Glaenara twisted free and kicked him across the shins. When he grabbed her again and held tight this time, she was shocked at how strong he was—towering over her, causing her pain with an easy masculine strength.
“You’ve been rolling around with that lad, haven’t you? He wouldn’t want naught else out of the likes of you.”
This very real possibility made Glaenara burst into tears.
“Oh, ye gods!” Nalyn snapped. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“So what if it is? Can’t I have one thing in my rotten life that I want just because I want it?”
With an oath, Nalyn let go of her, then slapped her hard across the face. Glaenara slapped back without thinking, and at that, the long bad feeling between them erupted. He grabbed her by the shoulder, twisted her around, and slapped her hard across the behind. As hard as she fought and kicked—and she landed some bruises on him—she couldn’t get free. The pain of his slaps was nothing compared with her terror at feeling so helpless. She was sobbing so hard that she could barely see. Dimly she heard her mother screaming and Lidyan’s voice calling out. All at once, Nalyn let her go. Glaenara staggered and almost fell into her sister’s arms.
“Nal, Nal,” Myna whined. “What are you doing?”
“Beating a little slut,” Nalyn sputtered out. “Lida, let go of her! I won’t have my wife feeling sorry for a slut like this. Her and her cursed silver dagger! Ye gods, I’m never going to be able to make her a decent match now.”
Lidyan started to cry, her hands slack on Glaenara’s arm. Still terrified, Glaenara turned to her mother to find Myna staring in paralyzed disbelief, her thin lips trembling, her patient eyes full of tears. Glaenara tried to speak, but she choked on pure shame.
“Glae,” Myna whispered, “tell me it’s not true.”
Glaenara wanted to lie, but she was shaking too badly to speak. Myna reached out her hand, then drew it back, staring at her all the while with aching eyes.
“Glae,” Lidyan wailed, “how could you?”
But Lidyan was watching her husband; Myna turned toward him, too, a final slap sharper than any hand. They were both going to let him pass the final judgment on her.
“It’s true enough,” Glaenara spat out. “Go on! Call me what you want. I won’t be here to listen!”
Glaenara barreled through gate, raced as fast as she could down the road, kept running even when she heard them call her back. She hardly knew what she was doing; she only wanted to run and run and never see any of them again. Her mother was siding with Nalyn. At the thought tears came to choke her and leave her gasping, forcing her to fling herself down into the tall grass to weep. By the time she’d wept herself dry the sun was setting. She got up, expecting to see Nalyn coming after her to beat her some more, but the twilight road was empty, the house far behind. She wiped her dirty face on her sleeve and began running again, heading for town and Braedda, who would maybe forgive her—perhaps, she thought, the only person in the world who would.
At last, just as the stars were pricking the velvet sky, Glaenara reached the village. As she stood behind the inn and wondered if Samwna would even let her inside, once she knew the truth, the tears rose up again, hot and choking. She had no place in life anymore, nowhere to go, nothing to call her own; she was a shamed woman and a slut and naught more. She was still weeping when Braedda’s enormous cousin, Cenedd the blacksmith’s son, came strolling through the innyard.
“Glae, by the gods!” Cenedd said. “And what’s all this?”
“Nalyn turned me out, and I deserved it. All because of Maer.”
When Cenedd caught her by the shoulders, Glaenara flinched back, expecting that he would beat her, too.
“Bastards, both of them,” Cenedd said matter-of-factly. “Now don’t cry like that.” He turned his head and yelled. “Braedda, get out here!”
When Braedda and Samwna hurried out, Glaenara blurted the truth between sobs, simply because there was no use in lying. Braedda began to cry, too, but Samwna took charge—again, as matter-of-factly as Cenedd.
“Now, now, it’s not the end of the world. Oh, Glae, you’ve been such a dolt, but truly, I was afraid this was going to happen. Here, you’re not with child, are you?”
“I don’t know. It’s not been long enough to tell.”
“Well, then, we’ll know when we know and not a minute later. You come inside where it’s warm, and we’ll all have some nice hot ale.”
As the two women led her into the kitchen, Glae looked back to see Cenedd standing and talking urgently with Ewsn and Selyn, the weaver’s son. She and Braedda sat huddled together on a bench in the corner of the kitchen while Samwna bustled around, pouring ale into a tall metal flagon and settling it into the coals on the hearth.
