The Black Raven

by Katharine Kerr

  “Do you?” Maryn smiled with a twist of his mouth.

  “None, my liege.” Nevyn got up. “When do we ride out?”

  “Soon. We’ll give the herald a decent head start for the honor of the thing, but we can’t wait long. My vassals are growing restless. They need to return to their lands to receive the autumn taxes and suchlike. I’m hoping that Braemys’s loyal lords are just as eager to quit the field.”

  “No doubt. They can’t have much stomach for more fighting. There aren’t very many of them left.”

  “Just so. We have about four thousand fighting men in good health. Braemys can’t have more than a bare thousand at the utter most.”

  “He does have one strong ally, of course. Distance. It’s well over two hundred miles from here to Cantrae.”

  Maryn swore briefly.

  “The road runs through some hilly country as well,” Nevyn went on. “If I may make a suggestion, my liege?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’d best hold a council of war soon. Gwerbret Daeryc of Glasloc is going to be invaluable. Glasloc lies between here and Cantrae.”

  “It does?” Maryn stared in puzzlement. “What’s he doing as overlord to the Rams, then? Hendyr lies to the west.”

  “You know, I haven’t the slightest idea. I’d best ask him.”

  When Nevyn left the prince, he started to return to his own chamber, but living in Dun Deverry was bringing back memories. He himself had lived in a chamber in a side broch that no longer seemed to exist—if indeed he’d correctly puzzled out the overall plan of the palace. He glanced at the candle in the lantern he carried and judged it good for a long while’s burning. Much to his surprise, he went straight to the little door that led to an obscure stairwell. He remembered climbing these steeply wound stairs two at a time; now he paused several times to rest. The stairs led him to a window little more than an arrow slit. Just opposite it there had once been a door, leading into the side broch and, eventually, to his suite. When he held up the lantern, he saw that some of the stonework formed a patch, roughly door-shaped, and much newer than the rest. His old tower, then, was indeed gone.

  The stairs continued up, however, and out of curiosity he followed them to the old storeroom at the top of the royal broch. A splintering door hung at an angle from a single hinge. In his long-ago youth, two guards always stood before this door, which led to the royal treasury, but now, when Nevyn pushed the door open, he saw a pair of splayed wooden chests and a lot of dust. He heard little things scuttling away in the shadows, rats and spiders, he supposed. Holding the lantern high, he took a few steps in.

  Outside the tower, the wind howled, whistling through the arrow slits. In the drafts the candle flame danced, throwing drunken shadows. Nevyn hung the lantern on a rusty metal hook driven between two stones on the wall, then out of sheer idle curiosity opened the first chest. It held nothing but a pile of cloth so old it had turned stiff as straw. The other chest stood empty as well, except for a water stain. With a shrug he turned his back on the door and retrieved his lantern.

  Suddenly Nevyn knew that he wasn’t alone. He had heard no one walk up the stairs, heard no rustle of skirts or cloak, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Cold damp worse than that of the stones made him shiver. Someone—or something—had followed him in.

  “And a good evening to you,” he said.

  No answer. Holding the lantern high he turned around. In the doorway stood a woman, wrapped in a black mourning cloak. Her honey-blonde hair hung free, all matted and disheveled, over her shoulders. She had built her illusions so well that had he not known dweomer, Nevyn would have thought her human. As it was, he noticed that her eyes never blinked. He turned his head to look at her with his peripheral vision and saw etheric substance playing at the edges of her form like glimmers of far-distant lightning.

  “A spirit, then,” Nevyn said aloud. “What do you want here?”

  Her lips parted, but instead of speaking she moaned.

  “What torments you?” he said. “Let me help you find peace.”

  “My child.”

  Nevyn felt his stomach clench. There had been a dead baby buried with the tablet that cursed Prince Maryn.

  “Your newborn son?” he said.

  “Nah nah nah! My daughter, my beautiful little daughter. They plan to steal her away from me.”

  “Who? Let me help you!”

