Daggerspell

by Katharine Kerr

  “No doubt you see it that way.” Jennantar turned to Jill. “Our Cal here’s somewhat of a cadvridoc himself, back in our lands. I suppose when you’re used to ordering hundreds of archers around, you find it hard to take another mans orders.”

  “Only a Round-ear’s,” Calonderiel put in. “Don’t I put up with your stinking arrogance all the time?”

  Jennantar laughed easily.

  “Cadvridoc or not,” Jill said, “you’d best see Aderyn about that cut.”

  “Oh, it’s but a nick. Rhodry held his hand. He’s not a bad man, truly, for a Round-Ear. Besides, the owl’s off flying, scouting out our enemy. It makes the old man nervous, having our rebels so near at hand.”

  A river of blood flowed over Corbyn’s camp, ran slowly and thickly around the tents, eddied around the men, and lapped at the horses. Even though he knew it was only an out-of-control vision, it took Loddlaen a long time to banish it, and even when the river ebbed away, it seemed that a rusty stain remained on everything it had touched. He pressed his hands between his thighs to hide how badly they shook, while he tried to listen to the council of war. The noble-born were arguing about something, but their words seemed torn by a wind from nowhere. Finally he got up and left. As he walked through the camp, he could feel the hatred of the men like daggers in his back.

  Inside his tent, it was cool and mercifully quiet. The army was too dispirited and battle weary to make much noise. Loddlaen lay down on his blankets and breathed deeply and slowly until his hands stopped shaking. He was going to have to summon the darkness. Even though they were out of control, his visions showed him that everything was falling apart, and he knew that somewhere in the darkness was a power that could help him. He shut his eyes, let himself go limp, then pictured the darkness in his mind and called to it. The image was only a picture; no power flowed, no darkness came. He tried again, and again, but he could summon not even the tiny point of black that was the starting of the true dark.

  All at once he knew: he had been deserted. His strange ally who had come unbidden was gone, utterly gone beyond calling. He opened his eyes and felt himself shaking, sweating. For a moment he was as confused as a child who goes to sleep in its mother’s arms only to wake in a strange bed. What had he done, involving himself in this petty rebellion when he should have been running, traveling east as fast as he could to get beyond Aderyn’s reach? Suddenly he remembered the murder, the elf he had slain over a scrying stone. Aderyn was only a few bare miles away, and he would want retribution. How could he have forgotten? Memories came back to him, of the Deverry man, blond and bluff, who’d befriended him on the road. It was he who’d convinced Loddlaen to seek shelter in Dun Bruddlyn, he, this supposed merchant, who looked deep into Loddlaen’s eyes one night—at that point, Loddlaen’s memories vanished into the gray fog of wizardry.

  Only then did he realize just how deeply he’d been ensorceled, and for months. He wept, throwing himself face down and sobbing into the blankets.

  Gradually he became aware of the noise outside. It built on the edge of his mind for a long time before it became insistent enough to take his attention. Men were shouting in anger, running back and forth outside, and horses nickered as they trotted past. It had to be an attack. Loddlaen got to his feet just as Corbyn threw back the tent flap.

  “There you are!” Corbyn snapped. “Help me, by the hells! Don’t lurk in here like a sick hound!”

  “Watch your tongue when you speak to me! What’s so wrong?”

  “Cenydd and Cinvan are trying to pull their men out. They want to desert the rebellion.”

  With an oath, Loddlaen followed him out. He was terrified, but he knew that he could do naught to prevent them, now that the darkness had deserted him.

  Nevyn sat on the ground in the shade of the wagon. Since his eyes were closed and his shoulders slumped, the servants apparently thought that the old man was having a little nap, because they spoke in whispers whenever they came near him. They could have shouted aloud for all that it would have disturbed his trained concentration, because rather than sleeping, he was meditating. In his mind he held the image of a six-pointed star, a red triangle and a blue intertwined, and used it the way a clumsier dweomerman would have used a scrying stone. In the center of the star images came and went, mental reflections from the astral plane, which embraces the etheric the way the etheric embraces the physical. There, thought-forms and images have a life of their own, and it holds memories of every event that has ever happened on the planes below.

