The Fire Dragon

by Katharine Kerr

  As she walked down the stairs of Nevyn's tower, Lilli was thinking of Branoic. Although she wanted to say farewell to him, her rank kept her from going to a place as lowly as the silver daggers' barracks. She stepped inside the great hall, stood in the doorway on the riders' side, and tried to catch the attention of one of the servant lasses, who would be glad to carry a message for her in return for a copper. In the smoky room, crammed with fighting men of every rank, the lasses were trotting back and forth, bringing ale, serving bread, dodging the men's wandering hands, and answering back as smartly as they could to the various remarks they were getting. Lilli found herself thinking that she was as lucky as Prince Maryn. The summer past, her clan had been destroyed, and she herself might have ended up carrying slops in some lord's hall had it not been for Princess Bellyra's generosity.

  “Lilli?” A dark voice sounded behind her.

  With a little shriek Lilli spun around to find Branoic grinning at her.

  “I didn't mean to scare you out of your skin,” he said. “I got one of my feelings, like, that mayhap you wanted to talk with me.”

  “I do.” She managed a laugh. “I was just remembering last summer. It seems like a twenty's worth of years ago, not just one.”

  “The best summer of my life, it was.”

  “Truly? Why?”

  “You silly goose!” Branoic was grinning at her. “Because I met you, of course.”

  “I don't deserve you, I truly don't.”

  “Spare me that, if you please.” Branoic reached out and engulfed her small soft hands with his, all battle-hard and callused. “If our prince objects to my kissing my betrothed farewell, then bad cess to him.”

  Clasped tight in his arms she felt safe, as if his embrace could shut out the entire war-torn world around them. Oh dear Goddess! she prayed. Let him come home to me!

  On the morrow, Prince Maryn rode out at the head of his army to settle things once and for all with Regent Braemys. At the head of the line of march rode a pair of young lads carrying the red wyvern banner of Dun Deverry and the three ships banner of Cerrmor. Behind them rode Prince Maryn with Nevyn for company, and directly after, his silver daggers. The rest of the army arranged itself behind, each warband headed by its own lord in order of rank. At the rear came the provision wagons, servants, grooms with extra horses, and chirurgeons, all guarded by the foot soldiers—spearmen, mostly, under Oggyn's command— owed to the prince by the various free cities in his dominions. All in all, they numbered over four thousand men, less than the summer before, but still, one of the largest armies Deverry had ever seen.

  Thanks to the carts and their slab wheels, this massive force could make about twelve miles a day on flat terrain. In the hilly country that lay ahead, they would be lucky to manage ten. Since clever maneuvers were out of the question, the prince had decided upon a simple strategy. In his message Braemys had announced his intention of riding to Dun Deverry by Beltane. Maryn saw no reason to doubt him; Braemys had not the men to take the dun or even besiege it successfully. Maryn's vassals had agreed that they should lead their army east toward Cantrae, over two hundred miles away. Somewhere, when the gods and their Wyrd decided the time was right, they would meet Braemys and his men upon the road.

  “Which is not to say,” Maryn said, “that the little pisspot won't try some sort of trick. Last summer we saw how clever he can be.”

  “So we did, Your Highness,” Nevyn said. “It's a good thing I can scout for you.”

  “Just so.” Maryn turned in the saddle to give him a tight smile. “And I thank the gods for it.”

  Since Nevyn had never seen Braemys in the flesh, simple scrying was impossible, and he was forced to resort to the etheric plane for his scouting. Every night when the army halted, he would assume the body of light and travel as far east as he dared. Below the land would seem to burn with the vegetable auras of trees and grasses, pulsing with spring life. The streams and rivers swelled up into silver veils of elemental force, glittering and dangerous to a traveller such as he. To avoid them he flew above the dirt roads, but even they sported a faint russet glow. When the astral tides turned with the spring, the very earth came to the edge of life.

  Yet, no matter how far Nevyn ranged, he saw nothing of Braemys and his army. He began to wonder if the message had been a ruse, if Braemys intended to stand a siege in Dun Cantrae. If so, taking it would cost another long effort and a good many men's lives. We'll bridge that ditch when we come to it, he told himself. After all, there was naught else he could do but wait.