  She flickered like a dying candle and vanished. Nevyn swore under his breath. She was no ghost, he was sure of that, but a being of great power from some other plane. He remembered the apparition he’d seen when he had sent Lady Merodda’s ghost to the Great Ones. Could this be the same being? He would have to meditate on that, but for now, he no longer wanted to stay here, alone with the wind’s howls. He hurried down the stairs and retreated to his chamber, where Wildfolk danced to greet him. Late into the night, he studied his dweomer books, hunting for clues as to what sort of spirit the apparition might have been. He found none.

  By the morrow morning the storm had travelled on, leaving wet roofs steaming in the summer sun. In the ward outside the great hall, Prince Maryn, with Nevyn in attendance, summoned his highest-ranking allies to witness his message to Braemys. A foraging servant had found a length of cloth in the green-and-brown plaid of the royal city; Maryn wore it as a makeshift cloak, pinned at one shoulder with the pair of silver ring brooches that marked him Prince of Pyrdon and Gwerbret Cerrmor.

  It was interesting, Nevyn thought, to see how the lords arranged themselves. Those who had fought alongside the prince from the beginning, such as Tieryn Gauryc, stood to one side of their liege lord, while those who had gone over to him during the summer, such as Tieryn Anasyn, Lilli’s foster-brother, stood on the other. Aside from this self-imposed sorting, they seemed friendly enough here in the prince’s presence. Over the winter, Nevyn supposed, a few old grudges would be settled by the sword off in the countryside, a secretive distance from their new overlord’s justice.

  The Cantrae herald, Avyr, was waiting in the ward. While a page held his black horse by the gates, Gavlyn, the prince’s own herald, escorted Avyr into the presence of the noble-born. Avyr bowed, then knelt with a swing of his staff that sent the ribands swirling. Maryn acknowledged him with a small nod.

  “Now, concerning the lady Lillorigga, tell Lord Braemys this,” Maryn said. “The lady now belongs to the Rams of Hendyr. Her brother has proclaimed the betrothal broken and disavowed. From me, tell him this: I shall forgive him for referring to me as a usurper provided he forswear his rebellious behavior. He may swear fealty to me or leave my lands forever. Those are his choices.”

  “I see, Your Highness.” The herald looked away—rudeness in another man, but in his case, a mere sign that he was memorizing the prince’s exact words. “I shall tell him.”

  “Good. Here’s more: I’ll be riding out soon for Cantrae. He may meet me along the road to parley if he chooses.”

  “Very well, Your Highness. I shall convey your answer with all speed.”

  “My thanks. Let us all hope the gods let your lord choose peace.”

  Avyr smiled and rose, bowing. Not one man in the crowd expected Braemys to swear the vow of fealty—Nevyn would have wagered high on that—but there were rituals to these things, as unforgiving as those of any temple.

  Once the herald had ridden on his way, the little crowd around the prince began to thin out. Nevyn noticed Gwerbret Daeryc strolling off toward the stables and hurried to catch up with him.

  “Your Grace!” Nevyn called out. “A word with you?”

  The gwerbret stopped and turned around, smiling pleasantly, or rather, he smiled in a way he meant to be pleasant. Since he’d lost all the teeth on one side of his mouth, he kept his lips shut and twisted, giving him the look of a bear in pain.

  “The prince asked me to lay this question before you,” Nevyn said. “It concerns the Rams of Hendyr. Glasloc’s well off to the east of Dun Deverry, and Hendyr’s in the west, and yet you’r
e overlord to the Rams.”

  “Ah. No doubt that pricked his curiosity, truly. Glasloc’s mine in name only, good Councillor. My lands lie north of Hendyr. My father inherited a goodly demesne near Mabyndyr, and when we lost Glasloc, we made them our home.”

  “Lost Glasloc?”

  “Well, I call it as a loss. My father traded it away for the right to rule as gwerbret in Mabyndyr. A lot of the common folk who fled Dun Deverry settled near there, which meant dues and taxes to support a gwerbretrhyn. So the Boars proclaimed the new rhan for him, you see, because they coveted the lands near Glasloc. He could give them Glasloc or lose everything—that was the bargain they offered.”

  “But he kept the honorific?”

  “My father didn’t. I took it back when I inherited, and there was naught that Regent Burcan could say or do, because the slimy bastard knew he needed me and my men.”

  “Ah. You say the Boars did the proclaiming?”

