Kitabı oku: «A Time of Exile», sayfa 6

‘Well, the herbman is curious enough to come with you on his own. I’m more than willing to speak to anyone who has dweomer.’

‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. It would have ached my heart to tie you up, but we couldn’t have you taking wing and flying away the minute our backs were turned.’

‘Flying? Not quite, but I have ways of moving in the dark, true enough.’

‘Ah, you’re only an apprentice then. Well, no doubt Nananna can teach you a thing or two.’

Halaberiel spoke so matter-of-factly that the implication was unmistakable. Could this Nananna fly? Did all the dweomermasters of the Westfolk have a power that was only a wistful dream for those of the human sort? Aderyn’s heart started pounding in sheer greed. If Halaberiel had somehow changed his mind and tried to keep Aderyn away, he would have had a nasty fight on his hands. Aderyn’s kidnappers-cum-escorts saddled his horse, loaded up his mule, then put out his fire and buried it for him. As the horses picked their way across the dark meadow, Halaberiel rode beside Aderyn.

‘I’ll tell Nananna tonight that we’ve found you.’

‘You can scry, I take it.’

‘I can’t. She’ll come to me in a dream, and I can tell her then.’

Just after midnight, Halaberiel ordered his men to make a rough camp by a riverbank. Aderyn judged they’d gone about ten miles. In the darkness, he could see nothing, but in the morning, he woke to the sight of a swift-flowing, broad river and, beyond on the farther bank, a primeval oak forest. He jumped up and ran to the water’s edge. It had to be – he knew it deep in his heart – it was the river of his vision. With a little yelp of sheer joy he jigged a few dancing steps there on the riverbank.

‘Is somewhat wrong?’ Halaberiel came up beside him.

‘Not in the least. Quite the contrary, in fact. You don’t need to worry about me trying to escape or suchlike, believe me.’

After a meal they forded the river and walked the horses slowly into the forest, which soon turned so thick and tangled that they had to dismount and lead their mounts along a deer-track. In a few miles the trail disappeared, leaving them to thread their own way through the trees. For three agonizing hours they picked their way west, stopping often to urge on the balky horses or deliberate on the best way to go. Finally, just when Aderyn was ready to give up in frustration, they came to a road: a proper, hard-packed, level dirt road about ten feet across, running straight as a spear through the forest.

‘Here we are,’ Halaberiel remarked. ‘Few of the Round-ears would push on long enough to find this, you see.’

‘I take it you don’t trust my kind.’

‘And how should I?’ Halaberiel considered him with cool, violet eyes. ‘No offence, good sir, to you as a man, but first we gave the Round-ears the coast; then they started pushing up the rivers; now I see them breeding like rats and swarming all over the country. Everywhere they go, they make slaves out of the Old Ones who were here before them. Where will they stop? Anywhere? Or will they keep on pushing north and west, ploughing up the grasslands for their fields and killing the grass for our horses? Are they going to look at us and covet us for slaves one fine day? They’ve already broken at least one treaty with my kind that I know of. Trust them? I think not, good sir. I think not.’

‘I assure you, those of us who serve the dweomer hate slavery as much as you do. If I could free every bondsman in the kingdom, I would.’

‘No doubt, but you can’t, can you?’ With an irritable shrug, Halaberiel turned away and called to his men. ‘Let’s get on the road. We can rest the horses when we come to the big spring.’

The spring turned out to be some two miles further west, a stone pond with a stone culvert that led the overflow down to a stream among the trees. Inside the stone wall water welled up clear and noiselessly from the sandy bottom. Before anyone drank, Halaberiel raised his hands over the water and called out a short prayer in a soft musical language to thank the god of the spring. Then they unsaddled their horses, let them roll, and watered them before sitting down to their own meal of smoked fish and soft ewe’s milk cheese. Aderyn was beginning to be able to tell the young men apart: Calonderiel, taller than the rest, Elbannodanter, as delicately handsome as a lass, Jezryaladar with a quick flash of a grin, and Albaral, who said very little and ate a lot.