“Mam?” Braedda said. “Can Glae sleep here tonight?”
“Of course. There’s no use in trying to talk sense to Nalyn until he’s had a chance to cool off a bit.”
“My thanks,” Glae stammered. “Why would you even help me? You should just let me sleep in the road.”
“Hush, hush! You’re not the first lass in the world to make a fool of herself over a good-looking rider, and doubtless you won’t be the last.”
Ewsn stuck his gray head into the kitchen and caught Samwna’s attention.
“Be back in a bit. Just going for a ride with some of the lads. We’ve been thinking about poor Myna, you see.”
“So have I,” Samwna said. “It aches my heart.”
“You’re not going to the farm, are you?” Glaenara blurted out.
“Not just yet, lass,” Ewsn said. “We’ll let your brother think things over before we do that.”
After dinner, Pertyc’s riders were welcome to sit in the great hall and drink while they gossiped or watched what little there was to see. Maer and Cadmyn were playing dice when Ewsn the innkeep, Cenedd the blacksmith’s son, and Selyn the weaver’s son came into the great hall, stood looking around them for a hesitant moment, then went over to whisper urgently to Pertyc.
“Wonder what they’re doing here,” Cadmyn remarked.
“Who knows? Seems a strange time of day to pay your taxes.”
In a few minutes a smirking Adraegyn came skipping over to the riders’ table.
“Maer, Da wants to see you. You’re in real trouble, Maer.”
“Am I now? Then why are you grinning like a fiend?”
“You’ll see. Come on, Maer. Da wants you right now.”
Up by Lord Pertyc’s carved chair stood Ewsn, Cenedd, and Selyn, all of them with their arms crossed over their chests and their mouths set in tight lines. Pertyc himself seemed to be smothering laughter. Maer shoved a couple of dogs out of the way and knelt at the lord’s feet.
“I wanted to tender you my congratulations, Maer,” Pertyc said.
“Congratulations, my lord?”
“On your coming marriage.”
Utterly puzzled, sure that this was a prank, Maer glanced this way and that. Cenedd stepped forward, looking somehow even more enormous than usual.
“Marriage,” Cenedd said. “You’ve been trifling with Glae, you little bastard, and now her brother’s kicked her out.”
“Marriage isn’t as bad as all that, Maer.” Pertyc leaned forward with a look of bland sincerity on his face. “Why, I did it myself once, and it didn’t kill me—though in all honesty it came blasted near.”
Maer tried to speak and failed while the warband snickered among themselves.
“I guess I’d best give you a permanent place in my warband,” Pertyc went on. “Can’t have poor Glae riding behind a silver dagger.”
“Now here,” Maer squeaked, “I haven’t even said I would yet.”
Cenedd flexed his massive muscles.
“Now look, I’ll make a cursed rotten husband. Glae deserves better than me.”
“So she does,” Ewsn put in. “But it’s a bit late for that now, lad. You’re the one who’s been lifting her skirts, and you’re the one who’s marrying her.”
Ewsn and Selyn stooped like striking hawks, grabbed Maer one at each arm, and hauled him to his feet.
“Now listen,” Cenedd said. “You’ve lost Glae her home. Either you give her another one, or I’ll pound you into slime.”
Maer had the sincere feeling that he was going to faint.
“If she comes to live with you here in the dun,” Pertyc said, “I’ve got just the place for her. I’ve never known as strong-minded a lass as our Glae, so she can be my daughter’s nursemaid. Here, you’ve gone all white, lad! You’ll like being married. It just takes a bit of getting used to. We’ll see what we can do about getting you a chamber to yourselves here in the broch.” He glanced at a smirking servant. “Go saddle Maer’s horse for him. He’s riding down to the village to see his betrothed.”
Catcalls, cheers, and jeers—the warband exploded into laughter.
“Hey, Maer!” Crindd called. “Now this is truly funny!”
With a deep involuntary groan, Maer shut his eyes and let Cenedd drag him out into the ward. Adraegyn came running after and gave Maer’s sleeve a tug.
“But, Maer, what did you do to Glae?”