  The army had been gone only a few days when Bellyra went into labor. Lilli waited with the other women—the serving lasses, the cook, the swineherd's wife, and the like—down in the great hall while the midwife and the princess's serving women tended Bellyra during the birth. Out of habit they sat by the riders' hearth, even though with the nobility gone except for young Prince Riddmar, they might have sat where they liked. Despite the size of the hall, the men left on fortguard went back to their barracks, as if they felt themselves in the way of these women's matters. The young prince trailed after them.

  “I do hope it goes easy for Her Highness,” said the cook.

  “She's delivered two before,” Lilli said, “and not had trouble.”

  “Huh!” The cook snorted. “I had my first three easy as boiling barley, but my fourth? A lad, it was, and he cursed near killed me. I told him about it, too, I did, every year after.”

  Despite the cook's fears, the birth went fast. Bellyra's labor had begun just after dawn, and not long after noon a triumphant Elyssa hurried down the staircase. She paused about halfway and called out, “Another healthy son for the prince! Our lady fares well.” Everyone answered with cheers and loud good wishes. Elyssa paused for a moment, smiling at them, then came down to the floor of the hall. She hurried over to the table where Lilli was sitting.

  “Lilli?” Elyssa said. “Could you spare me a moment?”

  “Of course.” Lilli jumped up and curtsied. “What shall I do?”

  “Just come walk with me a while.”

  Elyssa led her outside to the main ward. In the hot spring sun, flies hovered, jewel bright as they darted back and forth. Over by the watering trough a groom curried a dun palfrey, who stamped a lazy hoof and flicked his tail whenever a fly tried to land upon him. Otherwise the dun seemed wrapped in silence like some enchanted fortress. For a moment Elyssa stood staring at the cobbles; then she looked up with a little shrug.

  “I see no reason to mince words,” Elyssa said. “Are you minded to forgive the princess her fit of temper?”

  “Me forgive her?” Lilli heard her voice crack. “I'm the one who's done her harm.”

  “You're not. It's Maryn who's paid her the hurt she feels. In her worst moments she's blamed you, certainly, but when she's herself again she knows where the fault lies.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.” Elyssa gave a firm little nod. “Now, you know about the awful sadness that takes her after she's given birth.”

  “I do. Is it happening again?”

  “Not yet. The other two times, at least, she's done well for the first few days.” Elyssa looked away, frowning. “I wish the midwife understood it. Neither she nor the herbwoman can say aught but ‘it passes, it passes.’ So it always does, but ye gods! The cost it takes while it lies upon her!”

  “It's terrible, indeed.”

  “So, I was wondering somewhat. Bellyra told me about that brooch of your mother's, the one that had some sort of evil spell upon it. Nevyn said that a thief would feel uneasy or suchlike from the handling of it. Is there such a thing as a spell that would cheer someone up, like, rather than cursing them?”

  “There is.” Lilli thought for a moment. “I wonder if I could make such a thing? I think I know how, but I'm not sure I have the skill. I'm but an apprentice.”

  “I know, but I thought mayhap you'd try.” Elyssa reached into the folds of her kirtle and drew out a small silver ring brooch. “This belongs
to her.”

  “I'll gladly try.” Lilli took the brooch and clasped it in her hand. “The worst I can do is naught. You can't curse someone by accident or suchlike.”

  “I did wonder about that.” Elyssa suddenly smiled. “It's good to talk with you again. If the princess's grief comes upon her, it would be a splendid thing if you'd come to the women's hall. Any distraction would be a boon.”

  “Even her getting enraged at me?”

  “Even that, but I doubt me it would happen.” Elyssa paused, glancing at the sky, when the sun had started its slide toward evening. “Is it too late in the day to send the messengers off?”

  “To the prince, you mean?”

  “Just that. You know the lay of the land around Dun Deverry. Is there a dun nearby that would shelter them for the night?”

  “A good day's ride east. Most of the duns near the city have been razed and gone for years.”

  “That's what I was afraid of. Very well. I'll have the scribe compose the messages today, and we'll get the men on the road tomorrow at dawn.”