‘Banadar?’ Calonderiel said. ‘Has Nananna told you where she is?’

‘Not far beyond the forest. She and her escort met up with a couple of big alarli yesterday, and they’re all camping together by the haunted pool. The rest of our warband’s on the way to join them, too. We’ll all move down to the winter camp together.’

When he finished eating, Aderyn went for a closer look at the spring. The stonework was carved with looping vines and flowers, and peering out from among them were the little faces of the Wildfolk.

‘Halaberiel?’ Aderyn said. ‘Your people do beautiful stonework.’

‘Well, they used to. This is over eight hundred years old. There’s not a man or woman alive now who could do as well.’

‘Indeed? Here, your men call you banadar. Is that like a lord or prince?’

‘In a way, but only in a way. We’ll have to start teaching you our speech, Aderyn. Most of us here in the east know a bit of the Eldidd tongue, at least, but further west the People don’t care for the barbarous languages.’

Late in the afternoon they followed a little stream out of the forest into the grasslands and made their night’s camp. As he was unloading his mule, Aderyn realized that he was completely lost, cut off from Eldidd and everything he’d ever known. Perhaps he might have been able to find his way back through the forest to the river on his own – perhaps. Later, when the others were asleep in their bedrolls, Aderyn sat by the dying campfire and thought of Nevyn. The old man’s image built up instantly, smiling at him.

‘Did I wake you?’ Aderyn thought to him.

‘Not at all. I was just sitting here wondering about you. Where are you? Still in Eldidd?’

I’m not. Strange things have been happening.’

Carefully and in some detail Aderyn told him about his forced trip to see Nananna. His eyes thoughtful, Nevyn’s image grew stronger above the fire.

‘Strange things indeed. Now fancy that – I never knew another race lived to the west. I think me that King Bran and Cadwallon the Druid led their folk to a stranger place then ever they could have guessed. I’ll have to meditate on this, but from what you say, I think that these elves originate in a different part of the Inner Lands than men do.’

‘So it would seem. I truly wonder what kind of dweomer they have.’

‘So do I. I trust you’ll tell me when you find out. It seems the Lords of Light have warned this Nananna of your coining. Interesting, all of it.’

‘I truly wish you were here to see for yourself.’

‘Well, who knows? Maybe someday I’ll ride west. Until then, be careful, will you? Don’t go rushing into anything unwise just out of lust for secret lore.’

Then he was gone, the contact broken and cold.

Towards noon on the next day they reached the camp. They came to the sheep first, a huge flock, watched over by dogs and mounted shepherds, one of which was a woman, dressed in the same leather trousers and dark blue tunic as the men, but with long hair in one thick braid hanging down to her waist. About an hour’s ride on they reached a herd of some sixty horses on long tethers, among them the rich yellow-golds with silvery manes and tails so highly prized by Eldidd men. Just beyond the herds were the tents, along a stream and among the willow trees there. Each was a swirl and splash of bright colour – animals, birds, leaves, tendrils – all intertwined but so solid and realistically painted that it seemed the birds would fly away. Out in the middle was a big cooking fire, where men and women both were working, cutting up lamb, stirring something in a big iron kettle. Other elves stood round, talking idly. When Halaberiel called out, the folk came running, all talking at once. Aderyn heard his name mentioned several times, and some of the folk openly stared at him. In a flood of laughter and talk, the men began to help them unsaddle their horses.

Off to one side Aderyn noticed a young woman, whose hair, as pale as silver, hung to her waist in two long braids. Her face was a perfect oval; her enormous eyes were as dark and grey as storm clouds; her mouth was as delicate as a child’s. When she walked over to speak to him, he felt his heart pounding like a dancing-drum.

‘Aderyn? My name is Dallandra, Nananna’s apprentice. My mistress is resting, but I’ll take you to her later. My thanks for coming to us.’

