Sword of Fire

by Katharine Kerr

  “By all means.”

  “When she was still here, y’know? Lord Careg was seen talking with Lady Rhonalla. A lot. One of the pages told me they were sneaking around on her husband, but I don’t think so. They always talked right out in the open, is why. In the great hall here, in the gardens, that kind of place.”

  “Hah!” Dovina said. “I bet you’re right. They were up to a very different kind of trouble.”

  “So I thought, my lady. But now a lot of people think that’s why she got sent back to Abernaudd.”

  “Do they? A nice stain on her honor, such as it is.” Dovina smiled and batted her eyelashes. “Poor dear Rhonalla!”

  “Indeed,” Mavva said. “But ye gods, the people here gossip worse than washerwomen! Especially the noble-born.”

  “They have the time to spend, that’s why,” Dovina said. “Besides, that’s what a free city’s for, innit? A place where everyone can talk freely, so the men in power can know what’s being said about them. And in Cerrmor, it’s rarely anything good.”

  When noon came without a response from Merryc, Dovina sent her page off to her father. Darro returned with four men to help Gurra guard the women on their walk, a sign, as Dovina remarked, that Ladoic was worried about possible trouble.

  “No one’s going to call us names with them along,” Alyssa said. “I’m very glad of it, too.”

  “We’re taking the book, you know,” Mavva said. “I’m more worried about it than I am about my tender ears.”

  “Good thing we’ll be guarded then. My page brought me a message earlier. Malyc Penvardd’s going to be there.”

  “Splendid!” Alyssa said. “Then we can show him the book.”

  “And scheme.” Dovina grinned in an evil manner. “It’s a good thing we’re good at that.”

  * * *

  Late in the afternoon, Merryc joined his uncle in the gwerbret’s suite to hear what their priest of Bel, Argyn, had to tell them. He’d stopped by on his way back to the farm.

  “I’m glad I’m going home, too,” Argyn said. “Visiting the Cerrmor temple was a bit tiring.”

  “Huh, I’ll wager,” Verrc said. “You can have things your own way back at our shrine.”

  “Just so, Your Grace, just so. Peace and quiet. A man gets used to it, he does.”

  Argyn accepted a glass of dark beer and toasted the noble-born with it before he drank.

  “Can you tell me,” Merryc said, “what the priesthood thinks about Standyc’s fine? Or have you been told to hold your tongue?”

  “Quite the opposite. It was implied—not stated outright mind, but implied—that the town might need to know that not everyone agrees with the harshness of that judgment.”

  “Not every Lawspeaker, eh?”

  “Not only the Lawspeakers. Here, the entire city’s flooded by gossip. Some of it’s washed up on the temple steps and brought plenty of flotsam with it. His Most Exalted Holiness spent a year scraping mud off the temple’s name. He’s furious that he’s got a new lot to deal with now.”

  “Can’t they just set the fine aside?” Merryc said.

  “Not since it was pronounced in an open hearing with the gold sword to bear it witness and all of that. Once a Lawspeaker announces the law, the law is the law.” Argyn set his empty tankard down on a nearby table. “I’d best not have more, my thanks. Bending the vows is one thing, breaking them another.”

  Was there a second meaning in that remark? Merryc wondered.

  “The temple, Your Grace,” Argyn continued, “is officially of divided opinions. Unofficially, I’d say it resembles a round of hurling, though no one has a hurley, and a good thing too, or there’d be some cracked skulls.”

  “What matters, I’d say, is what your head priest thinks.”

  “Just so.” Argyn folded his hands across his comfortable stomach and smiled. “Odd about that. Just the other day His Exalted Holiness received a request from another temple that needs an experienced Lawspeaker. The fellow who assessed the fine’s gotten the post, not that he could have turned it down.”

  “Where is it?” Merryc said.

  “Cerrgonney. Up in the northern plains, just beyond Gwyngedd.”

  Verrc snorted with laughter. “The place they call the Desolation, innit?”

  “I’ve heard it called just that,” Argyn said. “And I gather it deserves the name.”

  “So we’ll have a new Lawspeaker for the next hearing?”

