Katharine Kerr - Dragonspell - The Southern Sea

‘Oh ye gods,’ Lovyan said. ‘It seems obvious this lad tried to kill our Rhodda, and yet somewhat makes me doubt his guilt.’

‘Quite so, Your Grace,’ Nevyn said. ‘To be precise, his body was being used for the attempt, but his soul and mind are blameless. Now Tevva, what’s this urgent story you have to tell?’

‘This morning when I woke, my lord, I had what I thought was a strange dream. Have you ever had one of those dreams where you think you’re wide awake? Our chamber, Rhodda’s cot, the hearth – it all looked exactly right, and dawn was coming in the window, but when I tried to move, I couldn’t, and I realized that I was still asleep.’

‘Dreams of that sort do happen.’ Nevyn finished binding the lad’s wrist and turned to look at her. ‘What came after?’

‘I dreamt there was a witch in the chamber with me. My Mam used to say that a witch could draw out your soul and put it into a little jar. I laughed, then, but this morning, I felt just that, like someone was trying to steal my soul.’

Nevyn felt that weary sort of annoyance that comes from seeing your worst fear confirmed.

‘How did you fight this witch off?’

‘I don’t know.’ She looked profoundly embarrassed. ‘I couldn’t move to give the sign of warding, and I couldn’t even really see where the witch was. I just knew that she was there with me. So, I … well, I just sort of pushed back. I called on the Goddess to protect me, and pushed the witch away. Does that make any sense, my lord?’

‘It does to me, Mistress Tevva. Just one thing, though. That witch was more likely to be a man than a woman. You see, our enemies were trying to do to you what they eventually did to Bryc. They can take over a person’s body for a little while, if he’s weak enough, and use it like their own.’

Bryc moaned, tears starting in his eyes.

‘Your Grace,’ he said to the tieryn. ‘I never would have. Never would I have hurt the lass. Please believe me.’

Lovyan flicked Nevyn a questioning glance.

‘I believe him, Your Grace. Now that I know what they’re doing, I can put a stop to it, too. If I may make suggestions, Your Grace?’

‘Of course.’

‘Two things. Bryc needs to be sent away – not out of blame, mind, but for his sake.’ He turned to the heart-sick boy. ‘They’ve made a link with you now, lad, and they might try to use it again. If they’re successful, this time they’ll kill you. Do you understand? They’ll use you, then toss you aside.’

His face pale, Bryc nodded a slow agreement.

‘The other thing is, the captain should be the child’s bodyguard from now on. Whenever you go outside, Mistress Tevva, you take him along with you. I can’t imagine anyone taking over Cullyn’s mind.’

‘No more can I,’ Cullyn said. ‘I agree with Nevyn, Your Grace. Since they can’t work their stinking trickery anymore, they might send someone in here with a sword.’

‘Done, then.’ Lovyan gave them each a firm nod. ‘And as for you, Rhodda, you obey the captain’s orders from now on.’

‘I will, Granna.’

Everyone smiled, doting on the pretty little lass because she was such a welcome relief from the dark things around them. Only Nevyn knew that the child was touched by strange magicks, that thanks to the elven blood she’d inherited from her father, not only could she see the Wildfolk, she also could command them. Poor Bryc’s scratched and bruised face made it clear that she had a good streak of elven vengefulness, too. Even with all his other worries and burdens weighing him down, Nevyn knew that he’d have to scrape out a little time for her.

That night, his worries pressed heavily upon him. Just after sunset he went up to his high chamber and threw open the shutters to let in the brisk autumn air. The evening was so brilliantly clear that he could see far beyond the town down to the harbour, where the ghostly white wave-foam mirrored the stars just coming out in the velvet dark sky. Distantly he heard the booming of the bronze bell at Manannan’s temple, announcing that the gwerbret’s men were raising the iron chain to close the harbour for the night. In town, a few dogs barked in answer, and the dark was pricked or slashed here and there by a lantern bobbing down a street or a crack of light from a window. At the sight of the stars and the rising moon some of his weariness ebbed away, and he stood there for some minutes, leaning on the sill and thinking of very little, until a soft knock at his chamber door roused him. With a muttered apology, Elaeno slipped in, shutting the door softly behind him. It always amazed Nevyn that the enormous Bardekian moved as gracefully and quietly as a cat.

‘I was just taking a look at our prisoner,’ Elaeno said. ‘He seems much better today. It looks like he’s mending cursed fast. That fever he had should have killed an ordinary man … well, not that I’m any sort of a chirurgeon.’

‘Oh, I agree with your diagnosis well enough. Did you look at his aura?’

‘I did, and it seems a good bit stronger. I can’t get over that peculiar colour, a mucky sort of green it is, with those odd purplish stripes and specks.’

‘I’ve never seen one like it before, truly. Well, let’s go down and have a look at him. If he’s well enough, we’ll try a working. Let me just put together the herbs and things I need.’

The prisoner in question was housed in a small chamber in one of the half-towers that clustered round the main broch. Outside his door stood an armed guard, because Lord Perryn of Alobry had been until his recent capture one of the worst horse-thieves in the kingdom, an offence punishable by a public hanging after a public flogging. He had committed another, more serious crime as well, but Nevyn was keeping that a secret for several good reasons. The summer before, Perryn had abducted and raped Cullyn of Cerrmor’s only daughter, Jill, but he’d done it by a muddled dweomer in circumstances so unusual that Nevyn had no idea of whether or not he were a criminal or a victim of some peculiar spell. Although the matter would require more study before he reached his conclusions, if Cullyn found out, Perryn wouldn’t live long enough to be studied. As it was, he’d nearly died already from a consumption of the lungs brought on by his misuse of his instinctive magical powers.

That evening, though, he did seem much recovered, a peculiarity in itself. As Elaeno had said, that consumption was severe enough to have killed an ordinary human being. Nevyn was beginning to suspect that Perryn was far from ordinary, and, in fact, perhaps not truly human at all. On the tall side, Perryn was a skinny, nondescript sort of young man, with dull red hair and blue eyes, a flattish nose, and an overly generous mouth. At the moment he was also deathly pale, his eyes still rheumy as he sat up in bed and coughed into an old rag. When the two dweomermen came in, he looked up, whimpered under his breath, and shrank back against the heap of pillows behind him.

‘Still coughing up blood?’ Nevyn said.

‘None, my lord. Er, ah, well, is that all right?’

‘It’s a very good sign, actually. Will you stop cowering and snivelling like a wretched field mouse? I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘But when are they going to come to … er, you know … hang me?’

‘Not until I tell them to, and if you do exactly as I say, they may not hang you at all.’

Perryn arranged a totally unconvinced smile.

‘I see you ate a good dinner. Do you feel like getting up and getting dressed?’