Sword of Fire

by Katharine Kerr

  The rituals, now, there was a good thing to remember. In his mind he could see their meeting place so clearly, first the wild meadow in the torchlight, then the long procession to the hunting lodge they’d taken over for their rituals. At the door the sentinel would challenge and each member respond with the password and the name of their rank. Inside, by firelight, he saw again the big chamber and the banners, the officers in their positions with their swords, and he himself would take his place as Sword of Fire.

  Gone, now. He could not bring himself to say the ritual words, not even to himself. He got up and paced over to the window again. Alyssa was hurrying down the little path, and he could see that she was smiling. The past is gone, he told himself. Let’s see if you’ve got a future.

  He crossed to the door and flung it open.

  “We’ve won!” she called out. “He assigned me the bounty. You’re safe!”

  She ran to his arms. He kissed her, laughed, kissed her again and again until with a laugh of her own she wiggled free. He shut the door and stood grinning at her.

  “Do you remember what the Westfolk dwimmerwoman told us?” Alyssa said. “Under the bluster, she said, Ladoic’s a different man. Well, she was right. At first he was furious, and then he laughed and agreed with me. They’re going to put the news about, Cavvo, that your person is sacrosanct, and then you can leave the embassy grounds.”

  “Safe! I can hardly believe it, Lyss!”

  “No more can I, but it’s true. Well, safe as long as we never go back to Aberwyn.”

  He stopped smiling. “Your family.”

  “Ah well, many a woman has to leave her clan behind when she marries.” But her voice trembled on the words.

  “Ye gods, forgive me! I’m not worthy—”

  “Will you stop that? It’s vexing, seeing a strong man grovel.”

  He sighed and sat down. In a moment she took the other chair.

  “The future will do what it will do,” Alyssa said. “I was offered a place at Haen Marn. And Dovina offered me a place here in Cerrmor for when she marries Lord Merryc. They’ll have apartments in the clan’s town house.”

  “You with your fine wits, little better than a serving woman?” A worse thought struck him. “The collegium.”

  “There’s one here. No doubt I can win a place in it.” But her voice nearly broke.

  “Better you go back to Aberwyn, and I stay on the long road. That’s the one cursed thing I’m good at, fighting in some other man’s battle.”

  “Stop it! Do you think I want to lose you?”

  “I don’t know what to think. That’s the sad truth of it.”

  She looked away with a little sigh. “I don’t, either. But there’s got to be a way out of this. Just give me time. Summat will occur to me.”

  “But—” He stopped at his sudden realization. “You know what, Lyss? I don’t doubt that it will.”

  * * *

  After he left the mayor, Merryc had gone straight back to the public guesthouse to give Dovina his report. Out in the courtyard he saw Gwerbret Tewdyr’s captain and ten men of his escort standing by their horses. A fine ladies’ carriage waited at the head of their line, and a laden cart at the end. Merryc dodged around the crowd and walked into the great hall. Bryn was leaning against the wall near the door.

  “What’s all this?” Merryc jerked his thumb in the direction of the crowd just outside.

  “My dear cousin Rhonalla!” Bryn rolled his eyes heavenward. “She’s leaving Cerrmor in a nasty snarling huff. I’m waiting to bow and bid her farewell whenever she and her companion get their ladylike selves down here.”

  “I see. Do you know why?”

  “She had some sort of conference with the Prince Regent. She did not like what he said, whatever it might have been. I don’t suppose you—”

  “You know cursed well I know.” Merryc grinned at him. “She was spreading some rather vile gossip around, some of it about my betrothed. Anything to damage Aberwyn, y’know. But she overreached herself. Some of the mud stuck to the prince himself. I’d guess he’s just brushed it off.”

  “I see. Ah, there they are now!”

  With her head held high, and her jeweled brooch glittering on her traveling cloak, Lady Rhonalla, dressed in black for the occasion, was descending the stairs, slowly, tragically, even, with the air of someone falsely accused going to her hanging. Burdened with jewelry cases and a bouquet of roses, Lady Gratta followed, chattering all the way.