  “You will indeed. Now, there’s a number of things you may not know, young Merryc, about the priests and the laws and the like. Let me tell you in case you’re minded to pass them along to that Aberwyn bard and his assistants.”

  “My thanks,” Merryc said. “I’m sure they’ll be very grateful for any help you can give them.”

  * * *

  It was late in the day when Lord Merryc’s page came to Dovina with a long roll of pabrus, sealed on one edge with a couple of blobs of red wax. Mavva unrolled it and held it flat to allow Dovina to study it through her reading-glass.

  “Useful, oh so very useful!” Dovina said. “Let me read you some of this.”

  The others listened as carefully as they did to a book being read aloud at the collegium. When she finished, Mavva rolled the scroll up again with a triumphant rustle.

  “In summary,” Dovina said, “we can’t take on both the priests and the lords and hope to win. We have to throw the priests a bone.”

  “More like an entire joint of meat,” Alyssa said.

  “True spoken,” Mavva said. “But you’ll need to grant them their position early on. Fortunately, Dwvoryc says that these drwidion were the keepers of the laws. So that joint’s already roasted for us.”

  “Excellent!” Dovina said.

  “If we only had more time!” Alyssa said. “I could comb this book and pull out a great many lice to vex the heads of the gwerbretion!”

  “Oh, ych!” Mavva snapped. “You could find a better figure for it, too.”

  “I have to agree,” Dovina said, “about the figure and the tenor as well. It’s a cursed thick book, innit? But look, we’ve got part of the day left plus the whole night. Darro can ferret out extra candles. We can take turns. Stand watches, as it were, one of us reading and one making notes while the third is sleeping. Lyss, you’ve got to do the presenting tomorrow, so you should get the most sleep. Mavva, will you do the precis?”

  “I will. And I brought summat with me, too. Rhys gave it to me on the sly, like. It’s a cheat thing that the students at Wmm’s use for their studies of the written laws. It’s buried in my clothing chest.”

  “Splendid!” Dovina said. “I’ll take notes on that. We’ll need some precedents.”

  “I’ll start on my speeches,” Alyssa said. “I’ve got ideas of what I want to say, and so I can just leave room, like, for tipping in the precedents when we find them. But I do want to read that bit about the electing over again myself.”

  “As soon as you’re ready,” Mavva said, “I’ll hand the book over to you. I’ve read a fair bit of it already. I discovered a nice little thing, too. Lyss, your name? It comes ultimately from Alesia, the place where Vercingetorix made his stand against the Rhwmanes.”

  “Truly?” Alyssa said. “That’s splendid! We shall make our stand here.”

  “With, let’s hope,” Dovina put in, “a better outcome.”

  * * *

  Although Cavan had wanted to accompany Alyssa up to the guesthouse, some odd quirk in his mind prompted him to stay away. He found out why that evening, when he dined with Markella and Hwlio. After the lavish meal, Hwlio left the room for a quick word with one of his legal councillors. While the servants cleared the table, Cavan and his hostess retired to a window seat out of their way.

  “I’ve heard from the Rommardda,” Markella said. “She has left the matter up to others. If there’s an omen
, you may study. If not, not.”

  Cavan’s heart pounded. He caught his breath before he spoke. “May I ask what the omen could be?”

  “If you and Alyssa settle somewhere on the western border, one of the Westfolk teachers will take you on. If you never go back to Aberwyn, there’s an end to the matter.”

  “Well and good, then. That gives me hope, and that’s all I can ask for.”

  “Valandario might well be interested in an apprentice. You’ve met her, or so Alyssa mentioned.”

  “I have. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your help.”

  “Put yourself into position to profit by the help before you thank me. Ah, here’s Hwlio back.” With a sigh she heaved her pregnant self up from the cushions. “Who knows what the gods have in store for any of us, hmm?”

  “Indeed.” He joined her. “And whether I ever see Aberwyn again is definitely a question in the laps of the gods.”

  CHAPTER 12

  THE MORNING CAME UPON the three conspirators far too quickly for Alyssa’s liking. After a few hours’ sleep on Mavva’s bed, she woke to find the others already up and dressed.

  “We saved you some breakfast,” Mavva said. “Polla’s bringing you wash water.”

