The Fire Dragon

by Katharine Kerr

  “Is this the grave?” Maryn said. “It looks like a cairn.”

  “It is, and of a noble-born lady,” Nevyn said. “I heard the story from a gamekeeper years and years ago, my liege. The lass was betrothed to a prince, but she died before they could marry.”

  “A sad Wyrd, then.”

  “Made sadder because he spurned her, or so the story runs, and there was naught she could do but throw herself away on an unworthy man. Noble-born women have so little power over their own lives.”

  “True spoken.” Maryn nodded absently, looking away into the trees.

  Nevyn paused to wonder if he were wasting his breath, but the thing needed saying, he decided, whether the prince chose to listen or not.

  “I was remembering the days when I was your tutor,” Nevyn said. “We studied the laws, the history of the great clans, the Dawntime. But we never touched upon how a man might comport himself around the women of his household. I begin to think that was an oversight on my part.”

  Maryn whipped his head around and glared at him, his mouth tight-set.

  “I see you see my line of thought,” Nevyn said calmly.

  “Lady Lillorigga is your apprentice.” Maryn's voice grated close to a growl. “I understand that you need to have her welfare at heart.”

  “I wasn't talking about Lilli.”

  “Oh.” Maryn relaxed. “My apologies.”

  “The woman I fear for, Your Highness, is your wife. Those fits of madness—”

  “Well, they trouble me, too. Ye gods, don't you think I realize that they've appeared after every child? There are three heirs to the throne back in Dun Deverry now. That's enough for safety's sake. I see no reason to put her at risk again.” Maryn shook his head sadly. “I'm fond of her, truly I am, but there are other women. I'm not some animal who can't control himself.”

  It took a moment for Nevyn to parse the prince's meaning—quite the opposite conclusion from the one he wanted drawn. Maryn smiled briefly.

  “She need not fear my attentions any longer,” Maryn said. “It's a sad thing, because she always seemed to like them well enough. But this madness—” He shuddered, deeply and sincerely. “The poor woman!”

  Before Nevyn could gather his wits and speak, Maryn nodded to him and walked away, heading back to camp, leaving him to scowl at the unhearing stones.

  “Well, I made a botch out of that!” Nevyn muttered. “Naught to be done about it now, I suppose.”

  Long shafts of golden sunset fell among the trees and gilded the mossy stones that marked Brangwen's grave, so like the new cairn that marked Branoic's. Nevyn found himself wondering what body this soul would wear in its next life. He could only wait and hope to see, if indeed, the Lords of Wyrd should grant that once again their paths would cross.

  Travelling on the Cantrae road did indeed prove faster than picking their way by farmers' paths. The army rode steadily northeast. Every now and then they passed a farm, ringed by ditches and wooden fences, where dogs would bark hysterically from behind closed gates. The owners had fortified themselves against the noble lords more than bandits, Nevyn supposed. They rode through long meadows as well, where in the distance they could see trails of rising dust where the famous horseherders of Cantrae were driving their stock far beyond an army's greedy reach. The one dun they passed stood empty—not a chicken nor a chair remained. Some lord had chosen to follow Braemys, Nevyn assumed.

  Some two days later the army rode up to Cantrae, a compact walled town that once had sheltered a thousand souls. Maryn halted the army in a meadow some hundred yards from the stone walls. Nevyn joined him as he and the silver daggers rode a cautious hundred yards farther on. Once they'd left the army's noise behind, they could hear the wind sighing and the river chortling as it ran through the portcullis that guarded its channel through the walls. They rode up to the open gates and paused just outside. In their clear view down the main street of the town, all the way to the market square, no one and nothing moved.

  “Ye gods,” Maryn said. “I didn't know silence could be so loud.”

  Since Nevyn had received not the slightest warning of danger, he rode with the silver daggers when they walked their horses through the broad gates of Cantrae. Not one dog barked, not a person called out. The houses still stood, round under their heavy thatched roofs, scattered along curved streets as in any Deverry town. Here and there a wooden shutter banged in the wind.

  “Gods protect!” Owaen said. “It creeps a man's flesh, all this quiet.”

