A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [164]
It was on a warm morning in late summer, just about the time of the last apple harvest, that Nevyn saw from his tower room a horseman riding toward Cannobaen. Thinking that it was the usual messenger from Pertyc, and that the servants would see to it that the man had a meal and a place to sleep, he went on studying some diagrams of sigils that he’d brought from Bardek. In a while, though, there was a cautious tap at the door. Swearing under his breath, he opened it to find Maer. His eyes were so weary, and his face so thin and pinched, that he seemed to have aged ten years. Nevyn was shocked to see the silver dagger back in his belt.
“If I’m disturbing you, my lord, I’ll just ride on.”
“What? Of course not! I take it you’re not here as Pertyc’s man.”
“I’m not.” He looked down at the floor and bit his lower lip as if he were fighting back tears.
“Well, let’s go down to the great hall and have some ale, and you can tell me what’s gone wrong.”
“It’s simple enough, my lord. Glae’s dead.”
Nevyn stared, gape-mouthed.
“Childbirth?” he said at last.
“Just that, and our son dead with her. The baby was just too big, the midwife said, and it was like the birthing beat them both to death.” His face went dead white, and he trembled, remembering. “Ye gods, I had to get out of Aberwyn. His grace asked me to stay, but I just couldn’t bear it. So I thought I’d come tell you the news and say farewell, and then it’s back on the long road for me.”
“My heart aches for you, and more for Glae.” Nevyn felt a stab of guilt, a wondering if he could have saved her if only he’d been in Aberwyn, but at that time, he had none of the knowledge nor the surgical tools of a Bardek physician to cut open a womb and try, at least, to save the babe if not the mother. “But don’t make some hasty move, lad.”
“That’s what Lord Pertyc said, too, but I know my own mind, my lord.” He looked up with the faintest ghost of a smile. “But I’ll take that ale, sure enough, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Over the ale Maer told Nevyn more details about Glae’s death, but as he rehearsed what had been for everyone concerned a time of horror, his voice stayed cold and flat, his eyes fixed and distant. Only his bloodless face betrayed the effort it was costing him to stay calm. During the story the blue sprite appeared to sit beside him on the bench. She was frankly gleeful, clapping soundless hands and showing her mouthful of pointed teeth in a wild grin. Yet when at the end Maer glanced her way, she stopped grinning abruptly and arranged her face into a decent imitation of sadness.
“Does she understand what’s happened, Nevyn?” Maer said.
“She doesn’t, lad. She doesn’t have a real mind, you know. So don’t be harsh with her if she’s glad her rival’s gone.”
“I was furious at first. But then I started thinking about some of the things you’d told me, and I figured well, she’s like a clever dog, no doubt, and naught more.”
“Brighter than that, because she can understand speech even if she can’t use it. Have you ever seen a monkey or an ape?”
“A what, my lord?”
“Animals they have in Bardek. But if you haven’t seen them, my comparison won’t do you any good. Think of her as a little child, then.”
By being persuasive enough for a Bardek politician Nevyn managed to get Maer to stay for three more days, but nothing he said would change the silver dagger’s mind about leaving Pertyc’s service. The gwerbret, it seemed, had told him that he could come back anytime; the most Maer would allow was that someday, if the long road got too cold and hungry, he might think about returning.
“If you live that long, I suppose,” Nevyn remarked one night at dinner. “What are you planning on doing? Getting yourself killed in some battle straightaway?”
“I’m not, my lord. If it was suicide on my mind, I’d have drowned myself in Aberwyn Harbor, but I’m not the sort of man for that.