  “Well, the words came out of the mouth of the king—poor little Olaen’s grandfather, that was—but we all knew who’d put them there.” Daeryc paused to spit onto the cobbles. “Burcan’s father was gwerbret then, and a worse man than his sons.” He looked up. “A word to the wise, Councillor. Some of the northern lords will desert back to Braemys over the winter, and I’d bet a good horse that Nantyn will be one of them. But I won’t. You have my sworn word on that.”

  “My thanks, but you know, I never doubted you for an instant.”

  “Indeed? Why?”

  “Tieryn Peddyc would never have honored a man who changed sides out of anything less than true conviction.”

  “My thanks.” Daeryc nodded, looking down at the ground. “I’ll miss Peddyc. Closest thing to a friend I ever had. Ah well, the fortunes of war, eh?”

  The gwerbret turned on his heel and strode off fast. Let us hope, Nevyn thought, that the fighting stays over. It was a feeble hope, he supposed. With a shake of his head he went into the royal broch to find Oggyn, who had by default as much as merit managed to appoint himself chamberlain.

  Much to his surprise he saw his fellow councillor over by the riders’ hearth, talking with one of the men from the Cerrmor warband. As he walked over, Nevyn saw the rider give Oggyn a coin, but he thought little of it—some wager, perhaps. When Oggyn saw him approaching, he came bustling over, all smiles.

  “My apprentice needs a better chamber,” Nevyn said. “One with a proper hearth and suchlike.”

  “Of course. Just come upstairs with me.”

  “We’ll just collect Lilli on the way.”

  As they climbed the stairs, Nevyn glanced back and noticed the Cerrmor rider watching Oggyn still. He could have sworn that the man looked furious.

  “What about this one?” Oggyn said. “It’s much larger and it has a hearth.”

  “Oh, this will do splendidly!” Lilli said, but she glanced at Nevyn. “I’ve never had so much room.”

  “I heartily approve.” Nevyn answered her unspoken question. “The air here should be quite wholesome.”

  They were standing in a bedchamber once set aside for guests. As well as the hearth, it sported a big window with proper wood shutters, braided rushes on the floor, and a sufficiency of tapestries, faded and torn though they were, to keep the damp off the walls. Near the hearth stood a chair and a solid round table. The morning sun poured in and fell across the bed like a gold blanket. Lilli sat down on the edge of the mattress and stretched out her arms to the warmth.

  “This is lovely!”

  “Very well, then,” Oggyn said. “I’ll be on my way. I’ll send a couple of pages to help your servants move your things over.”

  “And make sure they fetch firewood, too,” Nevyn said to him. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, my pleasure.” With a bow to Lilli Oggyn bustled out, shutting the door behind him.

  “My thanks, Nevyn!” Lilli said. “Oggyn never would have given me such a fine chamber if I’d asked him myself.”

  “Most welcome. And once you’re settled, I expect you to get right to the work I set you.”

  “I will, my lord.”

  “Good. I’ll be gone all afternoon, running an errand with your foster-brother.”

  “So he told me, my lord. It will gladden my heart to be a true daughter of the Ram.”

  Lilli kept her promise after Clodda and Nalla had brought her possessions to the new chamber. Thanks to Nevyn’s confession about the spells he’d cast on Prince Maryn, she was particularly eager to learn how to see the elemental spirits, or the Wildfolk as they were commonly called. On her table she placed a silver basin filled with water, then sat in the chair and let her breathing slow as Nevyn had taught her. The shaft of sunlight had moved on to fall upon the floor. Motes danced in the slight breeze, while the surface of the water in the silver bowl trembled. She waited, she watched her breaths, she became aware of nothing but moving air, sunlight, water, dancing dust.

  Like a shadow flitting, something moved at the edge of her vision. She concentrated on breathing. The shadow came a little closer, grew solid, then disappeared. She waited still longer, while the shaft of sunlight crept across the floor. All at once a creature appeared, a strange grey fellow, about two feet high and shaped roughly like a human child, with a big head and a protruding belly. It looked at her out of narrow purple eyes. Lilli gasped aloud, and it vanished. Though she sat a long while more, nothing, or no one, appeared to her.

  “Still,” Nevyn said when he returned, “you’ve made a splendid start. I’m very proud of the progress you’re making.”