  “So it does,” Nevyn said. “They must have taken everything with them, cat and chicken, dog and cow.”

  Owaen nodded and rose in his stirrups to look down the wide road ahead. The wind blew puffs of dust along in tiny whirlwinds. He sat back down with a shake of his head.

  “If anyone were here,” Owaen announced, “they'd have come out to curse us by now, if naught else.”

  “Let's get back to the army,” Maryn said. “Braemys was telling me the truth, all right. Cantrae needs a new gwer-bret, but it will take the winter to sort that out.”

  “So it will, my liege,” Nevyn said. “But if we leave it unguarded, it would make a splendid shelter for bandits.”

  “I was thinking much the same.” Maryn considered for a moment. “The vassal of mine who lives the closest is Lord Nantyn. If I left him and his men here, do you think he'd turn against me?”

  “What?” Nevyn nearly laughed. “Proclaim himself gwerbret, you mean? With twenty-five riders and a stony field demesne?”

  “My worrying sounds stupid now that you say it aloud. Very well. I'll hold a council tonight when we camp, and I'll appoint Nantyn and maybe another northern lord to keep an eye on the town for me.”

  “Good. And then at last we can ride for home.”

  “Just so. I'll mount a campaign against those bandits later this summer, but there's no need for you to come with us for that. No doubt you're weary of all this campaigning.”

  “I am, truly.”

  They turned their horses and rode slowly back to the waiting army. Nevyn paused for one last look at the open gates of Cantrae. Ye gods, he thought. The Boar threat is truly over. Although he'd been expecting jubilation, he mostly felt exhausted.

  “Nevyn?” Maryn said abruptly. “Are you well?”

  “I am, my liege. I was just thinking about Eldidd.”

  “Do you truly think the king will keep pushing his claim now? It was always the weakest of the three.”

  “It was, and for a hundred years, the Eldidd kings have pushed it anyway.”

  Maryn nodded, looking ahead of him where his stripped-down force waited for him, the men standing beside their weary horses.

  “No doubt he'll attack Pyrdon,” Maryn said, “to draw me west. Do you think it will be this summer?”

  “I don't. It will take some time for the news of your victory to even reach him. He'll want better information than the tale will carry with it. By the time he gets that, summer will be nearly over.”

  “Next year, then. There's only one way to ensure the peace, you know.”

  “What's that, Your Highness?”

  “Conquer Eldidd. Put an end to it, turn it into a province.”

  Nevyn's weariness increased fivefold. But he's right, he told himself. Alas, he's right.

  Since Maddyn was the only man sleeping in the silver daggers' barracks, the silence began to trouble him. He took to staying in the great hall as long as possible of an evening, and to rising with the dawn to return there, but unless he wanted to sleep in the straw with the dogs and servants, he had no choice but to spend the night in his lonely bunk. He'd spent his entire adult life sleeping in the midst of a warband. Privacy meant nothing to him but the prospect of bad dreams.

  After the first few nights, ghosts came to join him, or so it seemed. He would wake in pitch-darkness because of some sound or other, sit up on his bunk, and listen while he tried to convince himself that he was only hearing the wind at the shutters or a horse moving about i
n its stall below. Yet he could clearly hear men's voices, soft murmurs of regret, the occasional curse or angry quarrel, the occasional burst of laughter at some jest. He could never quite understand their words. At times he'd see someone out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, they'd be gone. Once, when a drift of moonlight came in an open window, he was sure that he saw Branoic standing beside his old bunk. Maddyn called his name, and the figure turned toward him, but when he sat up, the specter vanished.

  It was on his twelfth night back in the barracks that Maddyn heard Caradoc calling him. He woke up, as suddenly as always, to hear that familiar growl of a voice. Get up, Maddo! I'll kick your arse around the ward, sleeping when you're on guard duty! Without thinking, Maddyn was on his feet and looking around for his sword, only to realize that he was alone as always, safe in Dun Deverry. Going back to sleep eluded him. He pulled on his brigga and his boots, then walked to the window and looked out in the warm summer night.

