharine Kerr

  Once she’d dressed she went down to the great hall for breakfast. The students ate at communal tables of eight places set against the opposite wall from the servants’ seating. She took a seat at one end of a table where four pages were sitting at the other, but no one sat in between. A servant brought her porridge with a generous dollop of butter and some dried apple slices, but she found it hard to eat. The young lads at the other end of the table were having no such trouble. As they gobbled down their porridge they talked of nothing but the silver dagger’s horrible death—with details. One of the older boys noticed Alyssa and moved down a chair to speak with her.

  “Good morrow, good maid,” he said. “We were wondering summat. The silver dagger that’s your guard? Why did those fellows want to kill him?”

  “Coin. I don’t understand it, truly. I suppose it was gambling debts.” She stood up and pushed her barely touched bowl in his direction. “Do you want to finish this?”

  “I do. My thanks!” He grabbed the bowl before any of the others had a chance at it.

  As she was leaving the great hall, she met Lady Perra’s scribe, the young Bardekian woman. Seeing her for the second time primed Alyssa’s memory. That’s why she seemed so familiar!

  “I thought I’d find you here,” the scribe said. “Lady Perra would like you to come over to the island right now for your talk. She has to deal with the incident later.”

  Alyssa didn’t need to ask her which incident she might mean.

  “Of course,” Alyssa said. “I have some papers I need to fetch up in my chamber, and then I’ll go straight there. How do I summon the ferry? And may I ask your name? I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “Not rude at all. It’s Hwlia.”

  “Of House Elaeno?”

  “Indeed I am! How did you guess?”

  “Your brother Hwlio spoke at my collegium in Aberwyn a year or so ago.”

  “Well met, then!”

  “You look much like him, you see.”

  “I do, I know. I’m a fair bit younger, but the resemblance is certainly there. He’s in Cerrmor these days, by the way.” Her voice smiled with pride. “He was appointed ambassador to the city by our archon.”

  “Wonderful!” In more ways than one, Alyssa was thinking. This could be very useful! “I was so impressed with his knowledge of our laws. So important for his job there.”

  “It is, indeed. Now, as for the ferry, there’s a silver horn attached to a boulder on the shore. Blow that, then go out on the pier, and the boatmen will come across.”

  “My thanks, Hwlia.”

  Yet Alyssa’s stomach twisted at the thought of walking out onto the pier where Renno had dived to his death. She walked slowly along the lakeshore and paused often to watch the people hurrying between the cottages and the kitchen building to fetch food for those too ill to fetch it themselves. Now and then she saw someone walking very slowly with a cane or crutch while an attendant hovered, ready to help, as the patient made their way to breakfast.

  She’d almost reached the pier when she saw Travaberiel attending upon an elderly man. Trav saw her, waved, and steered the elder in her direction. As they drew close she saw that the elder had to be very old indeed, as his white hair was sparse and his face, heavily lined.

  “And a good morning to you, Alyssa,” Trav said. “This is my master in my guild, Ebañy Salamonderiel.”

  “Good morning to you.” Alyssa curtsied.

  Ebañy grinned and plucked a silk rose out of Travaberiel’s right ear, or so it seemed. He handed it to her with a shaky flourish.

  “Thank you, good sir,” she said. “You’re awfully good at those tricks.”

  “I should be.” His voice wavered on the words. “I’ve been doing them for many a year now.”

  They smiled all round, and Alyssa returned the rose. “I must go. I’ve been summoned to see Lady Perra.”

  “You’d best not keep her waiting, indeed,” Trav said. “We’ll be here on the morrow. At least that long.”

  “Perhaps,” Ebañy said. “I hear the harps calling me.”

  Travaberiel winced. Alyssa curtsied again for want of anything to say. As she hurried off, she glanced back to see Travaberiel helping his master sit on one of the wooden benches. He’s so frail, she thought. I wonder if he’s come to Haen Marn to die? The sunny day, the sparkling lake, the lawns—they were so beautiful that she tried to push the morbid thought out of her mind. Yet she knew that death lay all around her, that even the brilliant healers of Haen Marn lost more patients than they could save.

