Katharine Kerr - Darkspell

“Sarcyn is very important,” Alastyr whispered. “You can trust him like you can trust me. You will trust him. You will trust him.”

“I will, then,” Camdel said. “I trust him.”

“Good. You will forget you’ve been ensorcelled. You will forget you’ve been ensorcelled.”

Alastyr withdrew the line and let Camdel’s aura settle.

“Of course, I understand,” Camdel said briskly. “Dealing with your lieutenant will be most satisfactory.”

Sarcyn shut down the sight and escorted the lord out the door with a bow, then latched the heavy oak door after him. Alastyr chuckled under his breath and stood up, stretching his back.

“Done, then,” the master said. “Now, remember, work on him slowly. If you can, only ensorcell him when he’s mead-drunk or smoke-drunk, so he never realizes somewhat odd’s afoot.”

“Easily done, master. He boozes like a swine and sucks smoke like a chimney.”

Alastyr chuckled again. Sarcyn couldn’t remember a time when the master had been this pleased, but then, Alastyr had worked for years to reach this point in his plans. As an intimate in the king’s chambers, Camdel was in a perfect position to steal them a thing that they could never reach themselves.

“I can see that the lad makes you itch,” Alastyr went on. “But then, you always were a little fiend for bed.” Casually he patted the apprentice on the behind.

Sarcyn went stiff with shock. Never before had he realized that Alastyr thought he’d enjoyed the master’s attentions, all those years ago.

“My apologies,” Alastyr said, misunderstanding. “Isn’t he to your taste?”

“I hate the little swine’s guts.”

“Oh. Well, soon you’ll be in a position to make him pay. Keep working on him until we can lead him like a horse—on a very long rein. I’ll be waiting outside the city. Once he’s thoroughly ensorcelled, ride out and join me. But remember, there’s no rush. If it takes weeks, so be it.”

After Alastyr left, Sarcyn spent a long time pacing back and forth from one side of the chamber to the other. His hatred drove him like a goad.

For all his pose of a shabby old herbman, Nevyn was well-known in the great broch of Dun Gwerbyn. When he arrived at the gates one morning, the two men on guard both bowed to him, then called for servants to take his horse and pack mule to the stables. Out in the ward stood several large wagons, and servants, working slowly in the warm sun, were loading them with bundles and barrels.

“Is the tieryn leaving soon for her summer residence?” Nevyn asked.

“She is,” the page said. “In just two days’ time we’ll start for Cannobaen. Her grace is in the great hall right now.”

Lovyan was sitting at the honor table with a scribe. Although they seemed to be discussing important matters, she dismissed him as soon as she saw Nevyn and sat the old man down at her right hand. Straightaway he told her all the news he had of Rhodry, because he knew that her heart ached to hear that her son was safe.

“And, finally, I scried them out last night,” he finished up. “They’re in the Auddglyn, looking for a hire. I must say Jill knows how to squeeze a copper hard enough to polish it. They seem to have plenty of coin left from the winter.”

“That gladdens my heart, but ah, ye gods, the summer’s just begun, and there’s my poor little lad, selling his sword on the roads.”

“Oh, come now, Lovva. You must admit that the ‘poor little lad’ happens to be one of the very best swordsmen in the kingdom.”

“Bad luck happens to even the finest warriors.”

“True spoken, and for all my fine words to you, I worry myself.”

“I know that, and here, of course, I forgot you wouldn’t know yet! I’m troubled about Rhodry’s exile for more than his sake these days. Nevyn, the most truly appalling thing’s happened. Do you remember Donilla, the wife Rhys put aside for being barren?”

“Quite well.”

“Well, her new husband was absolutely besotted with her, and he’s been courting her as if she were a young lass. Apparently he’s been quite successful, because she’s with child.”

“Oh, by every god! Has Rhys heard the news yet?”

“He has. I rode to Aberwyn myself to tell him, thinking it would be best if he heard it from me. He did not take it well.”

“No doubt. You know, I can even find it in my heart to feel sorry for Rhys. The gossip must be spreading like wildfire.”

“He’s become the laughingstock of every lord in Eldidd. My heart absolutely aches for his poor little wife. They treat her like a prize mare! Here, people actually have been making bets on whether she’ll conceive, and I take it the odds against are very high. Ah, ye gods, how cruel men can be!”

“Just so. But I see what you mean about Rhodry. He’s the last Maelwaedd heir for Aberwyn. We’ve got to get him back.”

“With Rhys in this temper? You haven’t seen him. He walks around in a fury all day long, and not a soul dares to mention the very word ‘baby’ in front of him. He’ll never recall Rhodry now. Besides, there are too many ambitious men to feed his hatred for his brother, in the hope that if Rhys dies childless, their clan will have a chance at the gwerbretrhyn.”

“That has the disgusting ring of truth.”

“Of course. I’ll wager that the scheming and jockeying among the Council of Electors has already begun.” She gave him a faint, self-mocking smile. “I’ve already started my own scheming. When we go to Cannobaen, I’m going to take Rhodry’s bastard daughter out of fosterage and keep her with me. Little Rhodda will be a pawn in this struggle, and I want to supervise her training myself. After all, the man who marries Rhodry’s heir, bastard or not, will have a small claim to push before the council.”

“By the Goddess Herself, I have to admire you. Most women would still be tearing their hair over their son’s exile, but you’re scheming fourteen years in advance.”

“Most women have never held the power I do, not even the women of my rank.”

For several minutes they sat in a troubled silence. Lovyan looked so weary and miserable that Nevyn surmised she was thinking about the bitter truth: Rhodry was no true Maelwaedd at all. Yet it was crucial that men think he was. Although Nevyn couldn’t read the future clearly, of course, he was certain that Rhodry was meant to rule in western Eldidd, if not as Gwerbret Aberwyn, then at least as tieryn in Dun Gwerbyn. Neither he nor the Lords of Wyrd cared one jot who Rhodry’s father was, but the noble-born would.

“Do you know what I fear most?” Lovyan said abruptly. “That things will come to open war when Rhys dies. It’s happened, you know, when a disgruntled candidate feels himself wronged by the council. Ah, well, I’ll be long gone myself by then, and past worrying over it.”

Since Rhys was a healthy man of only twenty-nine, her remark was eminently reasonable, but Nevyn felt a sudden stab of dweomer-warning. It seemed likely that she would have to bury yet another son.

“Is somewhat wrong?” she said, reading his expression.

“Oh, just thinking that we’ve got to get Rhodry recalled.”

“If words were gold coins, we’d all be as rich as the king.” She sighed heavily. “It’s always hard to see the death of a great clan, but it would be a true pity to see the end of the Maelwaedds.”

“It would indeed.”

And a greater pity than she could know, in fact. The Maelwaedd clan had always been important to the dweomer, ever since its oddly humble beginning, close to three hundred years before.

CERRMOR AND ELDIDD 790-797

And are all things that happen in life pre-ordained by the gods? They’re not, for many things happen by blind chance. Mark this well: every man has a Wyrd, and every man has a Luck. The secret of wisdom is telling one from the other.