‘Most welcome, but the banadar didn’t give me much choice.’

‘What?’ Dallandra turned on the banadar. ‘What did you do, kidnap him like a lot of Round-ear bandits?’

Although Halaberiel laughed, he stepped back a pace from her anger. She’s splendid, Aderyn thought, and by every god, she must have dweomer, too! All at once he was aware of Calonderiel watching him narrow-eyed, his arms folded over his chest. Aderyn’s heart sank; he should have known that a woman like this would be long spoken for. Then he caught himself. What was he doing, him of all people, acting like some stupid young lad bent on courting? Hastily he recovered his dignity and made Dallandra a bow.

‘There’s no need to chide the banadar. I’d gladly travel a thousand miles for the sake of the dweomer. In fact, I already have.’

She smiled, well pleased by his answer.

‘Where shall we put you? You don’t have a tent of your own.’

‘I’ll take him with me,’ Halaberiel said. ‘Truly, good Aderyn, my tent is yours if it pleases you.’

The banadar’s tent, a blue and purple monster some thirty feet across, stood at the edge of the camp. Lying around on the floor were piles of blankets and saddle-bags. Halaberiel found a bare spot near the door and gestured Aderyn to lay down his bedroll.

‘The unmarried men in my warband shelter with me, but I promise you’ll find them better mannered than a Round-ear lord’s warriors.’

Jezryaladar brought in Aderyn’s mule-packs and dumped them unceremoniously on the ground near his bedroll. Apparently the elves considered this all the unpacking that was necessary; Halaberiel took his arm and led Aderyn outside to introduce him to the crowd round the cooking fire. A young woman, carrying a baby on her back in a leather and wood pack, handed Aderyn a wooden bowl of stewed vegetables and a wooden spoon, then served the banadar. They stood up to eat off to one side of the fire and watched as the young men of the warband lined up for their share.

‘That lamb will be done later, I suppose,’ Halaberiel said vaguely.

‘Oh, this is fine. I don’t eat much meat, anyway.’

As the afternoon wore on, everyone was perfectly friendly, and most of the People spoke the Eldidd tongue but, on the whole, Aderyn was ignored or, rather, taken for granted in a way that made him feel slightly dizzy. After they ate, Halaberiel sat down on the ground in front of one of the tents and started an urgent conversation in Elvish with two men. Aderyn wandered through the camp, looking at the paintings on the tents, and watched what the People were doing in a vain attempt to fit into their pattern. The People strolled around, talking to whomever they met, or perhaps taking up some task only to drop it if they felt like it. Aderyn saw Jezryaladar and another young man bringing a big kettle of water up from the stream to the fire; it sat there for a long time before Calonderiel put it on the iron tripod to heat; then it sat some more until a pair of the lads got around to washing up about half of the wooden bowls. When Aderyn wandered off, he found a young woman sitting on the ground behind one of the tents and talking to a pair of sleek brown dogs; she lay down, fell asleep, and the dogs lay down with her. Later, when he strolled back that way, they were gone.

Finally, towards twilight, the roast lamb was done. Two of the men took it off the spit and slung it down on a long wooden plank, while others kicked the various dogs away. Everyone gathered round and cut off hunks of meat, which most of them ate right there, standing up and talking. Aderyn saw Dallandra putting a few choice slices on a wooden plate and taking them away to a tent painted with vines of roses in a long, looping design.

‘Nananna must be awake,’ Halaberiel said with his mouth full. ‘She’s very old, you see, and needs her rest.’

Privately Aderyn wondered if it might be days before Nananna got around to remembering she’d had him brought here. As it grew dark, some of the elves built a second fire, then sat around it with wooden harps that looked somewhat like the ones in Deverry but which turned out to be tuned in quarter-tones; they had long wooden flutes, too, that gave out a wailing; almost unpleasant sound for a drone. They played for a few minutes, then began to sing to the harps, an intricate melody in the most peculiar harmonies Aderyn had ever heard. As he listened, trying to figure them out, Dallandra appeared.