  The dragonboat came immediately in answer to her summons. When Alyssa scrambled aboard, the head boatman had her sit down in the middle, away from the sides of the boat.

  “We don’t need a second disaster,” he said.

  “I quite understand. Is the noise from the gong supposed to keep them off?”

  “It did once. It still scares the little ones. But the old ones, they’ve gotten used to it. We’ll have to do summat about that, and as soon as we can.”

  Much to Alyssa’s relief, none of the beasts, big or little, showed themselves during the brief trip across. The boatman helped her disembark, then pointed to a flagstone path.

  “Follow that to the manse,” he said, “but don’t step off it, or you might not get there. The island plays tricks, it does, until it gets to know you, like.”

  “I can well believe that, good sir!”

  The flagstone path behaved itself and took her right to the front door of the manse, which also seemed to be on its best behavior. The walls stayed where they were, the door felt solid, and the page who ushered her into the great hall was a perfectly normal lad.

  “I’m Alyssa vairc Sirra, the scholar from Aberwyn.”

  “Right. Lady Perra said to show you right up. This way.”

  The great hall looked to hold at least fifty guests at its tables. Braided rushes covered the floor, and strange carvings and marks covered the walls. Big swags of symbols and tiny pictures ran from corner to corner of each wall, though they parted around the huge stone hearth at one side. At the far end a staircase led up. Alyssa followed the page to a corridor with three doors spaced along it. The page opened the nearest.

  “My lady? The scholar from Aberwyn is here.”

  “Come in!”

  Alyssa did, and the page closed the door behind her. Near a glazed window Lady Perra sat behind a table littered with books and pieces of pabrus. In front of the table stood a half-round wooden chair with a cushioned seat. At the lady’s gesture, Alyssa curtsied, then sat. Perra gave her a pleasant smile.

  “Now then,” she said. “What brings you to us?”

  “We’d—the collegium—would like to request the return of a book.” Alyssa handed her the pabrus loan note. “We need it for a legal matter we have underway.”

  Perra read the note. She quirked an eyebrow Alyssa’s way. “I may have heard summat about that legal matter. The question of the law courts?”

  “Just that. Removing them from gwerbretal control. Dwvoryc says—”

  “I’ve read it. You’re quite right that it’s a crucial text, but I’m afraid you really can’t have the Nevyn copy back. The book’s far too old and crumbly to survive a trip to Aberwyn.”

  “Farther than that, my lady. We need to take it to Cerrmor so we can lay our complaint before the Prince Regent.”

  “Cerrmor?” Perra winced. “That’s much worse, indeed. You poor lass! You look so disappointed.”

  “It’s just that I’ve come such a long way to fail.”

  “You’re not going to fail. We’ll give you summat just as good. We have some truly old copies that aren’t particularly valuable as things in themselves. Here, if I validate a copy, will anyone dare to argue with it?”

  “They won’t, indeed.” Alyssa smiled in relief. “My humble thanks!”

&n
bsp; “But I’ll show you why,” Perra said. “Or better yet, let me summon the man who oversees our bookhoard.”

  The protocol at Haen Marn struck Alyssa as less than formal. Perra went to the window, leaned out, and called, “Glaeryn! Come up a moment, will you?”

  A dark voice answered from directly below, “I will. Let me just wash my hands.”

  Perra smiled and turned from the window. “He’s been working in the herb garden, I see. It’s not truly his work, but now and then he likes to help out a bit. We call him the gardener.”

  Soon enough a fellow strode into the room, tall and lean, his dark hair an unruly thatch, his plain shirt and breeches smeared with dirt here and there. He was neither handsome nor ugly, ordinary in every way, except he carried himself like a prince. He nodded pleasantly Alyssa’s way, but his eyes! Dark Eldidd blue, and they seemed to pierce her very soul. The gardener, she thought. This must be who the spirits meant.

  “Ah, the scholar from Aberwyn,” he said.

  “She’d like to see the bookhoard,” Perra said. “She—”

  “The window’s open. I could hear you both quite clearly. The Prince Regent can come look at the book if he insists.” Glaeryn made a snorting sound. “He can travel. It can’t.”