  In the ward below a tiny dapple of light was moving across the cobbles, a candle in a lantern bobbing as its carrier walked—cautiously, stopping often to look around. When the light came close he realized that the carrier was Princess Bellyra. He leaned half out of the window, stared down, but there was no mistaking her silhouette, her gait. For a moment his heart seemed to freeze. Might she be looking for him? Might she be coming to the barracks? He dismissed the dishonorable hope with an effort of will, but it seemed that his heart stopped beating till she walked on past the barracks' stairs.

  Then where was she going? Was her madness giving her spells of aimless wandering? Maddyn had heard of such things. If naught else, she shouldn't be wandering around alone at night. Caradoc had been right. He had been sleeping on guard duty. He grabbed his shirt, pulled it on, then picked up his sword belt and buckled it as he strode down the long room. He hurried down the stairs and trotted off, following her candle through the darkness. She was moving purposefully, and he was still some yards behind when she suddenly turned to knock on a door. The door opened and let a flood of reddish light spill out into the night.

  “Who is it?” Otho's voice growled. “Ah, Your Highness! What are you doing here?”

  “I was wondering the same,” Maddyn called out. “Your Highness!”

  She laughed, turning in the light from the door to wave to him. He caught up to her and bowed. Otho stood scowling in the doorway to his forge.

  “It's a dangerous thing,” Maddyn said, “going out by yourself at night.”

  “I swear, Maddo, that you must have dweomer or suchlike yourself. How did you know I was out and about?”

  “Caradoc's ghost told me.”

  She started to laugh again, then fell silent. “You truly mean that, Maddo, don't you?”

  “Well, so it seemed.” Maddyn looked down at the ground. “It must have been a dream.”

  “Ye gods!” Otho snarled. “Come in, then, both of you! I'm in the midst of working, and I'm not going to risk the loss of good silver to humor a pair of the daft. You can prattle about ghosts inside as well as out.”

  Inside the square room, heat blazed from a central fire pit, which had walls round it, some three feet high and built of brick. The sour thin smoke of glowing charcoal rose in wisps above to an open vent on the roof. The fire cast a fitful light on the clutter heaped up at the edges of the room: tables, chests, a couple of wood benches, racks of tools, piles of rags.

  “I don't remember you having all these goods before,” Maddyn said.

  “The Boar clan's silversmith wasn't going to be using any of them,” Otho said. “Or he would have taken them with him, eh? Now here, Your Highness, I don't have a proper chair in the place.”

  “This will do.” Bellyra set her lantern down on the ground, then perched on a three-legged stool. “I couldn't sleep. I wanted to see how the gift was coming along.”

  “That's right.” Otho turned to his forge. “I remember telling you I'd start work tonight. The moon's in a good place for the pouring of silver.”

  “It's for our prince.” Bellyra glanced at Maddyn. “To celebrate his kingship.”

  “I see, my lady.” Maddyn sat down on a bench. When he remembered his brief hope that she was seeking him out, he felt like an utter fool. A gift for her husband, he thought bitterly. Well, you knew you were reaching above yourself.

  Bellyra leaned forward, watching the smith. Maddyn slumped back against the wall and watched her. The dancing shadows played over her face and threw its gaunt hollows into high relief. Her hair was coming free of the silver clasp that kept most of it back, letting tendrils fall across her cheeks. He had never wanted anything so much as he wanted to smooth those strands back and kiss her. He could hear the fire hissing and Otho muttering to himself, but Maddyn never looked round. Had someone asked him later what the smith had been doing, he couldn't have told them one thing.

  All at once Bellyra turned her head and caught his stare, looked at him so openly, so boldly, that he was suddenly frightened, thinking perhaps she could read his thoughts. With a shake of his head he stood up.

  “I'll wait outside for you, Your Highness. The heat in here—it's a bit much.”

  Before she could answer, he strode out, shutting the door carefully behind him. Outside, the summer night seemed as cold as autumn after the thick dry heat of the forge. His thin linen shirt was sticking to his back and chest both with sweat. For the fresher air he walked a little way into the ward, then came back to lean against the wall. He yawned, suddenly sleepy, and wondered how long she would stay.