  Through this vast treasure-house Nevyn searched, looking for traces of the dark master who had become an immediate and pressing enemy. Since the event was so recent, it was easy for Nevyn to bring up the images of the last battle, a confusing, flickering, overlapping mob of pictures. At last he sorted through and found Cullyn, fighting desperately with the squad around him. Nevyn froze the picture in his mind, then used it as a seed to let other images gather round it, just as a bit of dust in the air is the seed for a drop of rain. Finally he saw what he was looking for. Flickering into the center of the star came a presence, a certain blackness, hovering far on the etheric over the battle. When Nevyn tried to bring it closer, it vanished. The dark master had hidden his tracks well.

  Nevyn broke off the meditation in something like irritation. He hadn’t expected to discover much, but he’d had hopes that way. He got up and stretched, wondering what tack to try next, when he saw Aderyn, running full tilt back to camp and heading for the tents of the noble-born. Obviously Aderyn had important news, and Nevyn hurried after him.

  Rhodry was sitting with Sligyn and Peredyr in front of Sligyn’s tent when Aderyn arrived.

  “My lords, Corbyn’s broken camp, and he’s marching north. I found him a good ten miles away.”

  “Ah, curse his balls!” Rhodry clambered to his feet. “What’s he doing, running for his dun?”

  “It looks that way, and here, there’s only about a hundred sound men with him. I saw only two blazons—Corbyn’s green and tan, and a red shield with a black arrow.”

  “Nowec’s men,” Sligyn joined in. “So his other allies have deserted, eh? That’s the best news I’ve had in many a day.”

  “Then he’s bolting for his dun sure enough,” Rhodry said. “We’ve got to catch him. Cursed if I’ll have him suing for peace now, and we’ll never take Dun Bruddlyn. Here, if we leave the baggage train behind, we can overtake him late today.”

  “Normally I’d agree with that,” Peredyr said. “But Loddlaen will know what we’re up to. Corbyn will have the time to pick a strong position, and there we’ll be, charging with exhausted horses.”

  Rhodry felt like cursing him, but it was true.

  “Well and good, then. We’ll follow him along today, and try to catch him on the morrow.” Then he noticed Nevyn, standing nearby and listening. “Here, good sir, you and Aderyn truly should ride near me at the head of the line when we ride.”

  “Oh, Aderyn can ride where he likes,” Nevyn said, “But I’m going to accompany the wounded back to Dun Gwerbyn.”

  “What?”

  “Here, lad, I haven’t told you before, but you’ve got a worse enemy than Loddlaen at your back. I intend to do a rear-guard action, shall we say? Aderyn can deal with Loddlaen, and indeed, he has to settle this matter by himself.”

  Nevyn walked off before Rhodry could argue further, and for all that he was cadvridoc, he didn’t feel like trying to order the old man around.

  Getting the army fed, packed, and moving took well over an hour, which Rhodry spent in a fury of impatience. To free his servant for other things, he saddled his own horse and got his gear together, then sent for Jill. He took her over to a cart carrying the mail salvaged from the slain men. Much to his horror, she’d never worn mail before.

  “Ah, ye gods, how are you going to fight if you’re not used to the weight?”

  “I’ll just have to get used to it fast, my lord.”

  “Let’s pray you can, but this troubles my h
eart. Ah, by the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell, I wish you weren’t riding with us.”

  “It’s your Wyrd, and because of that, I’ll kill Corbyn, sure enough, even if I die with him.”

  Jill spoke so quietly that he wanted to weep for the shame of it, that his Wyrd would put her in danger. He left her to find a mail shirt and helm and went out to the horse herd. Among the extra horses he had a particularly fine western hunter, named Sunrise, with a coat of the palest gold. He’d been keeping this horse out of the battles just because it was so valuable, but he was determined that Jill would have him. He saddled Sunrise up with a proper war saddle, then led it back to her. Seeing her wearing mail, with the hood pushed back around her shoulders and her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, made his heart ache all over again. She was so beautiful, and for all he knew, his Wyrd had doomed her. Jill greeted him with a wry smile.

  “You’re right about the weight. Ye gods, I never realized that mail was so heavy.”