  Perra laughed and nodded her agreement. Alyssa got up and curtsied for want of anything to say. She’d never heard anyone speak so freely of the man who was king in everything but name.

  “How old are you, lass?” Glaeryn said. “Do you know?”

  “I’ll be twenty come Lugh’s Feast, good sir.”

  “Then this book is nearly forty times as old as you are. Come along. I’ll show you.”

  Alyssa followed Glaeryn down the corridor to a big half-round of a room. All around the edge stood shelves with books safely chained to them. In the center a big pottery stove, vented with a pipe through the roof, exhaled a pleasant warmth to keep the precious volumes dry. Not far from the stove a long narrow table held six glass boxes. Glaeryn pointed them out.

  “Those protect books so old they might crumble away if we let people handle them,” he said. “The Nevyn Book’s one of them. In truth, it’s the second of Nevyn’s books. We have one more that he owned, a book of dweomer lore, but that’s not on public display.”

  “Uh, excuse me, good sire, but a book of what kind of lore?”

  Glaeryn laughed. “Dway-oh-mer is the way the word was pronounced a long time ago. You know it as dwimmer.”

  “My thanks. I must remember to tell my friend Mavva that. She’s fascinated by how words change. Nevyn was someone’s name? Not the man the histories call King Maryn’s sorcerer, was he?”

  “He was, at that, but the histories aren’t entirely accurate. He did do the Red Wyvern a good turn or two, but there was a bit more to him.”

  Another gardener, he was—Alyssa waited, hoping for more of the tale, but Glaeryn merely gestured to her to follow him and headed for the table. He was smiling as if he’d made some sort of jest, and his dark blue eyes had changed, a normal gaze, though tinged with a jest.

  Even though the Nevyn copy had been in the collegium’s bookhoard when Alyssa had arrived as a student, she’d never seen it, because it had been kept wrapped in a locked drawer, safe from careless hands. Glaeryn opened the hinged lid of the glass box and brought out more of a bundle than a book. Once it had had leather covers, but the spine had shredded along most of its length, leaving the covers attached by a few inches here and there. The gilt on the cover had mostly rubbed off. The stamped letters had become so shallow that Alyssa could just barely pick out Dwvoryc’s name.

  Glaeryn laid the book down gently and opened it a few pages in. He smoothed the old-fashioned parchments with fingers so affectionate that he might have been stroking a pet cat or greeting an old friend. While the writing stood out clearly, the edges of the thick pages had begun to split with age.

  “I do see, good sir,” Alyssa said. “Of course it should stay here in this room. Forever, doubtless. Well, as long as it lasts.”

  “But now you can say you’ve seen it,” Glaeryn said. “Swear to it, even, should you have to.”

  “Indeed.” She paused to read half a page. “The language is so old. Mavva would love this. Stiff, like, and all those little words at the beginning of every sentence! Did the folk really speak like that?”

  “They did. Or tried to at least. I’ve no doubt that the fine points fell away quickly as time went on.”

  Glaeryn put the book back in its box. He escorted Alyssa back to Perra’s office, then returned to his work in the garden. Alyssa wasn’t sure if she were sorry or relieved to see him go. Perra waved her into the chair by her worktable.

  “You’re not in this plot alone, are you?” Perra said.

  “I’m not. Most of my collegium is, and in particular, Lady Dovina of Aberwyn.”

  “The gwerbret’s own daughter?” Perra’s eyebrows shot up. “Ye gods! This is a serious matter then.”

  “It is. Without her we’d not get very far. She’s going to be in Cerrmor, and I’m to meet her there with the book. Her father’s arranging her a betrothal, which is why she’s going.”

  “I see. About those silver daggers, your guards. I’m very glad you have someone to protect you, but you do realize, don’t you, that you’re now in a bad position?”

  “I do. My woman’s honor is as dead as a kitten in a wash bucket.”

  “Just so, but beyond that. Have you thought about what might happen to you if the Prince Regent should agree with you? If the gwerbret’s angry, and from what I know about Ladoic, he will be, you might never be able to return to Aberwyn, not even with Lady Dovina’s protection.”