“Go ask your father, lad. It’s too complicated to explain right now.”
A grim procession of three villagers and one newly betrothed silver dagger rode round to the back of the inn to dismount. When Maer hesitated, Cenedd pulled him bodily from his horse, shook him hard, and set him on his feet again. When Maer groaned at the injustice of it all, Cenedd gave him a shove and sent him staggering inside, where Ewsn, Selyn, Samwna, and Braedda were all waiting and, just behind them, Nevyn stood and glowered. Maer went cold all over in sheer terror, remembering two very salient facts: Nevyn had taken Glae under his wing, and he was a sorcerer, capable—Maer was suddenly positive on this point—of turning men into frogs. No hope now, Maer thought; it’s marriage or the marsh. Glae herself was huddled on a bench in a corner. He’d never seen anyone look so miserable as she did then, her eyes swollen from weeping, her pretty dress torn and dirty, and on her cheek a flat red welt. All at once, Maer realized that her brother must have beaten her, and he felt himself to be the most dishonorable wretch in the entire kingdom. Glae raised her head and looked at him, her mouth trembling with tears.
“You don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to.” Her voice was dry and cold. “I’d rather starve than take that kind of charity.”
“Oh, hold your tongue! Of course I want to marry you!” He hurried over and threw himself down to kneel beside her. “Here, my sweet, forgive me. I’ve been cursed rotten to you.”
Glaenara stared as if she couldn’t believe her ears. When he held out his hand, she let hers lie limply in his, as if she hardly cared what he did to her.
“Glae, I truly want to marry you. Now come on, give your man a smile, won’t you?”
At last Glaenara did smile, shyly at first, then blossoming into the brilliant grin that made her look beautiful. Nevyn pushed his way through the gathering crowd and fixed Maer with an ice-blue stare.
“You’d best be a good husband.”
“The best you’ve ever seen. I swear it.”
“Good.” Nevyn started to say more, then glanced to one side, frowning.
When Maer followed his gaze, he saw Little Blue-hair sitting cross-legged on the floor like a child. That night she seemed about three feet tall, and more solid than he’d ever seen her before. She pointed to Glae, wrinkled up her nose in scorn, then began to weep. As Maer watched horrified, she slowly vanished, fading away, turning transparent, then gone, tears and all. Yet somehow, he knew she’d be back. When he glanced Nevyn’s way, he found the old man troubled, and that was the most frightening thing of all.
• • •
That year, which was 918 as Deverry men reckon time, Loddlaen turned three, a slender, solemn child with pale hair and enormous purple eyes. Although the other children treated him as one of their own, he always seemed set apart from the games and the general shouting, preferring to cling to his father’s trouser leg and merely watch the goings-on or to play quietly with his foster brother, Javanateriel, in the safety of a tent. In his better moments Aderyn wondered if the time he’d spent trapped in his mother’s womb off in the Guardians’ strange country had affected him in some way, but usually he refused to believe that anything could be wrong with his beautiful son. Even when Loddlaen woke in the night screaming from horrible dreams, Aderyn told himself that all children dreamt of monsters and suchlike at his age.
The autumn alardan that year was one of the largest Aderyn had ever seen. Since all summer the weather had been exceptionally fine, the grass was exceptionally lush, meaning that there was enough fodder near the campground to feed the herds for a few days longer than usual, and the elves took advantage of it for a long week of feasting and good company. Although Aderyn didn’t bother to count, it seemed to him that at least five hundred tents sprang up along the stream chosen for the great meeting. At night the tiny cooking fires looked like a field of stars. There were so many horses and sheep that the mounted herders had to take them out a long way round the camp, half a day’s ride in some cases.
It was no wonder, then, that Ganedd and his small caravan stumbled across the alardan, especially since the young merchant had enough sense to realize that the elves would be traveling south by then instead of camping near the usual trading sites. Aderyn had met Ganedd several times before; he rather liked the lad, and he could sympathize with his desire to break free of his family’s constricted life and see something of the world. It was Aderyn that Ganedd sought out, in fact, once he and his men had been fed and given a place to set up their own tent, because Ganedd knew elven ways well enough to come to the Wise One first. As soon as Aderyn heard his story, though, he sent for Halaberiel. The banadar was beginning to show his age; there were deep crow’s-feet at the corner of his eyes, and in certain lights you would have sworn that you could see streaks of gray in his pale hair.
