The Fire Dragon

‘Clouds, my lady.’ Clodda looked at her sharply, as if wondering if Lilli had gone mad with grief. ‘It’s going to rain, I wager.’

‘Oh. Rain. Could you go to the great hall and find me somewhat to eat? Bread would do.’

‘I will. Lady Elyssa has been asking for you. That’s why I came up and knocked.’

‘I’ll dress, then. If you see her, ask her if she’d just come to my chamber.’

Clodda must have seen the lady in the great hall, because Elyssa herself brought Lilli a basket of bread and butter in but a little while, just as Lilli had finished combing her hair. Elyssa set the basket on the table and considered Lilli for a moment in the harsh grey light streaming in the window.

‘Clodda’s right,’ Elyssa said. ‘You do look ill. Your cheeks – they’re all red and raw!’

‘I’m always a little bit ill.’

‘Or is it from tears? She told me that you’re convinced Branoic’s dead.’

‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘It was Clodda I was doubting, not you. I suppose you must have been – er, what does Nevyn call that?’

‘Scrying.’

‘My heart goes out to you, lass.’ Elyssa looked away, biting her lower lip. ‘Another good man gone.’

‘Oh ye gods, I wish I could weep some more. I feel like a bit of old rag the cook used to scrub a pot or suchlike. All soiled and wrung out and twisted.’

Elyssa nodded. She seemed to be searching for words, then sighed and held out the basket of bread.

‘Here. Do eat.’

Lilli took a piece of bread and bit into it. Her grief robbed it of all its savour, but she forced herself to keep eating to reassure Elyssa.

‘You look more than a little unwell,’ Elyssa said, watching her. ‘I was going to ask if you’d like to visit us up in the women’s hall, but I think me you’d best stay here and rest.’

After Elyssa left, Lilli threw the half-eaten chunk of bread back into the basket. She went to the wooden chest at the foot of the bed, knelt down and opened it. Right on top lay the pieces of Branoic’s wedding shirt, which she’d not quite finished embroidering. He’d never wear it now. He had died too far away to even be buried in it. Next to it lay the little knife she used for cutting thread, a short blade but sharp. She took it out and her little mirror with it.

She propped the mirror up on the mantel, and by twisting this way and that, she could see well enough to chop off her hair, a twist at a time, sawing it short with the sewing knife as a sign of her mourning for her betrothed. She’d heard bards recite old tales from back in the Dawntime, when mourning women gashed their faces as well. For a moment she was tempted – not to mourn Branoic but to keep Maryn away. With a shudder she laid the knife down. In the mirror her face looked back, puffy-eyed, pinched, the short hair all ragged. She turned away, remembering how he looked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

‘I did love you,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll pray to the Goddess that you believed me.’

Lilli put the mirror and knife away, then wrapped up the cut-off hair in the sleeve of the shirt that would have been Branoic’s. She put the shirt away, then returned to her chair and stared out of the window. Every breath she drew made her chest ache, as if her grief had filled her lungs and turned them heavy.

The sun had barely started to climb into the sky when Nevyn left his tent and went to tend the wounded. He found Caudyr there ahead of them, and as they started their work, other chirurgeons came to join them and some of the servants as well. As Nevyn had feared, several men had died in the night. The servants wrapped them in blankets and carried them away. Nevyn had finished his rounds and was just washing the gore off his hands and arms when Gavlyn, the prince’s chief herald, came running, carrying a long staff bound with ribands.

‘My lord Nevyn!’ Gavlyn called out. ‘Lord Braemys wants to parley.’

‘Indeed?’ Nevyn said. ‘Well, that’s welcome news!’

Together they hurried across the camp. The night before, servants had pitched Maryn’s tent apart from those of the other noble-born; a good ten feet of bare ground surrounded it. Out in front a groom waited with Gavlyn’s dun gelding, saddled and bridled. In the horse’s black mane hung ribands of red and yellow. Maryn himself came out of the tent just as Nevyn arrived; he wore the red and white plaid of Cerrmor, pinned at one shoulder with the huge silver brooch that marked him as a prince.