  “It’s a good two stone, sure enough.” He handed her the reins. “Here, silver dagger. Here’s the horse I promised you.”

  “His lordship is far too generous.”

  “He’s not. If I have to ask a lass to guard me, then she’ll cursed well get the best horse in the whole army.”

  Jill laid her hand softly on his cheek.

  “Rhodry, if you didn’t feel dishonored by this, I’d scorn you, but if you don’t let me fight for you, then you’re a dolt.”

  He turned his face against her hand and kissed her fingers.

  “Then I do as my lady commands, and live.”

  He walked off, leaving her speechless behind him, and his mind was torn this way and that, like leaves driven by the autumn wind, between wanting her and fearing for her life.

  At last the army was ready to ride. Alone at the head, Rhodry led his allies and his men north, following the road that zigzagged through fields and woodlands, curved maddeningly around farmsteads, and rambled through villages that Rhodry in his impatience felt were placed there just to slow him down. His one comfort was that Corbyn was traveling with wounded and thus would have to travel more slowly than he could. Late in the afternoon, he saw lying by the side of the road two corpses—some of Corbyn’s men who’d died from their wounds as they tried to keep up with the forced retreat. Rhodry halted the army, and Sligyn rode up beside him.

  “Poor bastards,” Sligyn remarked.

  “Just that. I wonder how many more we’ll find. Corbyn’s cursed desperate.”

  “He’s got every right to be, eh? We’re riding to kill him.”

  For all that he wanted to make speed, Rhodry had some of his men wrap the bodies in blankets and put them into one of the carts. That night, when they made camp, they buried them properly.

  It was well after sunset when a messenger from Rhodry came to Dun Cannobaen. The men on fortguard, just as anxious as Lovyan was for news, crowded round while the scribe read out the dispatches. When she heard of Daumyr’s death, Lovyan groaned aloud.

  “I’m heartsick at this news. He was a good man and a true one.” She paused, thinking things out. “On the morrow, we’ll all ride out. If Corbyn’s running like a fox to his earth, there’s no danger hell besiege me here. Men, you’ll escort me and my womenfolk to Dun Gwerbyn, then ride after the army.”

  The fortguard cheered her. Dannyan turned her way with a quizzical lift of an eyebrow.

  “I want to be nearer the war,” Lovyan said. “If Corbyn’s allies have deserted him, then they’ll all have to sue for a separate peace. I want to be at Dun Gwerbyn to receive them. What if Rhys takes it into his mind to be at Dun Gwerbyn in case they want to sue directly to him?”

  “He might, at that. I’d forgotten about Rhys.”

  “I can’t, not for one wretched minute of one beastly day.”

  Once the army had pulled out to chase Corbyn, Nevyn went to his blankets and slept all afternoon, waking just in time to tend the wounded at the dinner hour. As soon as it was dark, he left the camp and walked to the woodland. He’d been telling Rhodry the simple truth when he talked of standing a rear guard, and to do it he had no need of being physically close to Rhodry, any more than the dark master needed to be physically close to attack him. Nevyn was sure that the dark master’s body was very far away, at least far enough to flee in plenty of time should Nevyn send armed men after him.

  Safely hidden in the woods, Nevyn went into his trance and up to the etheric plane. Flying fester than any bird, he sped north until he saw the tangled mass of auras that marked Rhodry’s army below him. Like a sentry, he hovered above it and circled this way and that as the hours slipped by, unmarked and untellable until midnight, when the astral tide changed from Water to Earth, and the etheric began to billow and churn. Nevyn fought and held his place, like a swimmer treading water in a choppy sea.

  Now, if the dark master was desperate enough, was the perfect time for him to make an attack. Nevyn kept low, close to earth where the billows were less severe. Every now and then, he rose up higher, fighting the waves, to get the distant view before he was forced to sink down again. Slowly the waves grew slower, smoother; slowly the billows and churning died away. Just when the tide had finally turned, he saw someone coming to meet him, but it was Aderyn, floating along in a simple blue body of light much like his own.

  “How goes it?” Aderyn thought to him.

  “Dull, so far. Not a sign of our enemy.”

  “I’ve seen naught, either. I risked going in this form to Corbyn’s camp. Loddlaen never challenged me.” Aderyn’s grief swept out like a wave, almost tangible there on the etheric.