  They walked inside together and climbed the staircase, but when Elyssa went to the women's hall, Lilli returned to her chamber. She laid the little brooch upon her table beside the book and for a moment gloated over the task ahead of her. She too needed a distraction from her worrying over Branoic and the prince both. It did occur to her to wonder if Nevyn would approve this independent foray into dweomerwork, but since he wasn't there to ask, she went ahead with the job.

  Nevyn's dweomer book devoted a page to the process of charging a talisman, and Lilli had seen Nevyn work its opposite twice now as well. She would need to cleanse the brooch first of any and all evil influences it might have been exposed to over the years. That very evening, by candlelight she drew a magic circle around her table and chair to mark it as her place of working. The brooch she laid in the center of the round table. Next, she sat down and meditated upon the Light to clear her own mind of troubled thoughts. That done, she rose and stood as she'd seen Nevyn stand, one hand in the air.

  “Lords of Light,” she called out. “May my work be true.”

  In her mind she visualized the Light, streaming across the starry sky. She imagined light pouring down like water to drench her, light swirling round her upraised arm, light gathering at her fingertips. With a snap she brought her arm down and washed the little brooch in a beam of silver light.

  “Begone!”

  To her altered sight the brooch gleamed, as bright as molten silver from the jeweller's ladle. The light flickered, then vanished. She broke the magic circle with a ceremonious stamp of her foot.

  “And any spirits trapped by this ceremony, go free!”

  The chamber once again was an ordinary room, lit only by dim candlelight. She stamped again to earth herself with the feel of solid things, then let out her breath in a long sigh. She was trembling and sweaty, she realized. When she took a step, she nearly stumbled; she had to catch the back of the chair to steady herself, an effort that left her gasping for breath. There will be plenty of time, she told herself. You'll simply have to work slowly, in stages. She wrapped the newly purified brooch up in a bit of cloth to protect it, then went to bed.

  Over the next few days Lilli worked on the talisman, stopping often to rest. The work was making her so tired, in fact, that she thought of leaving it undone, but she couldn't bear to disappoint Elyssa. She saw the serving woman often, generally in the great hall, where Elyssa would always stop to chat and let her know how the princess fared. Finally, on the morning that she finished the talisman, Elyssa told her the news they'd both been dreading.

  “When the princess woke this morning,” Elyssa said, “she wasn't herself. She wept so piteously that it wrung my heart.”

  “Ah ye gods! It aches my heart just to hear of it,” Lilli said. “Her brooch is finished, by the by. Come up to my chamber with me, and I'll give it to you.”

  Wrapped in cloth, the brooch lay on Lilli's table by the window. Lilli took it out and handed it to Elyssa.

  “Well, this is a pretty thing!” Elyssa said, smiling. “Did you have Otho polish it, too?”

  “I didn't.”

  “But see how it glitters in the sun! I don't remember it being so lovely.”

  Lilli knew then that her working had succeeded. Elyssa took the brooch and hurried off to the women's hall to give it to the princess. Lilli sat down to her studies, but her mind kept wandering to Bellyra's plight and the brooch. Finally, when the morning was well advanced, Elyssa returned to the chamber.

  “How does she fare?” Lilli blurted.

  “A bit better, though the sadness still grips her,” Elyssa said. “The brooch did please her, though. She pinned it to her dress and swore she'd wear it always.”

  “That gladdens my heart!” Lilli tapped the book with her fingers. “It says in here that sometimes talismans work slowly. Maybe it will help in a few days.”

  “I'll pray so.” Elyssa sighed, glancing out the window with exhausted eyes. “Anything for a little hope.”

  “Should we send off another messenger? Nevyn will want to know that she's—” Lilli could not bring herself to use the word mad. “—unwell.”

  “That's true.” Elyssa considered this for a moment. “But even if he does know, what can he do? He won't be leaving the prince's side.”

  “He can't, truly. I suppose we'll just have to wait till the men ride home again.”

  “Just so.” Elyssa looked up, studying the sky as if it could report the prince's progress. “Now, the messengers we sent off about the new baby? They should be reaching Maryn soon. He'll send them back to us with news.”

  “And then I can write Nevyn a letter to go back with them. Well and good, then. Do you want me to come visit Her Highness?”

  “In a few days. This—this illness always seems to affect her the worst at the very beginning. In about an eightnight she settles down, like.”

