Sword of Fire

by Katharine Kerr

  The first to speak was Lord Vupyl, who looked less than happy about it.

  “Gwerbret Caddalan has told me to inform you that he, his men, and the offending son will leave Cerrmor as soon as possible. In that way Lord Careg will not remain as an affront to Cerrmor laws. His father will try him for the offense in his own court.”

  Several of the common-born onlookers hooted in scorn. Merryc heard a market woman mutter, “Fat lot o’good that’ll be.” Lord Vupyl turned and gave her a murderous look.

  “Silence in the chamber, if you please,” Eddel said. “Your lordship, I fear me you’ll have to forgive our doubts about this.”

  Vupyl crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the mayor. The Lawspeaker rose from his chair.

  “It’s a grave matter to ban one of the great clans from the sacrifices. I will warn you that such could be the outcome of this affair.”

  Vupyl clutched himself a little more tightly. “I shall warn the gwerbret, but I’m merely his messenger, Your Holiness.”

  “Think well on the message you’ll be bringing him. His son’s charged with committing sacrilege by violating the law of sanctuary. He may also have committed a grave insult to important friends of both the High King and Cerrmor by offending the Bardekian ambassador.”

  “I understand, Your Holiness.”

  The real question, Merryc figured, was whether Caddalan would understand—or care.

  “The laws of King Bran assess fines for these offenses. Should this case be declared proven, such fines will be assigned then.”

  “Very well, Your Holiness.”

  “Sacrilege can bring a curse upon the entire kingdom,” the priest continued. “I hereby declare this a matter legitimate for royal concern.” He paused to look over the crowd. “Will the Marked Prince answer me?”

  Prince Gwardon stepped forward. “I accept the charge, Your Holiness. My men and I will endeavor to return the fugitive to Cerrmor. But my understanding is that I can’t act until he actually leaves the free territory of the city.”

  “Your understanding is correct.” The Lawspeaker turned to Eddel. “Unless you wish to take action in this matter yourself?”

  “I can’t, Your Holiness. We granted Gwerbret Caddalan and his son the safety of the city when he first got here.”

  And that’s what Careg’s been counting on, Merryc thought. A bastard, but a clever one.

  Eddel paused malover at that point. Continuing meant nothing without Caddalan’s answer. Lord Vupyl left immediately on his errand. Although most of the onlookers drifted away, Merryc waited along with the prince and his guards.

  “What will you wager?” Gwardon said. “I’ll offer good odds that Caddalan’s holed up nearby, waiting to hear what happened.”

  “I’d never bet against that, Your Highness.”

  Vupyl’s quick return proved them right. Merryc doubted if anyone in the chamber was surprised when the lord delivered his message: Caddalan was refusing to turn his son over to the free city’s law court.

  “He says to tell you,” Vupyl continued, “that he will quit the city as soon as he can muster his men and allies. Thus any divine wrath at the sacrilege will fall upon him alone and not upon the city of Cerrmor. He asks you to remember that thanks to the outcome of a recent duel of honor, Lord Careg cannot defend himself.”

  “Well and good, then.” Eddel picked up the Sword of Justice. “Your Highness, I hereby turn this matter over to you.”

  He knocked the pommel three times on the table. The rebellion had officially begun.

  At the prince’s request, Merryc waited with him until the chamber had cleared. Lord Vupyl left first, rushing away as if he feared arrest. The witnesses, including the Aberwyn contingent, followed more slowly. Ladoic did pause to bow to the prince, a good omen of sorts, but he said nothing. Up on the dais, the Lawspeaker and Eddel were conferring in whispers while a city official returned the sword to its cabinet.

  “How many men can we raise, Your Highness?” Merryc said.

  “I’ve got my fifty here. Plus two hundred waiting upriver.”

  Merryc frankly gaped, then covered it with a small laugh.

  “I do pay attention to your warnings,” Gwardon said with a grin. “I sent messengers as soon as you gave me the first one. Eddel told me yesterday that he’d already mustered the archers.”

