Katharine Kerr - Darkspell

Generous man that he was, Glyn found Mael a profound embarrassment, too pathetic to murder no matter how legal a murder it was, especially now that the learned priests praised him as a brilliant scholar and an ornament to the kingdom. When he judged the time was right, Nevyn asked Glyn outright about releasing Mael and letting him return quietly to Eldidd.

“It would be best, councillor, truly. Try to scheme out some reason for his honorable release. May the gods blast me if I’ll have Eldidd sneering at my weaknesses, but I can’t stand the thought of that prince moldering up in the tower any longer.”

In the end it was the Pyrdon rebellion that provided the necessary reason. Since Eldidd desperately needed a quiet summer if he was to bring his rebels to heel, he offered Glyn gold to refrain from raiding. Not only did Glyn take the bribe, he solemnized the occasion by offering to release his captive in return for a token ten horses. After many an exchange of heralds and some peculiar stalling on Eldidd’s part, the deal was set and signed. Only then did Nevyn tell Mael of his good fortune, when winter was already lightening into spring.

When Nevyn went up to the tower room, he found Mael caressing a copy of his book, leather bound and neatly written in the spiky temple hand. The prince was so eager to show it to him that it took almost half an hour before Nevyn could get to his real business.

“The real marvel is that the king’s going to subsidize another twenty copies,” Mael finished up. “Do you know why?”

“I do. It’s his way of solemnizing your release. He’s setting you free next week.”

Mael smiled, started to speak; then his face froze in disbelief. His fingernails dug into the soft binding of the codex in his hands.

“I’ll be riding with you as far as the Eldidd border,” Nevyn went on. “Gavra and your son will meet us outside Cerrmor. Ebrua will stay here, but then, you can hardly blame her. She loves her husband, and she’s never even met you.”

Mael nodded, his face so pale that it looked like snow.

“Oh, by the gods of both our peoples!” he whispered. “I wonder if this caged bird remembers how to fly.”

Although Prince Ogretoryc and his wife now lived in a splendid suite of apartments at court, they had never forgotten the times when Primilla had been the only person to pay court to them, and they were usually willing to receive her in those moments they set aside for craftspeople and merchants. The prince was a tall young man with raven-dark hair and cornflower-blue eyes, good-looking in a rough sort of way and inclined to be expansive as long as he wasn’t crossed. This particular morning Primilla brought him a present, an expensive little merlin for his favorite sport of hawking. The prince immediately took the bird on his wrist and chirruped to it.

“My thanks, good dame. He’s a lovely little bird.”

“I’m most honored that he pleases his highness. When I heard about his highness’s father being released, I thought a celebratory gift was in order.”

His eyes suddenly dark, Ogretoryc began paying great attention to the merlin, who turned its hooded head his way as if recognizing a kindred soul. In her chair by the window, Laligga moved restlessly.

“Of course,” she said with a carefully arranged smile. “We’re ever so pleased about Mael’s release. But how odd to think that my father-in-law’s become a scribe.”

Ogretoryc shot her a sideways glance that could have meant any number of furious things.

“My thanks for the gift, good Primilla,” he said. “I’ll take him straightaway to my falconer.”

Since it was clear that the audience was over, Primilla curtsied and withdrew to the public area of the royal great hall, crowded with various suppliants and the merely curious. As she talked with the councillors and scribes she knew, she picked up a number of hints that a good many important people would be glad to see Mael reinstated in his old place and his son reduced to being merely the heir. Perhaps it was for reasons of sentiment or honor that they felt so. Perhaps. Primilla sought out Councillor Cadlew and asked him outright why some were eager to see Mael return as liege lord of Aberwyn and Cannobaen.

“You seem vastly interested in Mael’s affairs,” Cadlew remarked.

“Of course. The guild needs to know where to spend its gifts. We don’t care to curry favor from the wrong lord.”

“True spoken. But, here, don’t spread this any further, will you? The princess Laligga’s given herself airs ever since her husband became Aberwyn. There’s more than a few who’d enjoy seeing her in a reduced state. And there are some widows, too, who’d fancy themselves consoling a prince in his later years.”

“So. This is all a woman’s matter?”

“Far from it. The princess has offended more than the ladies in residence, and the widows have brothers who see a chance at influence.”

“I see. Do you think Mael will be reinstated?”

“I hope not, for his sake. It would doubtless be very dangerous for his continuing good health, and you won’t get one more word out of me, good dame.”

What she had was quite enough. Primilla made sure to contact Nevyn immediately, because she had no desire to see Mael come home only to be poisoned by his kin.

From the window in Mael’s chamber, the ward of Dun Cerrmor looked as tidy and small as a child’s toy. Little horses trotted across barely visible cobbles; tiny men strode around and disappeared into little doors. Only the loudest noises drifted up to his window. That afternoon Mael was leaning on the windowsill and studying the familiar view when he heard the door open behind him.

“Glyn, king of all Deverry, approaches,” the guard sang out. “All kneel.”

Mael turned and knelt just as the king strode in. For a moment they studied each other in a kind of bemused shock. They both had aged so much since their last brief meeting.

“As of today,” Glyn said at last, “you’re a free man.”

“My humble thanks, Your Highness.”

Glyn glanced once around the chamber, then left, taking all the guards with him. Mael stared at the empty doorway for a long time, until at last Nevyn appeared in it.

“Get up, my friend,” the old man said. “It’s time to try your wings.”

As Mael followed him down the dark winding stairway, he stared at the walls, stared at the ceiling, stared at every person they met. When they went out into the ward, the sunlight rushed over him like water. He looked up and saw the wall of the dun rising above him, not below, and suddenly he was physically dizzy. Nevyn caught his arm and steadied him.

“The mind’s a strange thing,” the old man said.

“So it is. I feel bewitched or suchlike.”

At first the noise and confusion were overwhelming. It seemed that the entire ward was filled with men, shouting, laughing, leading horses by in a great clatter. Maidservants hurried back and forth with buckets of water, loads of firewood, armfuls of foodstuffs. The bright red and silver colors of Cerrmor were everywhere, troubling his recluse’s sight. Yet after a few minutes Mael’s dizziness turned to greed. He walked slowly, savoring every sight, from a splendid lord on horseback to a pile of old straw by the stables. When one of the king’s boarhounds graciously allowed him to pat it, he was so pleased that he felt like an idiot child, whom everything delights because he can place a value on nothing. When he remarked as much to Nevyn, the dweomerman laughed.

“And who’s to say that the idiot child’s not the wisest of us all?” Nevyn said. “Let’s go along to my chambers. Gavra should be joining us soon.”

But Gavra was already waiting in Nevyn’s sparsely furnished reception room. Mael ran to her, swept her into his arms, and kissed her.