The Willow Branch

by Lela Markham

  “Aye. Denygal is said to still have the descendants of the Fey living there. Mayhap the secrets have survived in their collegiate.”

  “That is my hope.” Perryn noted the torch light growing stronger at the corner again. “You should go,” he advised, handing Donyl the royal sword in a plain scabbard. Donyl donned it with shaking fingers. “I wish you could stand for me at the wedding, but this is the better way.”

  Donyl nodded and they embraced. If Perryn seemed to hold him a bit longer than was ordinary, Donyl wished that they could stand there longer, but he knew that sovereigns must make hard choices and when Perryn eased his hug, Donyl responded likewise.

  “Good journey, my brother,” Perryn said.

  “Perro, keep safe,” Donyl replied. Then with a wrench of will, he shouldered the haversack and limped toward Pedyr.

  Perryn stood for a long time staring down the bolt hole. The tunnel actually passed under the river and came out in a village northeast of the city. There’d be horses and men awaiting Donyl’s arrival. Eventually, Perryn swung the bolt hole closed and arranged the treasure shelves in front of it. Only the sovereign and his named successor could know of the bolt hole’s location. The captain of the guard was permitted to know of its existence. It was a last means of retreat in the event of disaster.

  Perryn felt tears well up as he finished his task and stood for a space of time gaining control of himself. He was truly alone. He wondered if the Fey depicted in the murals on the foundation walls surrounding him had felt this solitary as they had faced the armies of the Celts so long ago. The bolt hole was made of similar material. Did it date from their time? Mayhap Donyl would learn such at the collegiate.

  The dun had grown quiet since they’d come down here. It must be past the second night watch. Perryn took a circuitous route so no one would note that he’d been to the treasure chambers. Deryk and he would cover Donyl’s absence for a few days by claiming to have talked with him. Donyl preferred solitary pursuits, so like as not no one would notice they didn’t see him.

  Perryn had not yet gotten used to going to his father’s chambers at night. It had been less than a fortnight since the funerals, so it was understandable that he still wanted to turn toward the secondary broch where he’d been lodged since his majority rather than toward the chamber he’d thought would never be his. He remained unused to having servants stationed just outside his apartments. Tonight it was only the young page, Jortham, who sprang up from polishing a pair of boots that didn’t need polishing and offered to do Perryn’s bidding.

  “Nay, but I am fine,” Perryn assured him. “I think I’ll withdraw for the evening.”

  It wouldn’t do any good to dismiss the lad. He was there not just to serve Perryn’s wishes, but to sound an alarm in case of danger. He no doubt had some skill with the short sword he wore. His father was a younger son of Galornyn, a house known to train their young early.

  “If there’s anything you require, sire, please do not hesitate to call.”

  Perryn assured the lad that he would and entered the apartment. When he’d begun the move into his father’s apartment, Perryn had scarcely cared for furnishing it and most of the items belonging to his father remained. Vanyn’s tastes were subdued and dignified. Perryn saw no reason to waste energy changing them. His bride would no doubt have her own ideas and that would save the young king the trouble of developing any of his own.

  Perryn sat down on a bench in the ante room and tugged off his boots, leaving his socks atop them for a servant to deal with, then walked barefoot into the greeting room. The lights were low, so that it was the perfume that drew his attention rather than the sight of her. Malona sat upon a divan in the far corner, a book open upon her lap, her lustrous black hair loose about her shoulders. She looked up as Perryn froze in surprise.

  “My lord,” she greeted, her beautiful golden eyes meeting his with candor.

  “Malona,” he greeted. She must be 10 years his senior, but he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life. “What brings you here at this watch?”

  She set aside the book, but remained reclined on the couch. Despite her age, her bosom was firm and her waist narrow.

  “Your father’s books are not enough?” she asked regally, too elegant to simper.

  “If you’d simply wanted to borrow a book, the page would have been glad to loan it.”

