A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [16]
As it turned out, they didn’t have long to wait. Just as the sun was setting, they heard a guard shout from the outer limits of the camp and rose to see what the trouble was. Two men came riding toward them from the east, and as the setting sun washed them with gold, Branoic realized that it was the Marked Prince and the councillor. Beside him Aethan laughed, a crow of triumph.
“So we’re going to Cerrmor after all, are we? Well played, Maddo! They took us in good and proper with that fanfare and pomp in the ward this morning.”
Cheering, laughing, the entire troop left the camp and jogged down the road to meet their liege. Since he was acutely aware of his place as the newest man in the troop, Branoic lingered off to one side rather than shove his way forward to get near to the prince. Muttering under his breath, Nevyn made his way free of the mob and came over, leading his horse.
“Ye gods!” the old man snapped. “They’ll be able to hear all this shouting back in Dun Drwloc if it keeps up.”
“Well, sir, we were all cursed disappointed when we thought we wouldn’t be riding with the prince.”
“Were you now? An honorable sentiment, that. Now listen, lad. From now on Maryn is a silver dagger and naught else. No doubt Caradoc will impress that upon you all, but it won’t hurt to say it more than once.”
“Of course, good sir. I take it he’ll have a new name and suchlike?”
“He won’t.” Nevyn gave him a sly smile. “I decided that if our enemies saw through this ruse at all, they’d be expecting a false name, so he’ll just be Maryn. It’s a very common name in this part of the world.”
“Well, so it is, but—”
“Trust me, lad. There are times when the safest place to hide something is out in plain sight.” The smile faded, and he looked suddenly very weary. “I’ll pray that this is one of those times.”
“Well and good, then, sir. So will I.”
“My thanks. Oh, by the way, lad, I have a favor to ask of you and Maddo—and Aethan, too, of course. Can Maryn share your fire and generally camp with you?”
“Of course! Ye gods, we’ll all be honored beyond dreaming, good councillor.”
“No doubt, but please, do your best to treat him the way you’d treat any other man. He won’t take offense—he knows that his life depends on it.”
Branoic nodded his agreement, but mentally he was half-giddy with pride—not because the true king of all Deverry would be dining with him that night, but because Nevyn had somehow assumed that Maddyn and he formed a unit, a pair you could take for granted. Me and Maddyn, he thought, it sounds right. Then he blushed, wondering why his heart was pounding so hard, the same way it did when he saw some pretty lass he fancied.
Although he of course never explained them to Branoic or indeed any of the silver daggers, Nevyn had several tricks at his disposal to hide the prince. For one thing, he simply withdrew all the glamours that the elemental spirits had been casting over the boy, so that when he changed into the scruffy brigga and much-mended shirt that Caradoc had ready for him, all his supernatural air of power and magnetism vanished along with the fine clothes. For another, with Maryn’s complete cooperation he ensorcelled the prince and suggested to his subconscious mind that he had difficulty in speaking—though in nothing else. He also suggested that on a simple cue, the difficulty would vanish. Once he removed the ensorcellment, the suggestion took effect, and the prince who’d always held forth like the hero of an ancient epic now stammered as he struggled to find the right words to express a simple, routine thought. All of the silver daggers swore in amazement and said that they wouldn’t recognize him themselves if they didn’t know better, but they, of course, thought that the prince was merely acting a part.
Which in a way he always was, or, what was perhaps worse, the prince always lived his part in the strange epic that they were composing not with their words, but with their lives. At times, when he remembered the happy, charming little lad that Maryn once had been, Nevyn felt