The Black Raven

by Katharine Kerr

  Lilli spun around and curtsied. Lost in shadows, the prince was standing in the doorway of the main broch. Out in the sunny day she’d walked straight past without seeing him.

  “My apologies, my liege,” she said. “I’m much distracted, I fear, with my studies.”

  “So it would seem.” Maryn turned, glanced into the great hall, then stepped outside. “Will you honor me by taking a little stroll?”

  “If my liege commands.”

  Maryn stepped back as if she’d slapped him. Lilli looked demurely down at the cobbles, but she felt as if she were shaking with fever. Never in her life had she wanted anything, it seemed, as badly as she wanted the prince.

  “I’d not command anything,” Maryn said at last. “It was just a passing thought.”

  “I thank my liege for thinking of me, but—”

  “But you have work on hand for Nevyn?”

  “Just that, my liege.”

  “Oh well, then, far be it from me to interfere.” Maryn turned on his heel and strode back into the great hall.

  Lilli let out her breath in a sharp sigh and walked on, heading for the side broch and Nevyn’s chamber. She found Nevyn downstairs, however, standing just inside the outer door, where he’d apparently watched her exchange with the prince.

  “That was very well done,” Nevyn said. “I’m proud of you.”

  “My thanks.” Lilli felt tears gathering and irritably wiped them away on the back of her hand. “I keep thinking about the princess, my lord.”

  “Good. I was hoping that was the case. Maryn’s a man like any other, and he’ll take his amusements as they do, but the princess, unfortunately, is not the usual noble-born wife.”

  “So I can see. And she’s been so good and so generous to me.”

  “So she has.”

  “Did you see the prince lurking and come down to meet me?”

  “I didn’t. I’m waiting for Otho, the silver dagger’s smith.” Nevyn suddenly smiled. “You look so surprised! But don’t forget, Otho’s the man who made our wretched casket. I want to discuss it with him.”

  Otho arrived not long after, carrying a leather bag, clanking with tools. A short man but heavily muscled, with a neatly trimmed grey beard and grey grizzled hair, he wore a leather apron over a dirty pair of brigga and a linen shirt pockmarked with tiny burns.

  “Morrow,” he said. “So. What’s happened to the casket?”

  “Naught, I think,” Nevyn said. “But I have to be sure.”

  The three of them went up to Nevyn’s chamber. Nevyn had carried the casket back from Cerrmor wrapped in straw inside a rough wood box, decorated on each side with five-pointed stars and other magical symbols, which he’d drawn with a swab of cloth dipped into ink to make bold lines. In turn he’d hidden his handiwork inside three old cloth sacks. This whole arrangement had been sitting under his table ever since they’d arrived back.

  Nevyn dragged it out, stripped off the outer layers, and set the silver casket on the table. Otho picked it up and studied it, turning it this way and that, holding it over his head to examine the bottom.

  “Well, now,” Otho said. “It looks solid. If someone had tampered with it, my lord, I’d know it.”

  When he pressed the catch, the lid popped open to reveal the smooth silver interior.

  “No marks on it here, either.” Otho tapped the flat bottom with one finger. “Under this, Lady Lilli, is the curse tablet, in a sealed compartment of its own.”

  “And of course, there are magical seals set upon it as well,” Nevyn said. “Can you see them, Lilli? Let your eyes go slack, the way I showed you, and look at it out of the corner of your eye.”

  Lilli did as she was told. In a moment she could see, hovering just above the surface, tiny five-pointed stars that seemed to be woven of strands of golden light, about as thick as straws. She let her normal vision, with all its expectations of how the world should look, focus on the far wall and waited, merely waited, to see what more might show up. All at once she realized that the casket lay in the center of a six-pointed star—no, many such stars, shimmering and floating until it seemed they formed a sphere of light around and over the casket.

  “Oh! I do see them!”

  Her delight, however, lost her the vision.

  “Don’t worry,” Nevyn said, “you’re doing well. One of these days you’ll be able to concentrate on such things. But did you see any trace that struck you as evil? Any sign that someone had tampered with the seal?”

  “I’m not sure what that would be. A demon face or suchlike?”