  Perryn reminded himself sternly that he would have to find suitable punishment for the young page. Not somewhat severe, but sufficient to assure he recognized his regent’s displeasure at not barring the door to intruders.

  “You may have a point there,” Malona said. “You may find me quite useful,” she added. “Vanyn certainly did.”

  “My father obviously valued your service as his mistress. I marry on Lughnadsa. What have you to offer me?”

  “We could arrange service as your father knew,” she suggested, but then added quickly, “but that is for later discussion. What I have to offer you at the moment is of greater value.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She wore her gown cut low for a woman of her age, revealing the tops of her breasts and tantalizing him. The dark blue silk reflected the lantern light.

  “I control a network of eyes and ears that Vanyn used extensively,” Malona explained. “Sadly, they did not warn me of the plot against his life. I was focused on solving Maryn’s death instead.”

  “And?”

  She rose and walked to a table where a silver tray held a pitcher. She poured out two goblets. Perryn smelled Hanolan wine. She sipped from one of the goblets as she offered him the second. This was a sweet vintage he’d not tasted before.

  “Maryn despoiled Gillian of Llyr,” she explained.

  “They were betrothed and neither was a virgin. Where are you going with this?”

  “There’s a child.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “My eyes and ears are everywhere.”

  “She can’t be even two months along.”

  “Aye, but it is a problem for you.”

  Perryn sipped at the wine. If there was indeed a child it was a complication, but not insurmountable. He’d already been crowned and Maryn and Gillian had not yet been married. A bastard child had never unseated a sitting king. Even the Troubles had required the death of the sitting king to seat the bastard heir.

  “I’m still waiting for you to prove your worth,” Perryn said.

  “You don’t think that news is valuable?”

  “I’d have discovered it soon enough when her father showed up to request recompense.”

  “Aye, but now you can be prepared for it. Vanyn appreciated the advanced warnings I could give him.”

  “Hmm, there’s a point there, no doubt,” Perryn agreed reluctantly. As they were talking, she’d been moving closer to him until now her breasts almost touched his chest. A tall woman, her eyes almost met his on a level. “You’re suggesting I keep you about for this service?”

  “I am worth my keep on several levels. You’re to marry Ylaena of Clarcom, aye?”

  “I am.”

  “What do you know of her family?”

  “They were thoroughly vetted by my father and it was a marriage my mother favored from Ylaena’s birth. We were to be married next year, but Father requested the wedding early when Maryn died.”

  “What do you know of her father?”

  “You’ve a point to make. Out with it,” Perryn ordered.

  “A very ambitious man, Jochryn of Clarcom. He’s married his daughters well, but his jewel was going to a younger son. Mayhap you will not be able to trust your father-in-law, but more, you may not be able to trust your bride.”

  “Are you saying he had somewhat to do with Maryn’s death?”

  “Mayhap. I’ve my eyes and ears trained that way.” She smiled at him and Perryn felt himself smiling back. She laid a hand on his chest, just below the blazons of griffins.

  “My lord, I can be many things to you, if yo
u are willing.”

  Perryn’s instinct was to step back, but he did not. Her hand was warm through the linen and her eyes huge pools of gold that absorbed him into their depths.

  “What would you ask for your services?” he asked.

  “Nay, only that you keep me as your father did. I keep my apartment, may commission clothing and art to my liking at a reasonable level and receive an allowance that I may pay my spies.”

  “Was Daumyr aware of these arrangements?”

  “He is.”

  “Then I will speak with him and get back with you ….”

  She pulled him into her embrace just then and her full mouth pressed onto his willing lips.

  “I promise you, you will enjoy every minute of my company,” she told him.

  With a groan, he swept her into the bedchamber, trailing garments behind them.