  “I’ll leave you to your farewells,” Merryc said. “She won’t want to see me.”

  “Or you her, I should imagine. Well and good, then. I’ve sent Cavan that message about a tankard.”

  “Good.”

  Merryc turned to go, but he’d waited too long. Rhonalla left her companion behind and swept up to him in a rustle of fine silk skirts. When he bowed, she made no answering curtsy.

  “I gather you were the one who told the prince those lies about me,” she said. “Making trouble between my cousin and me!”

  “Lies? None, my lady. Only the truth as I saw it.”

  She flushed scarlet.

  “At least my husband understands what an insult I’ve suffered,” she said. “He knows that it reflects on his honor as well as mine. He’s taking the insult to heart. Your precious Dovina had a hand in this, I’ll wager. She might regret it soon enough.”

  With that she turned away and swept off again. Bryn caught Merryc’s glance, rolled his eyes, and hurried after her. Trouble, Merryc thought. It’s not just some woman’s matter, not any more. Gwerbret Tewdyr’s not the man to let any stain on his honor go unscrubbed.

  * * *

  “Poor dear Rhonalla,” Amara said.

  “My heart bleeds for her,” Dovina said. “Poor thing!”

  They shared a particularly nasty laugh.

  “On the other hand,” Mavva said, “Gwerbret Tewdyr is furious.”

  “True spoken,” Dovina said. “True and very dangerous. I shouldn’t let my glee get the better of me.”

  “No more should I,” Amara said. “Mavva, have your maids heard anything more?”

  “Quite a lot. Tewdyr’s manservant has taken a liking to our Polla. He told her that His Grace is, and I quote, rampaging around about the insult to his wife.”

  Dovina winced.

  “A pretty second wife and an elderly lord,” Amara said. “Usually a recipe for trouble. He’ll blame the prince for this, I should think.”

  “Indeed he does.” Merryc appeared in the doorway. “May I join you?”

  “By all means,” Dovina said. “We’ll need another chair.”

  Merryc smiled and came over to sit on the floor at her feet. “This will do well enough.”

  “As long as my lord is comfortable.” Dovina returned the smile.

  “Very, my thanks.”

  Amara folded her hands in her lap and radiated satisfaction. She’s done awfully well with this betrothal, Dovina thought. I’m surprised she’s not purring like a cat.

  “As if His Highness doesn’t have enough on his mind,” Dovina said. “There’s the matter of my father’s wretched feud to deal with. I gather Standyc’s here in Cerrmor.”

  “He is,” Merryc said. “Are you going to the hearing, my lady?”

  “When is it?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “I’d best be there. My father might need calming down.”

  “True enough. I have this afternoon free, my lady. Is there anywhere you and Mavva would like to go? I can escort you.”

  “There is indeed. We’re waiting for Alyssa. She has letters to deliver to the Advocates Guild. One of them’s from the temple of Wmm.”

  “From your betrothed, Mavva?” Amara said.

  “Someone a bit more important than Rhys, my lady,” Mavva said. “It’s all rather compl
icated.”

  “And Merro, once she gets here,” Dovina said, “we’ll have her tell you about some things that happened after they left Haen Marn. The priesthood of Bel’s definitely been taking a hand in this.”

  * * *

  Although Merryc had no warband, he did have two men for bodyguards. Alyssa appreciated his bringing them both to join Gurra when he escorted her, Mavva, and Dovina to the Advocates Guild. Although the Cerrmor heralds were hard at work announcing her and Cavan’s legal status, the news had yet to spread far enough for her to feel safe.

  The guild owned a modest building in Old Town, the maze of narrow streets and timeworn buildings upriver from the new center of the city. Respectable if poor people lived there among the little shops and outdoor stands selling cheap food such as scraps of pork in bread or fried fish wrapped in a cabbage leaf. Many of the lodgings were so old and rickety that allowing cookfires inside would have presented far too great a danger to those renting them. One of these streets dead-ended in a section of wall, joined to a squat broch tower.