‘She’s ready to see you. Follow me.’

They went together to the rose-painted tent. Dallandra raised the flap and motioned him to go in. When he crawled through, Aderyn came out into a soft golden light from dweomer globes hanging at the ridgepoles. All around were the Wildfolk: gnomes curled up like cats or wandering around, sprites clinging to the tent-poles, sylphs like crystal thickenings of the air. On the far side, perched like a bird on a pile of leather cushions, was a slender old woman, her head crowned with stark white braids. Aderyn could feel the power flowing from her like a breath of cool wind hitting his face, a snap and crackle in the air to match the life snapping in her violet eyes. When she gestured to him to sit down by her feet, he knelt in honest respect. Even when Dallandra joined her mistress, Aderyn couldn’t take his eyes from Nananna’s face. When she spoke, her voice was as strong and melodious as a lass’s.

‘So, you’re the dweomerman from the east, are you?’

‘Well, I’m a dweomerman from the east. I take it you had some warning of my coming.’

‘I saw somewhat in my stone.’ Nananna paused, leisurely studying his face. ‘In truth I asked for you.’

Dallandra caught her breath with a small gasp.

‘I’ll die soon,’ Nananna went on. ‘It is time, and Dallandra will have my tent, my horses, and my place among our folk.’ She laid a bony pale hand on the lass’s shoulder. ‘But I leave her a bitter legacy along with the sweet. I am old, Aderyn, and I speak bluntly. I do not like your people. I fear their greed and what it will do to us.’

‘I fear it too. Please believe me – I’d stop them if I could.’

Nananna’s eyes bored deep into his. Aderyn looked back unflinchingly and let her read the truth of what he said.

‘I have heard of the dweomer of the east,’ she said after a moment. ‘It seems to serve the Light I serve, only after its own manner.’

‘There is only one Light, but a rainbow of a thousand colours.’

Pleased by the answer, Nananna smiled, a thin twitch of bluish lips.

‘But one of those colours is the red of blood,’ she said. ‘Tell me somewhat: will your people kill mine for their land?’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of. They’ve killed others for theirs – or enslaved them.’

‘No one will ever enslave an elf,’ Dallandra broke in. ‘We’d die first, every last one of us.’

‘Hush, child!’ Nananna paused, thinking. ‘Tell me, Aderyn. What sent you to us?’

‘Just this spring I left my master and received my vision. In it I saw a river, far to the west. When Halaberiel brought me to you, I crossed that river.’

‘And do you want to go back across it to your own kind? I can have the banadar escort you.’

‘Wise One, there are some rivers that can never be recrossed.’

The old woman smiled, nodding her agreement. Aderyn felt cold with excitement, a sweet troublement. He could hear the distant singing, drifting in from the night with the wailing of flutes.

‘If you asked for me, and if I’ve been sent to you,’ Aderyn said, ‘what work do you want me to do?’

‘I’m not truly sure yet, but I do want Dallandra to have a man of your people at her side, who understands your ways as she understands ours. I see blood on the grasslands, and I hear swords and shouting. It would be a shameful thing if I didn’t even try to stop it. Will you ride with us for a while?’

‘Gladly. How can I stand by and let my folk do a murdering thing to haunt their Wyrd forever?’

‘Nicely spoken. Tell me, Dalla – can you work with this man?’

Dallandra turned her storm-cloud gaze Aderyn’s way and considered him for so long that his heart began pounding.

‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘I’d work with the Dark Fiends themselves if it would help my people. He’ll do.’

‘Well and good, then, as your folk would say.’ Nananna raised a frail hand in blessing. ‘Ride south with us, young Aderyn, and we’ll see what all our gods have in store.’