  “Nothing so spectacular. Now, the emanations we’re looking for are very strange. They don’t exist in the physical world, but they send shadows onto the physical. Think of a fire burning in a room—it sends light through the window, and if some object is standing in that light, its shadow will fall upon the ground. So, the curse exists on the astral and radiates evil onto the lead tablet.”

  “And the shadow on the ground is what I see or feel here, like the way the casket hurts my hands?”

  “Exactly! Now, these astral shadows are so cloudy and tenuous that your mind has to cloak them in images before you can be aware of them at all. You’d think you were seeing smoke, perhaps, or dust in the air, or perhaps mould or slime on the surface.”

  “I saw none of that.” Lilli held her hand over the casket. “But I don’t even need to touch it. It feels cold and horrid even when I hold my hand this far away.”

  “That’s how your mind represents the shadow, then. It doesn’t have to be an image. A sensation will do as well. Well, Otho, I was thinking. Shall we have that curse tablet out?”

  “Have you gone daft?” Otho snapped.

  “Not so as I’ve noticed. I thought if we removed the tablet, the princess could have her casket back, and I could get another good look at the wretched thing.”

  “You’re the sorcerer, not me,” Otho said. “I can dig out the tablet right here, but I’ll have to take the casket to my forge to repair the damage, and I’m not so sure I want it anywhere near my place of working.”

  “With the tablet out, it’ll just be an ordinary bit of silver.”

  “Imph.” Otho stroked his beard whilst he studied the casket. “Do I have your sworn word on that, my lord?”

  “You do.”

  “Well and good, then. Let’s see what we can do.”

  Otho opened his leather sack, peered inside, then brought out, one after the other, little hammers and tiny chisels. He laid them in a row on the table, then spent some time examining the base of the casket. Finally he picked up a chisel and hammer. Lilli watched fascinated while he tapped round the edge of the base. What had seemed so solid began to split apart along a seam, as neatly as if the smith ran a knife through leather. Otho laid the tools down, took the casket and deftly twirled it right side up with a little shake. The entire bottom dropped out, and with it came a strip of lead, hammered into a narrow sheet as thin as parchment.

  Lilli nearly screamed. She stuffed the side of her hand into her mouth and took two fast steps back from the table.

  “What do you see?” Nevyn said softly.

  “Maggots. The whole thing is crawling with them!”

  “Those are just the shadows.”

  The moment she heard his words, the maggots disappeared.

  “Ye gods,” she whispered. “That’s horrible.”

  “Isn’t it?” Nevyn took one of the sacks that had hidden the crate, wrapped it around his hand, and only then picked up the lead strip. He dropped it into the symbol-decorated wood box.

  “I’ll seal this up again and hide it,” Nevyn said. “You leave with Otho, though. You’re not quite ready to witness this working. But before you do, try touching the silver casket again.”

  When Lilli laid her fingers on the lid, she felt nothing but smooth cool metal.

  “It’s not cursed anymore,” she said. “Truly, Otho, I don’t think you have to worry.”

  “You’d better be right,�
� Otho growled. “Very well, lass, come along. We’ll leave your master to his spells, and let’s all hope they work.”

  As they walked across the ward, Lilli saw Prince Maryn again, but he was discussing something with the captain of his guard while Oggyn and a pair of pages waited nearby. She gained the safety of the great hall without his seeing her.

  For several days Nevyn considered what he might do about Princess Bellyra. On the one hand, Maryn was right enough that Dun Deverry offered plenty of discomforts and dangers. On the other, a private danger threatened her in Dun Cerrmor. The memory of her grief haunted him until at length he made his decision.

  Just that morning he’d received letters from High Priest Retyc of Lughcarn, and he used those as an excuse for a confidential audience with the prince. Since last he’d been in Maryn’s chambers, servants had made some effort to give Maryn’s reception room a royal air. They’d found Bardek carpets for the floor and laid them over each other in such a way as to hide the threadbare portions. The tapestries on the walls had been washed and mended as well, with patches of new yarn embroidered over torn weaving. All the furniture had cushions, now, and the brasswork at the hearth and the silver sconces on the walls glittered in the morning sun. On the mantel sat the silver wyvern that Nevyn had seen previously in Oggyn’s quarters.

