A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [17]
First, of course, they had to get the lad and his councillor safely to Cerrmor before he could be any kind of king. Nevyn figured out a way to hide himself, too. Since there had to be some reason for an old man to be traveling with a mercenary troop, he decided to pass himself off as a jewel merchant who’d paid the troop a fee for allowing him to ride in the safety of their numbers. He knew enough about precious stones to bring this ruse off, and since Casyl had given him what few royal jewels there were to take to the Cerrmor princess, he could use them as his stock-in-trade. The real danger now lay in their desperate need to keep up these ruses. Since working dweomer leaves obvious tracks on the etheric and astral planes for those who know how to look for them, Nevyn could use no dweomer at all until the prince was safely in Cerrmor territory—not one single spell, not even lighting a fire or scrying someone out. He’d also asked the kings of the elements to keep their people away from him and the prince, which meant that he was deprived of any danger warning that the Wildfolk might give him, too. After two hundred years of living wrapped round by dweomer, he felt naked, just as in one of those hideous dreams where you find yourself being presented to the High King only to realize that your skirts or brigga have somehow been left behind at home.
In the morning they had a more mundane problem to worry about, or at least, Nevyn profoundly hoped that it was mundane. They woke to a slate-gray sky and a western wind that smelt of spring rain, and just after noon the storm broke. Although the rain held steady, the wind dropped in a few hours. Nevyn agreed with the captain that they’d better keep riding as long as the roads were passable. What troubled him was wondering if the storm was a natural phenomenon or if some dark dweomerman had called it up. There was nothing he could do to find out without giving their ruse away, and much less could he fight back with dweomer.
That evening, when he shared a cold dinner with Cara-doc, he had to force his eyes away from the campfire lest he start seeing the Wildfolk in it. Since the captain was wrapped in a black hiraedd of his own, they had an unpleasant meal of it until Nevyn decided to ease Caradoc’s mood.
“What troubles your heart, Captain? It must be a grave thing indeed.”
“Do I look as glum as that?”
“You do, truly.”
Caradoc sighed, hesitated, then shrugged.
“Well, good councillor—I mean, good merchant—I’ve just been wondering what kind of welcome I’m in for down in Cerrmor.”
“Well, the king’s pardoned you already—for all and sundry and in advance.”
“But I’d never hold him to it if it was going to cause him trouble, and it might. There’s a powerful lord who just might take umbrage at that kind of pardon, and I don’t want him stirring things up behind the prince’s back, like.”
“Oh.”
They sat in silence for a moment more.
“Ah horseshit!” Caradoc said abruptly. “What happened was this. I wasn’t welcome at home for a number of reasons that I’ll keep to myself, if you don’t mind and all, and my father found me a place in the warband of a man named Lord Tidvulc. Ever hear of him?”
“I haven’t, truly.”
“Well, he was decent enough in his way, but his eldest