  After Elyssa left, Lilli spent some time trying to think of other ways she might help Bellyra. She failed, except for the one obvious course of action: end her love affair with the prince. That, she felt, would be a harder thing for her to work than the mightiest dweomer in the world.

  The princess's messengers caught up with the army just at sunset, as it was making camp in a grassy meadow beside a stream. In the midst of the purposeful confusion Nevyn was standing with the prince, waiting for the servants to finish setting up their tents. A sentry led up the two men, all dusty from the road.

  “Messages, Your Highness. From your lady.”

  The messengers knelt to the prince. Maryn grabbed the silver tube and shook out the tightly rolled letter inside. He glanced at it, laughed, then began to read it aloud.

  “To my husband, greetings. I was delivered of yet another wretched son, who now awaits your choosing of a name. I had my heart so set upon a daughter that I neglected to think of any suitable for a lad. At the moment my women are calling him Dumpling, which—while plebeian—will serve until the end of your campaigning.”

  At that point Maryn began reading to himself, a rare trick in those days and one he had learned from Nevyn. From his smile, Nevyn could guess that the message was unfit for public ears. At last Maryn looked up and turned to the messengers. “You must be hungry,” the prince said. “My apologies for forgetting you. Here, sentry! Get these men fed, and then spread the news of the new prince among the noble-born.”

  Soon enough, Maryn's vassals began appearing in twos and threes to congratulate him on the new prince's birth, but none of them lingered. The smell of cooking in the camp drew them quickly back to their own fires. When Gwerbret Daeryc arrived, though, Maryn bade him stay a while. The servants brought out a wooden stool, and he sat down by the fire with the prince and Nevyn.

  “From the maps I have,” Maryn said, “we're nearly to Glasloc. Do you think that's correct?”

  “I do, my liege,” Daeryc said. “Once we reach the lake, and that'll be in about two more days, we'll have arrive
d at the edge of the Boar clan's holdings. If I remember rightly, Glasloc marks half the distance twixt the Holy City and Cantrae town.”

  “I see,” Maryn said with a nod. “I'll wager Braemys will meet us before we start trampling on his lands.” He glanced at Nevyn. “Do you know the lay of the land twixt here and Glasloc? Is it flat?”

  “Mostly, my liege.” Nevyn turned to Daeryc to explain. “When I was younger, Your Grace, I lived near Cantrae.”

  “Good, good,” the gwerbret said. “I haven't been there since I was but a little lad, and we'll need someone who knows the lie of things better than I do.” He rose with a bow Maryn's way. “If you'll forgive me, Your Highness, I'll be leaving you. I'm hungry enough to eat a wolf, pelt and all.”

  Provisions for the silver daggers travelled in their own cart, tended by a stout carter and his skinny son. That particular night, Maddyn was sitting with Owaen when the son, young Garro, brought the two captains a chunk of salt pork impaled on a stick. Green mold marbled the fat.

  “My da,” Garro announced, “says it been in the barrel too long. Weren't salted enough, either, Da says.”

  “Your da's no doubt right.” Maddyn took the stick from the boy. “Owaen, what do you think?”

  “We've had worse,” Owaen said. “Any maggots?”

  Maddyn twirled the stick this way and that to catch the sunset light. “None that I can see.”

  “Weren't none in the barrel, neither,” Garro said.

  “Then it should do. Let's see.” Maddyn drew his dagger. He cut off the green streaks and took a few bites of the rest. “It's not bad but it's not good, either. It wouldn't be worth fretting about, except I'll wager this is Oggyn's doing.”

  Owaen swore so furiously that Garro cringed.

  “I'm not angry with you,” Owaen snapped. “Go thank your da for us. Now. Give me that, Maddo. Let's go shove it up the bald bastard's arse.”

  Unfortunately for Owaen's plans, they found Oggyn attending upon the prince in front of the royal tent. Since not even Owaen could get away with violence there, the two silver daggers knelt not far from the prince's chair and waited. Oggyn was congratulating Maryn for the birth of the new son in all sorts of long words and fulsome metaphors—as if, Maddyn thought bitterly, Bellyra had naught to do with it. Exposed to the open air, the pork began to announce that truly, it was rotten. Once Oggyn paused for breath, the two silver daggers, or their complaint, caught Maryn's attention.