  Not very: in a few moments the door creaked open, and Bellyra stepped out, carrying her lantern. Wisps of hair stuck to her wet-shiny face.

  “You're right,” she said. “The heat's unbearable, and besides, Otho's doing some process I'm not supposed to watch.”

  “Very well.” He smiled at her. “Shall I escort you back to the royal broch?”

  “When you smile like that, Maddo, I feel like I'm half-mad.”

  Puzzled, he made no answer. She stooped, set the lantern down, and walked over to him. He knew he should speak, make some pleasantry, remind her that her presence would be missed back in the women's hall. Instead he waited, unbelieving, afraid to believe and be disappointed yet again. She hesitated, her head thrown back as she looked up at him, then laid her hands on either side of his face and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her again, openmouthed and hungry. How long they stood there, clinging to one another, exchanging long kisses the more arousing because so desperate, he neither knew nor cared.

  Yet the danger woke him at last as if from one of Nevyn's dweomer spells. If someone came by, if someone saw them—

  “My lady,” he whispered. “Your Highness.”

  The mention of her rank made her go tense in his arms. She pulled back a little and looked up at him.

  “More than half-mad,” she said. “I could have loved you so much if only we weren't who we are.”

  He felt the beginnings of tears in his eyes, turned his head fast to hide them, but she reached up with one hand and caught the drops on her fingertips. “Forgive me,” she said. “I never should have—”

  Distantly, like the cry of a bird, someone was calling her name—Bellyra, Your Highness, Lyrra, Lyrra, where are you?

  “Elyssa!” she said. “I should have known they'd hunt. Maddo, quick—go back inside!”

  She scooped up her lantern and trotted off, heading toward the main ward. Maddyn opened the door and stepped in to find a furious Otho.

  “Ye gods!” the smith whispered. “If any harm comes to our lady over this, bard, you'd best watch your back.”

  “Ah, curse you!” Maddyn snapped. “Do you think I'm the villain in this? Do you think I wanted to reach above me and fill my days with misery?”

  Otho considered him for a long moment. “I don't suppose you did,” he said at last. “May the gods have pity on you both!”

  Lilli had been sittin
g up late, studying a page of sigils by candlelight, when Elyssa pounded on her door. She got up just as the serving woman opened it and strode in. She was wearing an ordinary dress over her nightdress, and her blonde hair hung in two tidy braids.

  “Forgive me,” Elyssa said. “But I saw the light under the door. Would you help us? The princess has disappeared. We need to find her before some wretched servant or stable man sees her.”

  “Of course!” Lilli snatched the lantern from the table. “What do you mean, disappeared?”

  “She's off wandering somewhere. She gets so restless at night, you see. During the day she can't seem to stay awake, but then she can't sleep at night, and at times she just goes off somewhere when we're asleep and can't stop her.”

  With a second lantern in hand Degwa waited for them out in the hall, and for once she refrained from sneering at Lilli. They hurried down the stairs, then picked their way as quietly as possible through the great hall. A couple of dogs roused themselves, sniffed the air, recognized their scent, and lay back down again. None of the servants woke. They reached the warm night outside safely and put a good distance between themselves and the door before anyone spoke.

  “At least the gates are shut,” Elyssa said. “She can't have gone outside the walls. That's one blessing, anyway.”

  “It's bad enough as it is,” Degwa said. “Everything's so confusing in this awful old dun, and no one knows the place like she does, either. Well, unless Lilli does.”

  “Not truly.” Lilli held her lantern high and peered across the main ward. “I never cared much about ruins and suchlike.”

  “I doubt if anyone but our princess ever did or does.” Elyssa paused, thinking. “We can get Maddyn the bard to help us look. He'll keep things to himself, and frankly, I want a man along in case some drunken sentry gives us trouble.”

  “True spoken,” Lilli said. “The silver daggers' barracks are over this way. Branoic showed them to me once when the rest of the men were in the great hall.”

  Lilli led them through the welter of sheds and outbuildings all the way to the stone wall, where the barracks stood. At the bottom of the stairs Degwa balked.