  “This all looks most impressive, my liege,” Nevyn said.

  “Oggyn set some of the dun’s women to work,” Maryn said, glancing around. “I suppose it’s necessary. I needed somewhere to receive my vassals and such.”

  “You did, truly.”

  Maryn sat down on the wide sill of one of the windows and gestured to a nearby chair. Nevyn sat, then reached into his shirt and took out the letters. The prince waved them away.

  “Just tell me what they say.”

  “As His Highness wishes.”

  Nevyn felt suddenly troubled. Never before had he seen Maryn so careless about affairs of state. Even while Nevyn summarized the letters, Maryn seemed as much interested in the view from his window as he did in the news from the secondmost powerful priest in Deverry. At length Nevyn stopped talking and waited to see if the prince would notice. After some moments, he did.

  “My apologies,” Maryn said. “Did they say they’d found the white mare?”

  “Only that they’d sent to your father in Pyrdon for one. My liege seems much distracted today.”

  “Your liege hasn’t slept well in too long.”

  “As your physician, my liege, as well as your councillor, may I make a recommendation?”

  “Of course.”

  “Bring your wife here.”

  Maryn looked away again, his jaw set so tightly that Nevyn could see a vein throbbing on his forehead.

  “A good thought,” Maryn said at last. “But who will be my regent in Cerrmor?”

  “Your Highness has a seneschal and a chamberlain who are both fine men and quite capable of keeping the dun from sliding into the sea. The only thing they cannot do is hold malover, and neither can the princess.”

  “True spoken. Very well. Send me a scribe, and I’ll get the messengers on the way.”

  When Nevyn rose to leave, the prince walked with him to the door.

  “Oh, by the way,” Maryn said with a studied casual-ness, “how does your apprentice fare these days?”

  “She has a gift for dweomer, Your Highness,” Nevyn said, “and she works very hard at her studies. I’m quite pleased with her progress.”

  “Good, good, it gladdens my heart to hear that.”

  “Not everyone with a gift can use it well, of course. The dweomer makes enormous demands on a person. Concentration, the power of the will, and above all, time—developing the gift the gods gave her require all of those.”

  “No doubt. She’s lucky she’s found such a good teacher.”

  “My thanks, my liege. She truly is my apprentice, you know, as much as she might be apprenticed to weaving or some other craft. Her well-being is my responsibility now, and it’s one I take quite seriously.”

  Maryn tossed up his head like a startled horse. The message had struck home. Nevyn smiled pleasantly and waited.

  “You have my leave to go,” Maryn snapped.

  The prince turned and stalked back to his seat in the window. Nevyn allowed himself a sour smile at his retreating back, then let himself out the door.

  Since Retyc had asked him to take the letters on to High Priest Gwaevyr, Nevyn had an ostler saddle him a horse, then left the dun. He rode through the valley ruins and up the road that spiralled around the second highest hill in the city. On its crest, behind high walls, stood the temple of Bel, the holiest land in all Deverry, or so its priests claimed. Since Nevyn was known there, the two neophytes guarding the gates let him in without a challenge, and a third ran off to deliver the news of his coming to the high priest.

  While he waited, Nevyn handed his horse over to a servant and walked in the sacred oak grove among the graves of Deverry’s high kings. Fresh grass was growing on the newest, a pitifully short mound over little Olaen. Nevyn stood for a moment with bowed head and asked the child’s soul to forgive him. Although he knew that Councillor Oggyn had murdered the child-king, he’d done nothing to bring him to justice. Oggyn was proving his worth now, with his surveys and prudent plans, just as Nevyn had known he would. Still the memory haunted him, of the child’s death-pale face and unseeing eyes as he lay on his soiled bed.

  “Lord Nevyn?” A soft voice hailed him from behind.

  Nevyn spun around to find a middle-aged priest, shaved bald as his kind always were and wearing a simple linen tunic with a rope belt. At his waist hung a small golden sickle.

  “My name is Trinyn. I’m afraid His Holiness is unwell and not receiving visitors.”