  “This was once part of Dun Cerrmor,” Merryc told them, “back in the Time of Troubles. There’s a little garden in the back with an incredibly ancient tree and a spring, so the guild does have clean water if not much else.”

  Alyssa smiled politely at the joke.

  “The wall must have housed stables then,” Dovina said.

  “Just that. Those wooden doors lead to lodgings of a sort—the old barracks. Mostly sailors who need a place between voyages.”

  Inside, however, the broch displayed a fair bit more wealth and comfort than its surroundings. The great hall held some twenty polished tables, but not for warbands. Scribes worked at some. Others held heaps of books, both bound in the Deverry style and scrolled in the Bardekian. Mavva made a little “oh” sound of longing under her breath.

  “I don’t suppose they’ll let me touch them,” she said.

  “Some look almost as crumbly as ours,” Dovina said. “So you’d better not.”

  A young man, dressed in fashionable doeskin knee breeches and a spotless white shirt, hurried up to their party. He bowed to Lord Merryc, who acknowledged him with a nod and a smile, then to the women in turn.

  “What brings you to us, my lord and ladies?”

  Alyssa stepped forward. “I have a letter to personally deliver to the guildmaster. It’s from His Holiness Olnadd, high priest of Wmm on the Holy Island.”

  Merryc caught his breath with a little gulp.

  “Someone more important than Rhys, indeed,” Dovina muttered.

  The lad waiting upon them bowed at the name. “If you’ll just come with me? We have a reception room for visitors.”

  A well-appointed comfortable room, it turned out, with a scatter of cushioned chairs and huge tapestries on the walls. Their guide saw them settled, then hurried out to tell Lord Daen, the guildmaster, that they waited. He returned quite quickly with the lord himself, a third son of a poor clan who’d taken to the guild as much for love of learning as for lack of land. Daen was stout, middle-aged, and nearly bald, with narrow blue eyes that surveyed them all kindly enough.

  Alyssa rose from her chair and curtsied. She took the message tube out of her kirtle and handed it over.

  “I was told to deliver this to you, my lord, and only to you.”

  “Good.” Daen hefted the tube. “My thanks. So, you’re Alyssa vairc Sirra, are you? I’ve heard about your exploits.”

  “Good things, I hope, my lord.”

  “Good depending on the rank of the person telling me.” He gave her a quick grin. “Good enough, in short. I’ve had a note from Malyc Penvardd, asking if you may speak at a hearing, if indeed there is one.”

  “He honors me, my lord. I hope not unduly.”

  “I hope not, too. Tell me about your education. Aberwyn’s a long way away, and I don’t know much about the collegium there.”

  “In our first two years, we did the three paths. Logic, grammar, and rhetoric. Most of the women go on to do geometry and astronomy, but I was allowed to study the bardic lore with the men at King’s Collegium.”

  Daen’s eyebrows rose. “Did you do well?”

  “I won the Scholars’ Cup that year, my lord, so some thought I did. There’s always more to learn, though.”

  “How did the men you studied with take your victory?”

  “Badly. Oh, they were furious.” Alyssa couldn’t stop herself from laughing, just briefly. “I loved every moment of it, after the grief they’d given me.”

  “I see. Well, it sounds to me that you’re fit to speak at a hearing. It takes courage as much as learning, you know, to stand in front of the regent. Very well. If this putative hearing actually takes place, you have my permission.”

  “My thanks, my lord, my humble thanks.” Alyssa curtsied again. “I’ll do my best to keep from disgracing you.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that. There’s someone here who wants to meet you, Alyssa.” He turned to the others. “Would you like to see our bookhoard? It’s the one thing we have to show off, you see. Most of our work here is rather tedious, or at least, it looks tedious to visitors.”

  Mavva nearly leaped from her chair to curtsy and agree.