  “My thanks. You could have woken me—”

  “We figured that you needed sleep.”

  After she washed and dressed, Alyssa gobbled a hasty breakfast while they rehearsed their plan for the hearing one last time.

  “I had a thought,” Dovina said. “Even if we lose, it won’t matter in a way. The fox will be out of the trap. The ideas—that’s what counts. The gossip will spread them, and people will know that the gwerbretion didn’t always rule like little kings.”

  “It will give the priesthood of Wmm a wedge, like,” Mavva said, “to drive into the crack.”

  “Maybe so,” Alyssa said, “but I want to win right now.”

  When they were getting ready to leave the guesthouse an escort of four men from the Aberwyn warband appeared at the door. Ladoic had sent them to “help the Bardekian,” his note said. “We don’t want anyone getting in your way in the streets.”

  “I wonder if he’s heard things,” Dovina said. “Hints of trouble?”

  “It could be. Let’s go. We’re safe enough with his men along.”

  When they reached the Justice Hall, they found it already half-full of the curious as well as the concerned. They took good seats near the front and watched as the hall filled with onlookers. Outside the town criers began clanging their bells to announce that the hearing was beginning.

  “Here we go,” Alyssa said. “Courage!”

  “If that fails,” Dovina said with a grin, “we’ll have spite to fall back on.”

  Alyssa laughed, and laughing she became preternaturally calm. I’m ready for battle, she thought. It’s like my whole life has led to this day.

  With a great clanging of bells, the door at the rear of the platform opened. As the prince and his retinue came through onto the platform, Alyssa noticed the new Lawspeaker immediately. Their shaven heads and archaic costumes tended to make Bel’s priests hard to tell apart, but this one had dark eyes instead of blue, he was a fair bit taller than the previous speaker, and some years younger as well. They settled themselves at the table. Eddel followed with the gold Sword of Justice.

  “I declare this hearing open.” Eddel laid the sword on the table. “Let’s get on with it.” He sat down and nodded at the prince.

  “I understand,” the prince said, “that this matter before us hangs upon certain actions of Ladoic, Gwerbret Aberwyn. Your Grace, please come forward.”

  At the command, Ladoic came up the stairs and bowed to the prince and the Lawspeaker, but when Eddel held up the golden sword, Ladoic ignored it.

  “Your Highness,” he said, “I’m not a man who can twist words like a bard. I want my councillor at law to speak for me.”

  “It may be possible,” the prince said. “Answer me a question first. They say you let Cradoc the bard starve to death at your gates. Is this true?”

  Ladoic’s expression turned grim. “It is.” He spat the words out.

  “My thanks.” The prince turned to the Lawspeaker. “Shall we allow his request?”

  “For the nonce, Your Highness. I reserve my right to ask questions later.”

  “Done, then. Send your councillor to us.”

  Ladoic bowed again and retreated. As Nallyc came forward, Alyssa noticed how pale his face was. His hands clutched one another, half-hidden by the full sleeves of his black robe. Before he mounted the steps, he paused to clear his throat several times. He went up, knelt, and kissed the offered sword.

  “Very well,” Gwardon said. “Malyc, the Penvardd of your city, has asked that the gwerbret himself not judge what happened at his gates. Do you agree?”

  “I do not, Your Highness.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the bard himself decided to sit before those gates and starve. The gwerbret’s response was a decision allowable under the ancient traditions of our laws. What he chose to do was right and proper therefore. Thus there should be no question of a suit against His Grace.”

  Gwardon glanced at the Lawspeaker.

  “An allowable decision in some circumstances,” the priest said, “is not necessarily allowable in others. When a man dies, say the laws, a reason must be established and a degree of culpability defined if indeed culpability exists.”

  “I see. Malyc Penvardd, come forward!”

  Malyc strode up to the dais, climbed the steps with a toss of his cloak, a plaid of green, blue, and white that harked back to the Maelwaedd clan, his remote ancestors. At one shoulder a gold brooch in the shape of a harp pinned the cloak. He kissed the sword, but he stood, not knelt, as a sign of the special place of bards under the laws.