  Founding Year 1028

  Southern Dublyn – Spring (The Present)

  Padraig and Tamys packed quietly just before dusk, securing anything that might bang about, then set out on the cart road in the night, passing farmsteads and meadows and the closed gates of villages. Because it was waxing half moon, they could see to travel, and Padraig counted it to God’s bounty. Although he could see well in the dark, he couldn’t see as well as day. Regardless, he knew that Tamys would protest if he betrayed how well he actually did see in the dark. For some reason, he felt that the moon did not favor Traegyr, but he could not have said why. Usually a moon in its bright phase made seeking easier, but he thought Traegyr, having missed them the night before, had spent the day searching and would rest the night, giving them time to travel far off.

  They spent another day in a deep pocket of trees, taking turns sleeping. The following night, they traveled again. Come morning, Padraig did not stop, but pushed on to a nearby village where they reprovisioned their bread and then traveled on. By late-afternoon, he was drowsing in the saddle and Joy was starting to stumble. They found another wood and burrowed into it.

  “I think it’s safe to travel by day again,” Padraig told Tamys as they built a low fire in a shelter of high rocks.

  “If you believe it so,” Tamys said, showing that he had never commanded a war band, but that he’d been close to the commander. He didn’t question, even if he might wonder. He could measure the situation based upon the information he’d already gleaned. He didn’t need to argue; mayhap knew when it wasn’t worth it.

  They slept long that night and neither kept watch, though Padraig knew Joy was sleeping lighter than usual and that Tamys awoke once or twice to listen to the night. Padraig himself sensed their watchfulness even as he himself slept. Morning dawned chill and bright and they began their journey a bit late in the morning.

  By late-afternoon, Padraig had stopped at an inn to hang out a shingle for herbs and spent the rest of the day earning them a place to sleep in the hay loft and a bit of coin, some of which he tried to give to Tamys, but the lad declined, saying that he had coin enough until a later time. This again piqued Padraig’s curiosity. Who had provisioned a lad fresh turned out of a warband? A lord’s son might have had siblings or a mam with coin and that would explain it, Padraig thought. He knew it would do no good to ask, for men like Tamys valued companions who didn’t ask uncomfortable questions. Still, he wondered about what had sent a son of a Mulyn lord upon the roads. Some point of honor lost to the bottom of a tankard, mayhap.

  Watching that night as they sat in the common room, Padraig wondered that it might have somewhat to do with a lass, for Tamys was quite social, though merely chivying the lasses. He didn’t seem interested in retiring anywhere with them. Still, that wouldn’t entirely mean that he mightn’t have lifted the skirts of a noblewoman. That would get one turned out onto the roads if one were a younger son. Somehow, Padraig thought it somewhat else. Tamys seemed the sort of young man who would brag about his conquests, not turn taciturn and brooding when anyone even came close to the subject. Nay, there was a mystery to Padraig’s new companion and he meant, in time, to know what it was, not for any wont to gossip, but because Padraig more and more wanted to see Tamys come to the Lord and change his direction in life. He knew it would take time and he was willing to go where ever the Lord might lead.

  Thus resumed their leisurely journey toward Averblyan. Some days they traveled a full day because the villages were that far apart. Other days, they stopped and sold herbs for most of the afternoon. If Tamys thought this strategy a bit nonsensical, he said naught. It was on the eightnight that they began to have their first true conversation beyond light banter. It was while scouting out a ford downstream from a fallen bridge over the Averblyan that it began.

  “It must have been a beautiful kingdom once,” Tamys murmured, looking toward the bridge. “Imagine what it must have taken to build that.”

  “Aye and it stood for some four hundred years,” Padraig added. Tamys glanced at him, betraying shock. “What, did you not realize the age of the King’s roads?”

  “Nay, I suppose I did realize. It’s just that when you think about how much of it has fallen apart in the last century, it’s hard to imagine that the bridge stood for 300 before that. Was it just that it was old or did it want maintenance?”

  “Oh, it wanted maintenance. Only the dwarves build bridges that can be trusted for centuries without care.”

  “Aye, well, dwarven engineering is indeed a marvel.”

  “So you know of the dwarves?”

  “I spent some time at the Pass of the Arrival. The dwarves still come there to trade.”

  “So, you’ve actually seen dwarves?”

  “Aye. Have you?”