TWO

The cold autumn rains slashed down over the town of Cernmeton and sent water sheeting across the cobbles and pooling in the gutters. Wrapped in his heavy winter cloak of dark blue wool, Cinvan rode fast through the twisting streets and left it up to the few townsfolk abroad to get out of his horse’s way. He clattered through the gates of the tieryn’s dun, a walled compound centred round a stone broch, rode round to the back stables, and yelled for a groom. A stableboy came running.

‘So you’re back, are you? How was your visit home?’

‘As good as it needed to be. Did I miss any excitement?’

‘You didn’t, unless you count getting drunk in our lord’s hall as excitement.’ He sighed in a melancholy way. ‘We’ve got a Carnoic tournament going on. So far Edyl’s ahead by six games.’

‘I’ll see if I can give him a run for his coin, then.’

In the great hall smoke from the two huge hearths drifted in blue wisps across the round room. On one side the warband of thirty-five men was sitting and drinking at their tables. Up by the honour hearth, Tieryn Melaudd was slouched in his carved chair and drinking with his two sons, Waldyn and Dovyn. The tieryn was a florid-faced, raven-haired man, heavy with middle age but still capable of swinging steel. Of the sons, Waldyn, the elder, had the blond hair he’d inherited from his Deverry mother, but the younger looked much like a slender version of his father. Everyone knew that Dovyn was his father’s favourite son, too – a pity, since under the new laws he could never inherit a share of the demesne. Cinvan knelt before the tieryn, who gave him leave to speak with a wave of his hand.

‘I’ve returned to your service as I pledged you, my lord. A thousand humble thanks for giving me leave.’

‘Welcome, lad. And how fares your kin?’

‘They’re doing well, my lord.’ Cinvan was lying, but he saw no need to burden the tieryn with a problem he could do nothing about.

‘Good, good. Get yourself some ale and join your comrades.’

Cinvan rose, bowed, and made his escape from the awesome presence of the noble-born. He dipped himself a tankard of ale from the open barrel in the curve of the wall, then strolled over to join the warband. Most of the men were watching Edyl and Peddyc play Carnoic, a board game where the players moved black or white stones along a pattern of triangles in attempts to capture each other’s men. Every move the two of them made was slow, studied, and accomplished by either cheers or oaths from the rest of the warband. As Cinvan stood watching them, Garedd came over and laid a hand on his shoulder.

‘So our falcon’s flown back to the nest, has he? Pity – I was hoping you’d drown on the road.’

Cinvan threw a mock punch his way.

‘Bastard! Anything happen while I was gone?’

‘Naught. And how was Elrydd?’

‘As well as it needed to be.’

Garedd shot him a look of honest sympathy. They took their tankards and sat down at a table far from the crowd around the game.

‘And your sister?’ Garedd said.

‘That’s the cursed worst thing of all. By the hells, I was minded to beat her black-and-blue. First she has to go and get herself a bastard, and now she’s given it up.’

‘She what?’

‘Gave the babe up. To her rotten cat-eyed man. He rides in and wants the little lass – because she’ll be only a burden on our Dewigga, or so he says, and so she up and lets him take her away.’ Cinvan slammed the tankard down on the table. ‘And Da was too cursed drunk to know or care. Ah, horseshit!’

‘Now here, maybe it’s for the best. Your sister’s got a chance at a decent marriage someday now.’

‘Ah, that’s what she said, blast her! But the shame of it, my own niece, one of my blood kin, riding with the Westfolk! What’s her Da going to do, I says to Dewigga, teach her to steal? And she’s got the gall to slap me across the face and tell me to hold my tongue! Women!’

Garedd nodded in silent sympathy. Cinvan drew his dagger and began fiddling with it, just for comfort. On the hilt was graved his personal mark, the striking falcon that had earned him his nickname in the warband. He ran a heavily calloused thumb over the mark and had thoughts of slitting this Gaverenteriel’s throat for him one sweet day.