  “My thanks.” His voice boomed out over the crowded Justice Hall. “I come to lay a complaint against Ladoic, Gwerbret Aberwyn, that he let Cradoc of Dun Gwerbyn, a bard of sacred person, starve to death before his gates.”

  “Very well,” Gwardon said. “Did the bard choose to sit and starve of his own will?”

  “He did.”

  The Lawspeaker leaned forward. “What then is your charge, Penvardd? If he chose to take up that position, the gwerbret has the ancient right, does he not, to refuse to hear him?”

  “I most humbly suggest, Your Holiness, that he has that right in matters of grave import.”

  “True spoken. That he does.”

  “But this matter was a small thing, Your Holiness, at least in the opinion of the Bardic Collegium. I beg you to rule upon our opinion.”

  “Tell me, and I will.”

  Malyc bowed to him, then paused. Alyssa felt her heart pounding. Here was the moment of greatest risk.

  “Your Holiness,” Malyc said. “Cradoc wished only this, that the gwerbret would hold a public hearing upon certain matters. We did not ask for a decision to be handed down, only that he would hear us. Is a bard not the voice of the people? Is there not a tradition that he may not be silenced when he speaks for them?”

  In a rustle and whispers, the gwerbretion in attendance leaned forward, waiting. The Lawspeaker glanced at the prince and the mayor, then cleared his throat.

  “Under the laws, specifically, The Edicts of King Bran, the person of a bard receives many a special consideration. Several times indeed it is stated that the bard is the voice of the people. Therefore, the Edicts continue, let him speak.” He paused again, briefly. “I agree with the Penvardd. The matter should have received a hearing. Cradoc’s death was unnecessary.”

  Ladoic forgot himself enough to bark out an obscenity. He immediately stood and bowed to the dais. “Forgive me,” he said. “I am at fault, and I apologize.”

  “Accepted,” the prince said. “Malyc Penvardd, what do you want from this court?�
�

  Ladoic sat down fast.

  “I want, Your Highness, two things. First, the opportunity to ask for redress for Cradoc’s death. Second, that this opportunity come not in Aberwyn’s court, but some impartial place distant but not too distant from the gwerbret’s rhan.”

  “Does such a place exist?”

  “Not to our knowledge, Your Highness, unless you rule that we come to Dun Deverry itself. Such a journey would be a great inconvenience for all concerned. No doubt you, as well, in your position as regent, have more pressing matters to deal with. What we would hope for, Your Highness, is that you would establish a justiciar for the western border, like unto the one your wise ancestor established in Cerrgonney all those years ago.”

  “This is a grave thing you’re asking,” the prince said. “Do you have more reasons you can lay before me?”

  Some of the gwerbretion began to speak, but Gwardon glared them into silence.

  “Your Highness, Your Holiness, honored mayor,” Malyc said. “You have granted the request of Gwerbret Ladoic, that someone else may speak before you. I make the same request now. I have a witness to the events, one who also has a thing of great import to lay before you. May she speak?”

  At the pronoun the audience rustled with whispers. Eddel knocked the pommel of the sword on the table and silenced them.

  “She may,” Gwardon said. “If she has knowledge we need to hear.”

  “She does, Your Highness. I stand surety for that.” He rose and turned to the audience. “Alyssa vairc Sirra of Aberwyn! Come forward.”

  Alyssa took a deep breath and rose, smoothing her skirts. She mounted the platform, kissed the sword, and started to kneel. Mayor Eddel waved her up with a flick of his hand.

  “You’ll need to stand if you’ve got a speech to make,” Eddel said.

  “My thanks, honored sir.” She rose, then curtsied to the prince and the Lawspeaker. “Your Highness. Your Holiness.” She turned and curtsied to the gwerbretion in the audience. “Your Graces. My lords.” She turned back to the regent. “We have heard about ancient laws today. We all know the unwritten laws, the customs, the beliefs that go back hundreds of years. Yet no one seems to have mentioned the oldest customs of all, those of our ancestors, they who fled the homeland to escape the Roman yoke. Ah, the wisdom and the daring of King Bran and our vergobretes! Trusting in their gods, and in Great Bel above all, they took ship on strange seas to bring their beloved people and their beloved traditions to this new land. Here they could live free as their ancestors lived, not as slaves to some foreign race.”