  “Aye. They trade with the elves and with the Denygal. Quite a mysterious people.”

  Tamys nodded.

  “Do you think we could just swim it?” he asked. The spring melt had swollen the Averblyan, but this wasn’t a terribly wide spot. The water was cold, muddy and turbulent, but probably swimmable for two mountain-bred stock and a northern horse.

  “Nay, no need if there’s a ford,” Padraig answered, sensing Joy’s mood. Mayhap she had a different idea about the river’s navigability. “I wonder if a new king would rebuild such as this.”

  “It seems worthwhile,” Tamys noted. “Only the middle span is down and it looks as these farms would make use of it. This isn’t a King’s road, is it?”

  “It was once,” Padraig assured him. “There used to be a lot more King’s roads than there are now.”

  “How do you know so much about history?” Tamys asked after mulling it over a bit.

  “Denygal has long dark winters and there was a good bard there when I would visit. Did not your bards in Mulyn sing of the kingdom?”

  “Aye, but I preferred the bawdies,” Tamys said with a laugh. “I suppose my speech gives away where I grew up.”

  “Aye,” Padraig agreed. “Now, you’re from Mulyn, so you must have a thought or two about who will father the True King.”

  “I am little more than a soldier and not fit to make such determinations,” Tamys said after an uncomfortable hesitance.

  “No one else is about to hear, lad. It’s somewhat I do to pass the time – catalog what folks think about the True King.”

  Tamys looked skeptical just as Joy paused at the edge of the river and snorted. She’d found the ford.

  “I don’t know who he will be but I’m fairly certain that neither Corbryn nor Tren will father the True King. Both have too much ambition to whelp someone with enough strength of character to rule a whole kingdom.”

  Padraig had a theory about Tamys, based upon his manners and the few things he’d let slip, but he knew the lad would not give him the information without subtlety.

  “Do you know their sons?”

  Tamys barely managed to suppress a flinch, but answered after a beat of silence. Padraig now knew certainly that he was noble-born. It explained a few things -- his manners and clear intelligence, the occasional flash of leadership. A third or fourth son of a fai
rly high dun who would have leave to meet with the vyngretrix or at least his children. Apparently Tamys knew there was no use lying.

  “Aye. I’ve met both heirs and know one well, but they are not the True King.”

  “Well, the Kin say that the True King will not bear a device of a bird, so that lets out many of the great clans.”

  Tamys frowned, watching as Padraig walked Joy up and down the edge of the ford.

  “How do the elves know aught about our kingdom?”

  Could Tamys was ready to hear that the kingdom had once belonged to the elves? Padraig decided that he would hold that information a bit longer.

  “They are a mysterious people who know far more than makes sense to the mind of man. This is the ford. We’d best cross and continue our journey.”

  Tamys looked skeptical, but he didn’t argue the point. The road on the other side of the river was in a poor shape until the first farm and then improved. Clearly the farm folk had given up hope of the bridge’s repair.

  “Where are we headed?” Tamys asked as they set camp for the evening with the sun dropping in the west. “I think we’re not headed directly toward Dun Celdrya.”

  “We’re at least a day’s journey south of the king’s road,” Padraig agreed. “If I remember rightly, this road will enter Dunmaden in another day or so.”

  “Dunmaden is the north of Galornyn territory, aye?”

  “Aye. Your travels have mostly been in the north, then?”

  “You guessed the location of my upbringing correctly,” Tamys answered circumspectly.

  “Lad, I’m not prying. It’s just that I’ve noted you don’t seem to know this area at all.”

  “Mulyn controls the north. We come south to siege Dun Celdrya, but truly, the army goes no farther south.”

  “Not to Galornyn?”

  Tamys hesitated.

  “I don’t truly have a side anymore in the conflict twix the clans, but I prefer to not share any secrets I know. Corbryn’s daughter is married to a Galornyn son, but Blyan is allied with Dublyn, not either of the lords of Mulyn. We’ve no reason to come this far south.”