  “I should have known you’d have an extra dagger hidden somewhere about the royal person.”

  “Always. Look, I know you can’t raise more men of your own. I’d like you and the two you have to join me as part of my personal guards. My own men are ready. We’ll ride out as sly as foxes and be waiting when Caddalan and his allies ride our way.”

  “Done then, Your Highness. And speaking of foxes, isn’t that Ladoic waiting down at the foot of the staircase? I wonder if he wants a word with me. Is there time?”

  “There is. I need to have a few words with our good mayor.”

  Merryc hurried downstairs. Ladoic nodded his way and jerked his thumb in the direction of the doors, but he said nothing until they’d walked outside and gotten a little distance away from the crowded public area around the civic broch. The sun already hung near noon in the sky—no time for delicate fencing, Merryc decided.

  “I was wondering, Your Grace, if you were going to stand with the prince.”

  “How can I?” Ladoic made a vulgar snorting noise. “It would lose me every alliance I have.”

  Merryc winced. He’d expected no less, but hearing it hurt. He started to reply, but Ladoic held up one hand for silence.

  “What a pity my warband has no horses!” Ladoic said. “Forced to leave them at home, you see, because Aberwyn only owns one ship large enough to carry stock or passengers. That means I can’t ride with the rebels, either.”

  Merryc suppressed a smile.

  “It’d be cursed unfair of me, wouldn’t it?” Ladoic continued. “If I asked my allies for some of their stock. None of them came with a string of warhorses to spare, did they? And of course, if Gwerbret Daiver asks the Cerrmor council to keep my ship in harbor, I can’t rush back to Aberwyn and bring the horses here. A pity, eh?”

  The smile broke out before Merryc could stop it. Ladoic laughed, one sharp bellow.

  “But here! Even without me and my twenty-five, he and his cursed friends have well over a hundred men between them. He’s counting on the numbers to keep the prince at bay. Don’t let the prince do anything rash, like charging right into a battle he can’t win. They’re hoping to kill him. Who’s next in line, eh? A twelve-year-old lad. With one of them as regent, or so they hope.”

  Merryc hesitated, but trust in his new father-in-law only went so far. “I’ll do my best to avoid that disaster, Your Grace.”

  “Good. As for you, lad, fight well but keep yourself in one piece. After all the work her mother’s put into finding a suitor for Dovva, it would be a shame to lose you.”

  “I’ll do my best, Your Grace. If you’ll excuse me, I’d best make my farewells to your daughter.” He turned away and saw a small group of people standing some distance away. “There she is with her women!”

  “She just might be waiting for you, lad.” Ladoic winked at him.

  Merryc felt his face turn as hot with a blush as a child’s. He made a sketchy bow to the gwerbret and fled.

  * * *

  Since Ladoic had promised to send Merryc to her, Dovina had lingered with Alyssa and Mavva in the shelter of the wall at the Advocate’s Guild. Gurra and four of Aberwyn’s men stood nearby on guard. As Merryc ran up, the other two women drifted a discreet distance away to leave them alone. Two of the guards joined them; the other two turned their backs on Dovina and Merryc and pretended to not be listening.

  Dovina was shocked at how badly she took the news that Merryc would ride with the prince on his errand of justice. A rush and gulp of fear made her
tremble.

  “You could be hurt or killed! Do you have to go?”

  “I do, truly. The prince has asked me to accompany him—”

  “Curse him!”

  “Stop and listen! Which means I’ll be riding in some reasonably safe place with His Highness. He’s too canny to risk himself over a stupid affair like this. Besides, we’ll have fifty Cerrmor archers with us.”

  “Oh.” Dovina collected herself with a deep breath. “My apologies. I was just frightened at the thought of losing you.”

  “Truly?” Merryc gave her the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen on a man’s face.

  “Truly. I don’t want to have to go through all this betrothal business again.”

  “That’s all, eh?”

  “What else would it be?”

  He broke out laughing, and in a moment she joined him.

  “Oh, very well,” she said. “You may kiss me.”

