Katharine Kerr - Darkspell

“Coming back to the barracks?” Dagwyn said. “We could have a game of dice.”

“Oh, I’ll follow you in a bit. I was thinking of having a word with the old herbman.”

“What for?”

“Naught that concerns you.”

With a shrug Dagwyn got up and left. Ricyn wasn’t sure why he thought Nevyn would know about the Dark Goddess, but the old man seemed so wise that it was worth a try. Halfway across the hall, Nevyn was finishing his meal and engrossed in conversation with the Master of Weaponry. Ricyn decided to wait until he was done, then follow him out. A few at a time, the other Wolf riders left the table until he was alone in a small island of quiet in the noisy hall. He got a third tankard, sat back down, and cursed the Master of Weaponry for talking so much.

“Captain?” someone said from behind him.

It was Lord Oldac, his thumbs hooked into his sword belt. Although Ricyn had never forgiven him for calling Gweniver a wench, he rose and bowed as Oldac’s rank forced him to do.

“I’d like a word with you. Let’s step outside.”

Ricyn followed him out the back door into the cool ward. They stood in a spill of light from a window while Oldac waited for a pair of serving lasses to walk past, out of earshot.

“What was that little scrap between you and Lord Dannyn today?” Oldac said.

“Begging his lordship’s pardon and all, I don’t see where it’s any affair of his.”

“Oh, no doubt it isn’t. Just cursed curious. One of the pages said Lord Dannyn insulted her holiness, and that you defended her.”

It was tempting to lie and let this less-shameful story get around.

“Well, my lord, that’s not true. I said somewhat that Lord Dannyn took wrong, and my lady intervened.”

“Well, our bastard’s certainly a touchy sort, isn’t he?” Oddly enough, Oldac looked disappointed. “Well, just wondering.”

When he returned to the hall, Ricyn found Nevyn already gone. Cursing Oldac in his mind, he found a page who told him that the old man had retired to his chamber. Ricyn hesitated, afraid to disturb a man everyone said had dweomer, but after all, if he didn’t placate the Goddess promptly, his life was at stake. He went up to Nevyn’s chamber, where he found the old man sorting out herbs by lantern light.

“Here, good sir,” Ricyn said. “Could I have a word with you?”

“Of course, lad. Come in and shut the door.”

Since Nevyn had only one chair, Ricyn stood uneasily by the table and looked at the sweet-smelling herbs.

“Don’t you feel well or suchlike?” Nevyn said.

“Oh, I haven’t come for your herbs. You seem like a truly wise man. Do you know if the Dark Goddess would take prayers from a man?”

“I don’t see why not. Bel listens to a woman’s prayers, doesn’t he?”

“Good. I can’t ask my lady, you see. I’m afraid that I’ve offended the Goddess, but I blasted well know I’ve offended her. So I thought maybe I could make it up to the Goddess on my own, because I don’t want to die on my next ride. It’s cursed hard when She doesn’t even have a proper temple I can go to.”

Nevyn considered him with a puzzling look that was halfway between exasperation and admiration.

“Well, no doubt the Goddess understands that,” Nevyn said. “In a way, she needs no temple, because all night is Her home and the darkness Her altar.”

“Here, sir, did you used to be a priest?”

“Oh, I didn’t, but I’ve read many a book on sacred lore.”

“Well and good, then. Shouldn’t I sacrifice somewhat to Her? The gods always seem to like that.”

“So they do.” Nevyn thought for a moment with an impressively solemn expression. “I’ll give you a bit of mandrake root, because it’s forked like a man and has dweomer. You go down to the river in the dead of night, throw it in, and then pray that She takes it in your stead and forgives you.”

“My thanks, good sir, truly, my humble thanks. I’ll pay you for the bit of root, too.”

“Oh, no need, lad. I don’t want to see you slip up and get killed because you believe the Goddess has turned against you.”

Ricyn wrapped the precious mandrake in a bit of cloth and hid it in his shirt, then went back to the barracks. He lay on his bunk and thought of what he was going to say to the Goddess, because he wanted to get the words exactly right. Knowing that he too could worship Her filled him with a solemn peace. Darkness is Her altar—he liked the way old Nevyn had put it. Someday, when his Wyrd came upon him, he would sink into Her arms and lie quiet and spent, at rest in the dark, with all the surge and pain of this endless war behind him.

“Dagwyn?” Gweniver said. “Where’s Ricyn?”

Dagwyn turned and hastily looked over the stable.

“Cursed if I know, my lady,” he said. “He was here not but a minute ago.”

Gweniver hurried out into the bright morning sunlight and walked round the stables. He was deliberately avoiding her again, she supposed, a supposition that proved correct when she finally caught up with him. He gave her one startled glance, then looked only at the ground.

“Come walk with me, Ricco.”

“If my lady orders it.”

“Don’t keep slinking around like a whipped dog! Here, I was never angry with you, but if I was going to put Dannyn in his place, I had to be fair about it, didn’t I?”

Ricyn looked up and smiled, a quick flash of his usual good cheer. She loved seeing him smile that way.

“Well, so you did,” he said. “But I’ve been eating my heart away over it, anyway.”

“It’s over now, as far as I’m concerned.”

Together they strolled through the storage sheds and empty carts out behind the stables until they found a quiet, sunny spot by the dun wall. They sat down, backs to a shed, and looked at the towering rise of dark stone, shutting them in as much as it shut enemies out.

“You know,” Gweniver said, “you should find yourself some lass in the dun. We’ll be here the rest of our lives.”

Ricyn winced as if she’d slapped him.

“What’s so wrong?” she said.

“Naught.”

“Nonsense. Out with it.”

Ricyn sighed and rubbed the back of his neck as if it helped him think.

“Well, suppose I did get a lass. How would you take it? I was hoping you’d—ah, curse it!”

“Hoping I’d envy her? I would, but that’s my burden, not yours. I’m the one who chose the Goddess.”

He smiled at the ground in front of him.

“You truly would envy her?”

“I would.”

He nodded and stared at the cobbles as if he were counting them.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said at last. “There’s a lass or two around that I sort of fancy, and one of them fancies me well enough. Just yesterday it was, she was talking with me, and I knew I could bed her easy enough if I didn’t mind sharing her with a couple of the other lads, and I’ve never minded that before. But all at once I didn’t give a pig’s fart if I ever had her or not, so I walked away.” He was silent for a few minutes. “It’s never going to be any good with some other lass. I love you too much. I have for years.”

“Oh, now, here, you just haven’t found the right lass.”

“Don’t jest with me, Gwen. I’m not going to live long enough for that. You’re minded to die, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes, whenever we ride to a scrap. Well, I’m not going to live a minute longer than you. I’ve been praying to the Goddess, and I promised Her that.” Finally he looked at her. “So I was thinking, I might as well swear the same vow as you.”

“Don’t! There’s no need, and if you broke it—”

“You don’t think I can do it, do you?”

“That’s not what I meant. There’s just no reason to.”