  For a long moment Alyssa could neither think nor speak. She felt as if an icy hand had grabbed her neck and squeezed.

  “You understand, I see,” Perra said, but gently. “Do you have family in Aberwyn?”

  “I do. My whole family. You don’t think the gwerbret will harm them, do you?”

  “I don’t. Ladoic’s a better man than all his blustering makes people believe. When it comes to you, though, if you’ve thwarted him, there’s no telling. Well, your friends will do what they can. I’ve met Lady Tay several times, and with her scholars she’s as fierce as a wolf with her cubs. But I’m wondering if you’ll ever see your family again. If Lady Dovina can’t guarantee you a safe harbor after all this is over, come back to me. We’ll find a position for you here.”

  “My thanks.” Alyssa clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “Truly, my thanks, but I’ve no talent for healing.”

  “More goes on at Haen Marn than healing. We’re the overlords for this entire area, you know. Here, come with me. I need to attend upon the Lord and Lady of Haen Marn, and I think you’ll find this interesting.”

  They returned to the great hall, where a small crowd had assembled at the end of the room nearest the front door. A man of the Mountain Folk sat in the center seat of a long table. A priest of Bel sat at his right, and at his left, a priestess of Sebanna, regal in her long white robes and red headscarf. At each end a scribe was taking notes on long rolls of pabrus. Cavan and Benoic sat on a bench in front and off to the side, while two guards stood on either side of a kneeling man—the surviving bounty hunter, Alyssa assumed.

  “That’s Kov son of Kovolla in the middle,” Perra whispered. “The Lord of Haen Marn.”

  Alyssa nodded to show she’d heard. Lord Kov leaned forward to look directly at the kneeling man.

  “Very well, Wilyn of Cengarn,” Kov said. “We’ve heard the evidence of the two silver daggers. Do you dispute this in any way? You have the right to dispute any detail of it should you want to.”

  “Only one, your lordship,” Wilyn said. “I didn’t join Renno willingly. I owed him a cursed lot of money, your lordship, from the gambling, and he swore he’d get me handed over to the galleys down a
t the coast if I didn’t pay him right up. I never wanted to hunt down a fellow silver dagger, but my share would have paid Renno off. I knew it was a stupid idea, your lordship, and a dishonorable one, but I—”

  “Enough!” Kov raised a hand for silence. “Renno’s no longer available to back your story up or deny it. Do you swear it’s true on your silver dagger?”

  “I do, your lordship.” Wilyn spoke promptly and openly, but Alyssa wondered if the little weasel was simply a practiced liar.

  Kov turned to the two silver daggers. “Do you lads believe him?”

  “I do, my lord,” Benoic said. “It would break a vow for me to tell you why he has the dagger, so just let me say that I have reason to believe him.”

  Kov grinned at the dodge, a gesture that made his square dwarven face almost attractive.

  “I believe him, too,” Cavan said. “But if he comes after me again, I’ll—”

  Benoic elbowed him so hard that Cavan broke off. He said nothing more, merely glowered and rubbed his side where the elbow had hit.

  “Do either of you have any questions?” Kov said. “Any civil questions, that is?”

  Benoic shot Cavan a nasty look that kept him quiet before he spoke. “Wilyn, who was that third man, the one who bowed out of the fight?”

  “He gave his name as Lannac. That’s all I know about him. He wasn’t any silver dagger, I’d swear to that, for all he claimed to be. He had a dagger with the three little knobs, but they were different, like, just a little too small. We never saw the actual blade out of its sheath.”

  “Interesting.” Kov looked at Wilyn again. “Did he offer you lads money for your help?”

  “He didn’t, my lord. Just a share of the bounty. Thirty-three brazens each for me and Renno. That bounty, it seemed cursed high to me, for what Cavan’s been accused of.”

  “It may be. I have no jurisdiction over another lord’s letters of bounty,” Kov said. “As for you —” this to Wilyn “— the charge against you is disturbing the peace of Haen Marn and offering violence in a holy sanctuary.” He turned to the priestess. “Your Holiness?”