  He did. Twice. Then he bowed and ran off to collect his men.

  * * *

  Alyssa and Mavva hurried back to Dovina’s side with their guards. For a moment they shared a few smiles and giggles, then got back to the matter at hand.

  “I don’t understand why Caddalan won’t turn Careg over,” Alyssa said. “They’re not going to hang him or suchlike. It’s just a fine for being red-tongued. I saw it in Rhys’s notes. A Deverry regal for each degree.”

  “The Lawspeaker said three degrees,” Mavva said. “That adds up to an entire boatload of luxury goods from Bardek. One of their biggest ships.”

  “It’s not the coin,” Dovina said. “Caddalan’s rich as rich can get. It’s the honor of the thing.”

  * * *

  Three men and six horses, and one of the men was Merryc himself—not much of a warband, but all he had. They rode armed and battle-ready, sabers instead of fineswords, with an extra servant along to bring the extra mounts. Merryc rode his battle-trained chestnut and let his page lead the golden Western Hunter. Following the prince’s orders, they left the city by the west gate. A mile on, they caught up with the contingent of archers and the prince’s men, all of them riding armed and battle-ready, including the prince himself.

  “My scouts have come in,” Gwardon said. “Arrogance has its good side, when it’s your enemy who’s the one infected with it. Caddalan’s not left the city yet. I’ve sent a courier to bring the army to meet us. Let’s hope they get here before the rebels do.”

  Merryc felt his stomach churn.

  “Perhaps, Your Highness, we’d best ride fast to meet them.”

  “The archers aren’t mounted. They have to walk.”

  Merryc had no answer to that.

  “Ye gods, Merro,” Gwardon said. “I swear you’ve gone white in the face!”

  “Ladoic tells me that the plan is to kill you and turn young Merro into the Marked Prince. With a new regent.”

  Gwardon blinked four rapid times, then smiled. “My thanks to Aberwyn, should I live to see him again.” He laughed in a long berserk peal before he spoke again. “Well and good, then. I’ll keep away from them if I can.”

  Merryc allowed himself a short sigh of relief. Thanks to the prince’s love of the grand gesture, he’d been expecting an argument. There remained, however, the wretched truth: the archers could only walk so fast, and the mounted men would have to keep pace and guard them. Merryc was also expecting to argue with the free men of the Red Arrow company, but their captain, a stout fellow named Delber, understood more about war than he’d given the man credit for.

  “We can double-march in short bursts, like, my lord. Let us set the pace. Fast when we can, then slower when we must. As soon as we see the dust ahead of us that means the prince’s army, we peel off and begin setting our stakes and readying our bows.” He chuckled under his breath. “Well, let’s hope it’s the prince’s army and not the other lot.”

  “Splendid plan! I’m going to make sure the prince takes up a position well behind yours.”

  Delber smiled and patted the quiver at his hip. “We’ll build him a wall, sure enough.”

  Whether it was luck or the will of the gods, they met the prince’s reserve before Caddalan arrived, not that they had much time to congratulate themselves. The royal cavalry, two hundred men on good horses, disposed themselves in a crescent formation across the road and into the adjoining fields. The Red Arrow company picked a position at the west end of the crescent and set up in three lines of staggered rows. The archers had barely finished pounding in their wooden stakes, and the prince was still sitting on his horse in the middle of the road, when Merryc saw the dust cloud to the south that meant Caddalan’s forces were on their way.

  “Your Highness! Time to take up our position!”

  “So it is!” Gwardon called back. “All right, men! No attack until I sound the horn. I’m hoping our heralds will get them to see reason.”

  Not much chance of that, Merryc thought. He was just about to scream at Gwardon to get to safety when the prince turned his horse and headed around the archers at a leisurely pace. He fetched up next to Merryc and grinned at him.

  “Here I am, and with plenty of time, too.”

  “Plenty!” Merryc drew his saber. “Here they are.”