  “Is there anything I can do? I’ve studied physic for many a long year.”

  “We have our own healers.”

  “Of course.” Nevyn inclined his head in Trinyn’s direction. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

  Trinyn smiled thinly. Nevyn reached into his shirt and brought out the message tube.

  “Letters from Retyc of Lughcarn,” Nevyn said. “He asked me to ensure that His Holiness received them.”

  “My thanks.” Trinyn’s smile grew a trifle more hospitable. “I appreciate your delivering these yourself.”

  “No doubt they contain important matters. I’d best leave you to the reading of them.”

  As he rode back to the dun, Nevyn puzzled over the cold reception he’d received. Retyc’s letters had been nothing but reassuring; the Lughcarn temple was confident that they would find a white mare, all the omens seemed good, and the politicking between their temple and Dun Deverry had died down to a caution born of old distrust.

  “I don’t understand,” Nevyn said to the prince. “I see no real obstacles to their proclaiming you king once the white mare turns up.”

  “If you don’t understand it,” Maryn said, “then I fear the worst.”

  “What?” Nevyn went on. “That they’ll never make the proclamation? I doubt that, my liege, very much indeed.”

  “So do I. I’m afraid that they’ll wait so long that my allies will start deserting. I’ve cobbled together this reign on Wyrd and fancy promises, after all. Some men lose patience with such.”

  Nevyn sighed. The candle flames in their sconces bobbed in the draft from the windows as if agreeing.

  “That’s real enough,” Nevyn said at last. “Ah well, there’s naught to do about now. We’ll have to fight that battle when it rides our way—if indeed it does.”

  8“All right, lads,” Owaen said. “The prince has asked me to detail some men to ride to Cerrmor and escort the princess on her journey here. Branoic, you’ll be going with them.”

  “Now here!” Maddyn snapped. “Branno’s got important matters afoot here in the dun.”

  Branoic started to speak, but Owaen was too fast for him.

  “So what if he does?” Owaen said. “I say he’s going. Are you goi
ng to argue with me, bard?”

  “Am I going to make a song about you that will have the great hall howling with laughter?”

  Owaen took a step back, his face dangerously blank. They were standing in one of the many odd private corners found in Dun Deverry’s wards, an awkward triangle twixt a narrow tower and a wall. If there had been onlookers, Branoic would never have given in to Owaen, but as it was, keeping peace in the troop mattered.

  “Maddo, it’s not worth fighting about,” Branoic said. “It’ll be a pleasant thing, seeing Cerrmor again.”

  “If you’re sure?” Maddyn said.

  “I am. Come with me, why not?”

  “I’ll do that.” Maddyn turned to Owaen. “One of us should go anyway, out of deference to the prince’s lady.”

  “You’re right. If you want the duty, take it.”

  “I will, then. I take it you’ll have no objection if I choose the men to go with us?”

  “None.” Owaen kept his voice flat. “The prince wants you on your way on the morrow.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Branoic said. “It’ll be an honor to bring his lady to her new home.”

  Without another word Owaen stomped away. Maddyn set his hands on his hips and glowered until his co-captain was well out of earshot.

  “One of these days,” Maddyn said quietly, “I’m going to make such a flyting song about Owaen that he’ll never hold his ugly head up again. I’m beginning to understand why you want out of the troop.”

  “I never would have left it before the prince came into his own,” Branoic said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Maddyn hesitated on the verge of speaking, then shrugged. “Ah well. Let’s think about the matter at hand. I say we take Red-haired Trevyr with us, for starters. It’ll do him good.”

  “By all means. Let’s take all the men who—” Much to his surprise, Branoic heard his voice catch. “Who rode under Caradoc.”

  “Good idea. You tell them. I’ll hunt up Slimy Oggo and get some supplies out of him.”

  Getting the honor guard ready for the journey kept Branoic so busy that he had no time to speak to Lilli that day. In the morning, though, when the silver daggers were assembling in the main ward, she came down to say farewell. She was wearing a pair of green dresses, and her hair, once so short, was long enough to frame her face and lift in the early-morning breeze. When she laid a soft hand on his arm he felt like the luckiest man in the world.