“Hal, you’d best listen to this,” Aderyn said. “There’s trouble in Cannobaen, and two half-elven children are involved.”
“Pertyc Maelwaedd’s offspring?” Halaberiel glanced at Ganedd.
“Yes, Banadar.” The boy’s Elvish was not good, but adequate. “He sent me here with a letter for his wife. He needs help badly. His enemies are threatening to burn his stone tent and kill him and his children. He has eleven men and no archers. They have hundreds and hundreds of men.”
“Well, how like the cursed Round-ears, to count on unfair odds like that.” Halaberiel changed to Deverrian for the sake of their guest. “I doubt me if you can find his wife, lad. The last I saw of her, she was heading west with her alar to the far camps. I’ll send out messengers, but we don’t have a blasted lot of hope of catching up with her in time.”
“Well, I was afraid of that, sir,” Ganedd said. “But what we really need are bows, and extra arrows, and maybe an archer or two to show us how to use them, though truly they’d best be gone again before the siege starts. It would ache my heart to have your people slain in what’s most likely a hopeless cause.”
“I remember Pertyc from his wedding.” Halaberiel glanced at Aderyn. “As I remember, you missed that particular celebration, Wise One. He’s a good man, the only Round-ear I ever really liked—well, besides you, but then, you’re not really a Round-ear. Never were, as far as I can tell. I don’t see why Annaleria ever married him, mind, but I liked him as a man. I may be getting old, but cursed if I’ll sit here while a man I like gets himself murdered in his tent.”
“You’ll help us, sir?” Ganedd broke into a grin.
“I will. Bows you shall have, and arrows, and me and some of my men, too. Calonderiel’s always spoiling for a good scrap, and I think Farendar and Albaral will ride with us for the excitement of the thing, and then there’s young Jennantar, who needs to learn Eldidd speech. I’ll pass the word around and see if anyone else’s heart burns to come with us, but truly, Ganedd, I don’t want to risk many more
men than that.”
“Banadar, you’re worth a hundred Round-ear men by yourself alone.”
Halaberiel laughed.
“Put me up high on a stone wall with a good bow and someone to keep filling my quiver, and you might just be right, lad. We’ll find out soon enough.”
Although Aderyn’s first reaction was a sick feeling at this elven interference in human politics, in the end he decided that there was nothing he could do to prevent it. As the Wise One, Aderyn could have overruled the banadar, but only at a great social cost; there would have been arguments for days, and the entire alardan would have lined up on one side or the other, leading to further trouble for years to come. Besides, he considered that indeed Pertyc Maelwaedd had every justice on his side and deserved defending, as he remarked to Nevyn when they talked later that evening through the fire.
“I agree, actually,” Nevyn thought back to him. “But do you think archers are going to make much of a difference?”
“I do. I mean, Hal tells me that in an open field the rebel army could easily wipe out a small squad of archers, but this isn’t going to be an open field, is it? The banadar’s bringing two fletchers with us, and I gather he’s going to have them spend all winter making arrows while he trains Pertyc’s men.”
“I see. Wait—did you say with us?”
“I thought I’d best come along. I’d like to bring Loddlaen, so you could see him, but it’s just too dangerous.”
“On that, at least, I couldn’t agree more. You know, there’s a thing going on here that I’d like you to take a look at, too. Do you remember Maddyn?”
Aderyn thought for a long moment.
“Oh, the bard! The one who had the silver ring with the roses on it.”
“Exactly. Well, he’s been reborn, and he’s here, and that wretched little blue sprite is still hanging around him. You know, I think she honestly loves him. I didn’t think the Wildfolk were capable of that.”
“No more did I.”
“And now Maer’s starting seeing her and all of her kin, for that matter. He came to me the other day, poor lad, quite troubled about it. I made a little speech, all pompous and vague, about the magical nature of borderlands in general and this one in particular, and I dropped a few harmless hints about the Westfolk. Blather, it was, but he was impressed and felt much better. I could hardly tell him that being around me was awakening his deepest memories of his last life.”
A Time of Exile Page 31