  Everyone rose and filed out after Lord Daen, leaving Alyssa alone to study the ancient tapestries and wait. Faded, torn in places, the weavings had all been sewn to new cloth to allow them to be displayed. One showed King Bran and the omen of the white sow that had told him where to found his holy city; another, Great Bel dispensing justice in the cloud-dun of the gods. The third, however, newer than the rest, displayed a story she’d not seen before. On a riverbank a group of strangely dressed men holding spears confronted a band of Deverry warriors. Alyssa was studying it when she heard the door open behind her.

  “The founding of Cerrmor,” a soft female voice said, “or at least, the negotiations with the people who originally owned this land.”

  Alyssa spun around to see a tall, slender woman with white hair, cropped off like a lad’s, but a young-seeming face, handsome rather than pretty. She closed the door behind her and came over to look at the tapestry. She was wearing men’s clothes, but on her they seemed oddly womanly, the breeches of very fine blue cloth, the shirt embroidered with flowers in the Westfolk style under a pale gray waistcoat.

  “My name’s Hild,” she said.

  Alyssa curtsied. “I’m Alyssa vairc Sirra, but I suppose they told you that.”

  Hild smiled and looked her full in the face. Alyssa felt that her gaze had impaled her, pinned her to the wall behind her, or turned her to stone, perhaps, because she could not look away. Hild’s gaze seemed to judge her innermost soul, not just the superficialities of her face. With a little nod of approval, at last the elder woman looked away and released her.

  “I’ll give your ancestors some honor.” Hild waved a hand at the tapestry. “They didn’t slaughter and enslave those people. They paid them for the land with cattle. The tribe didn’t understand what coin was, you see, but they herded cows and appreciated new stock.”

  “It gladdens my heart to hear that. Do you know what happened to them?”

  “Their descendants are with us still, much mingled by marriage and all that. Such as my own clan.” She paused briefly. “Look at the biggest person in the tapestry. Someone embroidered details to make their hair yellow and their eyes narrow. You see that today, don’t you? Our spirit is very much alive in Cerrmor, at any rate.”

  “Your names, too. You don’t hear names like Hild and Aeddyl out in the west.”

  Hild smiled. “It became a fashion, like, to give children the old names, back when Cerrmor became a free city. You see, our elders believed in various odd ideas. While they had leaders, they had no noble lords or kings. Everyone was of equal worth in their primitive tribes.”

  “I’ve read about such things. In the old days our pe
ople believed things like that, too.”

  “What do you think about them? The ideas, I mean.”

  Alyssa hesitated only briefly. Fear had no place in this chamber. “I wish we still believed them. I wish they could come again.”

  “Good. They might. Rivers change their beds now and then, and the wind blows where it wants to. Every sailor will tell you that it’s grand, having the wind at your back.”

  “Uh, so I’ve been told. I don’t quite understand—”

  Hild spoke as if she’d not heard her. “Do you have a weapon? Or at least know how to use one?”

  “I have this.” Alyssa pulled up her tunic’s hem and revealed the elven knife in its sheath. “A Westfolk woman showed me how to use it.”

  “Excellent! Huh, I always wondered whom that blade would claim.”

  “Well, I didn’t claim it, exactly. I—”

  “Nah nah nah, I meant it claimed you.”

  Dwimmer again! Alyssa thought.

  “Carry it with you at all times,” Hild said. “You may need it.”

  With a little nod her way, Hild turned and left. Alyssa was still staring at the closed door when she heard Lord Daen talking just outside. He opened the door with a flourish. The rest of her party waited in the corridor.

  “Lord Merryc tells me you’d all best be getting back,” Daen said. “My thanks for visiting, Goodwife Alyssa.”

  “My thanks to you, good sir. I’ll treasure this meeting in my mind.”

  He smiled, then bowed her out of the chamber.

  As they walked back through the narrow streets, Alyssa was thinking mostly about Hild. Who was she? That she had dwimmer seemed obvious. The wind’s at our back—the times were ready to change? Is that what she meant? A shout from Gurra yanked her out of her reverie. Lord Merryc tapped her arm and guided her forward to rejoin the others. She’d fallen a bit behind.