  “Think of him as dead, my friend.” Nevyn put as much gentle sympathy into the thought as he could. “Mourn him and let him go.”

  “There’s naught else I can do.”

  Abruptly Aderyn turned away and, following the silver cord, floated down fast to his body.

  Nevyn kept his watch all that night, until the Aethyr tide began rolling in a little before dawn. Since no dark master could work magic under the tides of Aethyr or Air, Nevyn returned to his body. As he walked back to camp, he was mulling over his long, boring night. It was possible that the dark master was merely holding his hand, waiting until Nevyn dropped his guard, possible, but highly unlikely. Nevyn dwelt on the dark master, thought of every grim thing he might do, but no dweomer-warning came to him, not the slightest twinge. From its lack, he knew that the master had left the field entirely.

  “I should have done that last night and saved myself the boredom,” he remarked aloud. “But truly, I never thought he’d give up so easily.”

  All at once, he had to laugh at himself. He took his powers so much for granted that he’d forgotten how terrifying they would be to someone with good cause to fear him.

  The night before, Rhodry’s army had camped in a common pasture about half a mile from a farming village. Although Rhodry woke everyone before dawn and yelled orders to hurry and get ready to ride, they had to linger for at least an hour, simply to allow the horses to graze. Jill supposed that Corbyn was already on the march; he could risk harming his horses because he was headed for his dun.

  As Jill was drawing her rations, Aderyn came up to her and asked her to walk with him a ways. Nearby was a copse of willows around a duck pond, and they went there for a bit of privacy. With a sigh, Aderyn sat down on a fallen tree trunk. The brightening light picked out the wrinkles around his eyes and made him look very weary indeed.

  “I hope I don’t offend you, Jill, but do you truly think you can best Corbyn? I won’t have you killed in a hopeless cause. If nothing else, Nevyn would never forgive me, and his wrath is nothing to invoke lightly.”

  “Oh, I can well believe that. But as long as it’s in single combat, I think I can take him. From what Rhodry says, he’s old, slowing down, and he’s got a good paunch on him. If I can keep him moving, I’ll wear him down.”

  “Old? I though he was but eight-and-thirty.”

  “Well, no o
ffense on my part, but that’s old for a fighting man.”

  “I suppose so. I—”

  Suddenly the light in the copse dimmed around them. Aderyn jumped to his feet and swore as a mass of thick gray rain clouds swept down out of an otherwise clear sky. With a slap, wind hit the copse in a welter of falling leaves. In the distance, thunder cracked and rumbled.

  “Is Loddlaen behind this?” Jill said.

  “Who else? I’ll deal with it. Run, child—the horses!”

  Under the shadows of clouds, scudding in fast with the cold scent of rain, Jill raced back to the camp and found it in confusion: men swearing, captains and lords running, yelling orders, the horses dancing at their tether ropes. Just as Jill reached the herd, the first lightning struck, a crackling blue bolt ominously near. Neighing and plunging, the horses pulled at their tethers. The lightning hammered down again; big drops of rain fell in a scatter. Jill grabbed the halter of the nearest horse and pulled it down just in time to keep it from breaking free. Swearing, the rest of the army was among the herd and doing the same. Rhodry came running and grabbed the horse next to her.

  “Get ready to run! If they stampede, save yourself and let them go!”

  With a slap of wind the rain poured down, drenching them. The horses danced and tossed their heads as the men pulled them down and talked endless nonsense to soothe them. But that was the end of the lightning, as if the god Tarn had snatched his weapons back from Loddlaen. In a few minutes more, the rain stopped with an eerie suddenness. When Jill looked up, she saw the clouds breaking up and swirling in a troubled, gusty wind. For a moment it seemed that they would mass again, as a real storm would have done, but the stretch of blue sky overhead stayed stubbornly clear, then widened, as if the clouds were spilled flour and a giant with a broom was sweeping them away.

  “Oh, ye gods.” Rhodry whispered. “Dweomer.”

  The last of the clouds dissolved. They did not blow away; they did not thin out and slowly dissipate; they dissolved, suddenly and completely gone. Jill shuddered convulsively.