‘And you know what else Dewigga had the gall to say? She’s always known her man was going to take the babe when she was old enough. You’re cursed lucky you didn’t let me know, says I. Why do you think I held my tongue? says she. Cursed good thing, says I, and she slaps me again.’

‘Why didn’t you beat her black-and-blue?’ Garedd said.

Cinvan shrugged, laying the dagger down on the table and picking up his tankard. The truth was too bitter to tell: he’d seen too much of that already, with his father beating his mother half to death every time she looked at the old man wrong. Her sobs still echoed through his dreams.

‘Ah, wouldn’t be worth the trouble,’ Cinvan said. ‘I just tell her that if she has another bastard, don’t come running to me for coin for the midwife this time, and she flounces out of the room like a high-born lady with her nose in the air.’

‘Good for you. Women need to be kept in their place.’

‘Cursed right.’

They finished their ale in silence. At the far table, Edyl’s howl of rage – he always was a rotten loser – announced that Peddyc had won the game. Amid laughter and jests, coin changed hands all around the warband.

‘And here’s our falcon back,’ Ynryc called out, pocketing a silver piece from the defeated side. ‘Come on, Cinvan – give Peddyc here a game. You’ve got a good hand with the stones.’

‘Maybe I will, if he’ll take me on.’

‘Oh, I’m always game,’ Peddyc said, grinning. ‘Let’s see if I can keep my winnings.’

Edyl rose from his place at the board.

‘Welcome back, falcon. And has your sister given you a nephew yet? But with proper ears this time?’

The world went red. Cinvan stepped forward, hit Edyl hard in the stomach with his right and swung up to clip his jaw with his left. Edyl went down like a sack of grain as the hall exploded in shouting. Cinvan felt men grabbing his arms, heard Garedd yelling at him to calm down. Abruptly the red fog cleared. Cinvan knelt to his lord in a cold-shaking sweat.

‘And what’s all this? By the hells, you haven’t been back for one wretched hour, Cinvan.’

Cinvan nodded in dumb agreement. He was so sure that he was in for a flogging that he could already feel the whip on his back. Young Dovyn caught his father’s arm and whispered something to him.

‘Oh.’ Melaudd turned to Peddyc. ‘Did Edyl make remarks about Cinvan’s sister?’

‘He did, my lord.’

‘Well, then, he’s got what he deserved. Tell him I said so when you bring him round. But here, Cinvan, try to keep peace in my hall, will you? If you’d only ignore these stupid foul jests, they’d stop making them after a while.’

‘True spoken, my lord, and my apologies.’

Later that day, when Melaudd and Waldyn’s wives and their serving women came down from the women’s hall to sit with the noble lords at the table of honour, Dovyn came to drink with his father’s warband. Cinvan wondered if he felt more at home with the men, now that his brother had an infant son, another heir between him and Cernmeton.

‘Good to see you back, falcon.’

‘My thanks, my lord. For a lot of things.’

‘Most welcome, truly. I’ve got somewhat to ask you. I’ll be riding down to Aberwyn soon. My father’s given me leave to take some of his men along for an escort. I was thinking of you, Garedd, Peddyc, and Tauryn. Are you game for a wet ride?’

‘Gladly, my lord. Your father’s a generous man with his ale, but time hangs heavy in winter.’

‘Just that.’ Dovyn gave him a grin. ‘We might have a bit of sport in the spring though. Here, I’ll tell you the news. I’m riding to Aberwyn to lay claim to some of that empty land up by the Peddroloc. If I can gather the farmers and suchlike, by the gods, why shouldn’t I have land and a dun of my own?’

‘Why not?’ Cinvan pledged him with his tankard. ‘Good for you, my lord. I take it your father’s sponsoring you.’

‘Just that.’ Dovyn’s smile was full of boyish hopes and pride. ‘He says he’ll back me with the warband if any of the cursed Westfolk try to argue about it, too. I can fancy myself spreading the Bear clan’s name a little further west.’