  Some hundred yards away Caddalan was yelling at his forces to halt. Silver horns rang out as the riders milled around in the road and fields as they tried to get into some sort of battle order. Had the prince wanted mayhem he could have sent a rain of arrows their way and followed it up with a charge that would have killed most of them—and of course, plunged the kingdom into an ongoing war. Instead, he took his signal horn in one hand and held it high into the air. Sunlight glinted and winked on the silver to make his message clear: hold your lines.

  The royal herald hoisted his beribboned staff and urged his horse out into the road. He’d gone maybe twenty yards when Caddalan’s herald rode out to meet him. Merryc tried to catch a few words of what they were saying, but restless horses stamped and shook their heads to make their bridles ring, and restless men shifted their weight in the saddle or leaned forward to make the leather creak and the horses stamp again. Finally the heralds turned their horses and rode back to their respective contingents.

  “Your Highness,” the royal herald said, “they respectfully ask you to have your men clear the road. That’s all their herald was empowered to say. Not one word about Lord Careg could I get out of him.”

  “Very well,” Gwardon said, “then tell them we’ll gladly clear the road once we have the lord in custody.”

  Back and forth the heralds went to no avail. Eventually Caddalan’s herald returned to his gwerbret while the royal herald waited out in the road. Merryc could see Caddalan gesturing and tossing his head like one of the horses while he talked to the lords accompanying him. Careg was riding back in the pack of warbands, safely surrounded by armed men. With a broken sword arm, he never could have fought, but still, Merryc despised him all over again.

  “What is wrong with them?” Gwardon said. “Can’t they count?”

  “Apparently not, Your Highness, if they think they have a candle’s chance in hell.”

  Out in the road the royal herald shrugged, called out a few words, and got no answer, apparently, because he turned his horse and rode back to the prince.

  “It’s hopeless, Your Highness,” the herald said. “They refuse to hand over the lord, and they think you’re too honorable to attack them since it would be a slaughter, and you’re not known for slaughtering those below you in rank.”

  “Are all the lords holding firm? Or could you tell?”

  “None of them looked anything but furious, Your Highness, but I’ll wager it was at Caddalan, judging from the looks they gave him. Except for Standyc. He’d drawn his sword and, ye gods, he looks like death. But the herald, truly, he said that Caddalan would never yield. It’s the honor of the thing.
”

  “Honor must be satisfied. I suppose Caddalan has some.” Gwardon rolled his eyes heavenward. “I could challenge him to single combat, I suppose.” He grinned. “And then choose Merro here as—”

  He stopped in mid-sentence. Out in the road, Caddalan’s cobbled-together warband was sliding into chaos. Horns blew long cascades. Lords shouted and bellowed with all their strength. The same message sounded over and over: retreat. Caddalan himself was riding back and forth, yelling, talking, waving his saber in the air as he entreated the others to stay. No one seemed to be listening. The warbands of riders were trying to follow their lords’ orders in the narrow spaces available twixt the road and the ditches that lined the fields to either side. Nervous horses tried to buck as the men tried to back or turn them. Others bit or kicked the horses to either side of them, spreading the panic.

  The Prince Regent’s well-drilled men controlled their mounts, then sat in silence. They grinned at each other and pointed at the erstwhile enemies, but beyond that said not a word. The free city archers, however, began to laugh, softly at first, then louder, until they howled with laughter, or yelled insults and foul jests at the nobility they despised. Merryc felt a ripple of shock at just how much they despised them. He’d always known the common folk resented the privilege of the noble-born, but this was hatred far beyond resentment.

  “Hold your tongues!” the prince screamed. “By the Lord of Hell’s scaly balls, stop your gobs! Danger!”

  Delber joined him in shouting the orders. At their leader’s voice, most did, but out in the road the bitter slights to their honor had reached noble ears. Some of the lords tried to rally their riders, who were yelling insults right back at the Cerrmor men. Others kept on trying to get clear of the road and retreat. In but a few moments what had been an army became a screeching, swirling mob of men on horseback. The prince’s men drew weapons just as a battle cry broke out in the opposing force.