‘This is good news,’ Maryn remarked to Nevyn. ‘I’m hoping and praying that Braemys wants to swear fealty and end this thing.’

‘So am I, your highness,’ Nevyn said, ‘so am I.’

‘We should know soon. Gavlyn, you have my leave to go.’

But in the end they waited a good long while to hear Lord Braemys’s decision. All that morning, while Maryn paced, stewing with impatience in front of his tent, the heralds rode back and forth, negotiating the conditions for the meeting between Prince Maryn and Lord Braemys. Each side suspected the other of having treachery in mind, and as Maryn remarked to Nevyn, he could understand why.

‘The war’s been hard enough fought,’ the prince said, ‘and my men did kill his father.’

‘And his men did his best to kill you,’ Nevyn said, ‘by a ruse.’

Over the next long while, Maryn’s vassals strolled over to join him in ones and twos. Daeryc and Ammerwdd paced up and down with him. The lower-ranked men sat on the ground and talked among themselves in low voices. Finally, not long before noon, Gavlyn returned, leading his horse with one hand and carrying the staff in the other. Everyone got up fast, but no one spoke, not even the prince. The groom trotted forward and took the dun gelding’s reins, but when he started to lead the horse away, Gavlyn stopped him.

‘I’ll be going back out, lad,’ Gavlyn said. He turned to the prince and bowed. ‘Your highness, this is going to be a long slow thing. We spent what, half the morning? And we’ve only got this far: Braemys wishes to discuss terms, but he’ll only do so under certain conditions.’

A good many of the lords swore, muttering among themselves. When Maryn raised a hand, they fell silent.

‘Oh ye gods!’ Maryn said. ‘And does he think he’s in any position to dictate these conditions?’

‘He doesn’t, your highness,’ Gavlyn said. ‘There’s no arrogance here, just fear. Their herald’s going to ride back to their camp when he gets my answer. A long ride, he said, but he refused to tell me the slightest thing that might tell me where the camp was. I take it that Lord Braemys’s army is much depleted.’

Everyone turned to look at Nevyn. Since he’d scried on the etheric during the night past, he had answer for them.

‘It is,’ Nevyn said. ‘I’d say he has no more than a thousand men, and that’s a very generous guess. A good many of his allies must have deserted him.’

‘Indeed?’ Ammerwdd stepped forward. ‘If we were to hunt him down, we’d have an easy victory and end the Boar clan forever.’

‘Your grace!’ Gavlyn turned dead-white. ‘The man’s asked for parley.’

‘Just so.’ Maryn smiled in a wry sort of way. ‘We’ve done our best to conduct ourselves honourably all through the war, and I’ve no desire to dishonour myself and my vassals now.’

Ammerwdd started to speak, then caught himself with a shrug.

‘Very well,’ Maryn went on. ‘What are these conditions?’

‘I’ve no idea, your highness. We’ve not got that far.’

‘Ye gods!’ Ammerwdd muttered. ‘How long will the little bastard weasel? It’s an insult, your highness, for a man to drag these things out. How long are we going to put up with him mocking our honour?’

‘Consider this, your grace,’ Maryn said. ‘Suppose we cut the parley short. Braemys and his men will flee. If they reach Cantrae safely, we could spend a year digging them out of it.’

‘True spoken.’ Ammerwdd gave in with a bow in the prince’s direction. ‘He won’t talk as long as all that.’

‘Just so.’ Maryn smiled, then turned to Gavlyn. ‘Tell the Boar clan’s herald that we’ll parley till we reach an honourable conclusion to the matter.’

‘My thanks, your highness. I’ll just be on my way, then.’

To pass the time till Gavlyn returned, Nevyn organized the wagon train that would carry the wounded home to Dun Deverry. Maryn designated fifty sound men for an escort, and Oggyn handed over supplies for everyone. By then the army had eaten enough of their supplies to free up six wagons. Others of the wounded men would be able to ride.