‘And your clan’s glory.’ Cinvan had a swallow of ale. ‘May the Bear roam where he will.’

Two days later, when the storm eased, Lord Dovyn and his escort set out for Aberwyn. All along the way, Melaudd’s personal vassals and allies gave them a roof over their heads and ale to drink, which was all that mattered to Cinvan. Dovyn was full of his plans, chattering about them in a most unlordly manner. Since the Old Ones had already fled this part of the country, his new demesne would have to be tilled by free farmers, but there were plenty of younger sons among the Eldidd freemen. Among the commoners, a freeman could divide his property up among his heirs when he died, but who would settle for some part of a farm when he could win a whole one? With a noble lord and his warband to protect them against the Westfolk, they would be glad to move and break new land, which would become theirs in freehold in return for dues. (Back in the Homeland, the noble-born had always divided their property, too, but here in the new and hostile country, with empty land all around them, they preferred to keep holdings strong by passing them intact to one heir.) Lord Dovyn would be a poor lord at first, but his wealthy father was willing to tide him over with cattle and extra horses until the crops – and the taxes – began coming in.

About halfway through the trip, they stayed with Tieryn Braur of Belglaedd, who greeted Dovyn warmly and made sure his men had shelter in the barracks instead of the stables. At dinner that night, the four Bear riders were given decent seats at a table near the fire and all the meat and mead they wanted, though Cinvan drank little. Up at the table of honour, the young lord was talking with his host and a pretty young woman who seemed to be the tieryn’s daughter. From their long distance away, Garedd watched them with a sentimental smile.

‘I think our Dovyn’s picked out the lady of this new demesne.’

‘Huh?’ Cinvan said. ‘Who?’

‘The daughter, you dolt! Look.’

Obligingly Cinvan looked. Dovyn and the lass were smiling at each other’s every word.

‘Now, that warms a man’s heart.’ Garedd paused to belch. ‘What do you wager he had no chance of winning her before, but now he’ll have land to offer.’

‘You’re drunk.’

‘I am, but so what? It’s just like somewhat in a bard’s tale. He’ll win the land and all for her sake.’

Cinvan ignored him and had another swallow of mead.

Since the men of the Bear were direct personal vassals of the princes of Aberwyn, Dovyn and his escort sheltered in the royal dun itself, a vast many-towered broch in the middle of Aberwyn. At meals, the Bearsmen sat at one side of an enormous great hall that had room enough to seat two hundred and watched their lord, far away at the other near a hearth made of fine pale stone, all carved with the princely dragons of the rhan. During the day, they had leave to wander round the town, which with its twenty thousand inhabitants was the biggest place Cinvan had ever seen. Every morning he and Garedd walked down to the harbour, where the Prince’s four war galleys rode at anchor and merchant ships came and went. In the afternoon they would go to one of the taverns that the prince’s men recommended and pick up a couple of cheap whores, or sometimes only one to spare the extra cost. As Garedd remarked one day, life in Aberwyn was a cursed sight more amusing than playing Carnoic in Melaudd’s hall or badgering a kitchen maid into taking a tumble with them out in the hayloft.

Unfortunately, every earthly paradise comes to an end sooner or later. On their last day in Aberwyn, Cinvan and Garedd went down to their favourite tavern to say a sentimental farewell to the lasses there. As they were sitting over a couple of tankards, a stout grey-haired fellow in red and white checked brigga came into the room. Uneasily he threw his fur-lined cloak back from his shoulders and looked with disdain at the chipped tables, straw-strewn floor, and blowzy wenches.

‘Now what’s he doing in here?’ Garedd said.

‘Looking for us. See? Here he comes.’

The merchant strode over to their table with a friendly if somewhat fixed smile.

‘My name’s Namydd. I see you ride for the Bear clan.’

‘Well, so we do,’ Garedd said, and he was the one who went on talking to the merchant while Cinvan sat and glowered. ‘And what can we do for you, good sir?’