  Lilli felt her face warm with a blush. No praise had ever meant so much to her as his.

  “I have a message for you. Your brother wants you to dine with him tonight in his chambers,” Nevyn went on. “I told him that you’d doubtless agree.”

  “Of course! What did the priests say?”

  “That neither they nor their god had any objections to your adoption by the clan of the Ram. There’s a small matter of a fee for the drawing up of the proclamation, but we’ll take care of that on the morrow, and the matter will be settled.”

  “I’m glad it was so easy.”

  “Well, the prince proclaimed your new kinship in the ward this morning. That certainly didn’t hurt your cause.”

  When the sun hung low in the sky, Lilli went to her foster-brother’s quarters. Since Anasyn was newly married, he’d been given chambers in the royal broch itself—a decent-sized suite with a small wedge-shaped reception chamber as well as a bedroom. When she knocked, his page opened the door and ushered her inside. Some of the chairs she recognized and the table as well—once this furniture had been her mother’s, but it had joined the general booty of the dun, handed out to the victors. A pair of maidservants were laying out a cold meal from a pair of big baskets onto the table. She could remember the bowl of black ink sitting on that same cloth, waiting to swallow her mind. She shuddered, suddenly cold.

  “What’s wrong, Lilli?” Abrwnna said.

  “Oh naught. Just geese walking on my grave.”

  Abrwnna, Anasyn’s wife, was sitting in a high-backed chair by the empty hearth. She was beautiful, Abrwnna, with long red hair and big green eyes, but Lilli found herself thinking of her as a child—odd, since Abrwnna was near her own age and twice—married now, not that her first marriage, to the child-king, had ever been consummated. She smiled and waved Lilli over.

  “Come in, sister,” Abrwnna said. “My lord is off somewhere, but no doubt he’ll join us soon. Do have that chair with the cushions.”

  “My thanks.” Lilli nearly dropped her a curtsy out of sheer habit. “You’re looking well.”

  “Am I? Truly, I count myself the luckiest of women these days. When I think of what might have happened to me after the siege was over—” Abrwnna laid a pale hand on her paler throat. “We should all be thankful that our prince is a merciful man.”

  “Just so.”

  Abrwnna hesitated, glancing at the servants. Until they’d done
setting out the food, she said nothing more, then dismissed them. The page hovered near the door.

  “Do go see if you can find our lord, will you?” Abrwnna said. “Tell him his sister is here.”

  “I will, my lady.” The page bowed, then hurried off.

  Once the door had closed behind him, Abrwnna leaned back in her chair and let out her breath in a long sigh.

  “I’ve not seen you to have two private words together, truly,” Abrwnna said, “not since the dun fell. Why, Lilli? Why did you run away like that and go over to the prince?”

  Silence hung between them like smoke. Lilli felt like a dolt for being surprised—of course Abrwnna would want to know, of course all the women left behind to suffer in the taking of Dun Deverry would want to know.

  “Why did I betray you?” Lilli said at last. “Is that what you mean?”

  “It’s not, truly it isn’t. I—well, I just wanted to know—well, was it because of Lady Bevyan?”

  “It was. After my mother had her murdered, how could I stay here and pretend to be her dutiful daughter?”

  “You couldn’t.” Abrwnna hesitated for a long moment. “But I still don’t understand what happened. The servants told me that Merodda murdered Bevyan. I thought she’d been killed by Cerrmor raiders. I don’t understand.”

  “Hasn’t Anasyn told you?”

  “Not a word.” Abrwnna’s voice was shaking badly. “I’ll tell you somewhat. In the great hall that day, when your brother asked the prince for me, I truly thought he only wanted vengeance. I feared he was going to beat me to death, once I was his wife and no one could say him nay.”

  “Sanno would never!”

  “I know that now.” Abrwnna was whispering again. “But at first I was afraid to say two words to him. He did tell me Bevva’s death was none of my doing. When I asked why, he swore at me and said never mention it again.”

  “Well, those Cerrmor raiders? They weren’t real. After you sent Bevyan away, Uncle Burcan followed her with some of his men and killed her and everyone with her. They left some Cerrmor shields behind as a ruse. But my mother was the one who wanted Bevva dead. She put him up to it.”