Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [151]
“Oh, come now, do you really think he’d be that stupid? He should be sending a messenger to Rhys to sue for peace.”
Aderyn’s eyes were unusually sly.
“No doubt he is. But answer my question anyway. I’ll explain later when there’s more time.”
“Well and good, then. Let me think. Huh. Talidd of Belglaedd, no doubt.”
“My thanks.”
And then the image was gone, leaving Nevyn to wonder just what scheme his old pupil had afoot.
Because Lord Corbyn received coin in taxes from his bridge over the Delonderiel, Dun Bruddlyn was a solid fort, ringed by stone walls and large enough to house a warband of over a hundred men. Although Loddlaen usually hated being penned up there, he was glad to reach it that night. As what was left of the army crawled in the gates, Loddlaen turned his horse over to a servant and hurried up to his chambers on the top floor of the broch. He threw back the shutters from the window in his bedchamber and leaned out into the clean evening air. He was so exhausted that he was close to tears.
It was all Aderyn’s fault, he told himself, all his fault because he wouldn’t let me send the storm like I wanted. Well, maybe the old man won the first skirmish, but there’ll be other battles.
“I’m not defeated yet!” Loddlaen snarled in Elvish. “No, not I, Loddlaen the Mighty, Master of the Powers of Air!”
But when he turned from the window, he saw Aderyn, standing in the middle of the chamber. The image was so clear and solid that Loddlaen cried out, thinking that he was there in the body. Only when the vision wavered slightly did he realize that it was a projection and that he had forgotten to set his astral seals over the dun.
“Lad, lad, my son, please, listen to me. You still have one last chance. I know that someone was working on you, using you. Surrender now and make restitution. If any more men die because of you, you’ll be beyond forgiveness. Surrender now while you can still be helped.”
Aderyn looked so heartsick that Loddlaen sobbed once aloud. His father was standing there, offering to forgive him; his father had known all along what he’d only just discovered, that he’d been ensorceled, that he’d been weak and stupid enough to let himself be ensorceled by an enemy in disguise.
“Lad,” Aderyn said. “I beg you.”
Shame, embarrassment, a kind of self-loathing—they rose, choking him, turning suddenly to dirty smoke that filled the room and obscured Aderyn’s image. Loddlaen wanted to cry out, to reach out his hand to his father, but the smoke was making him gag, and all at once, he was furious, trembling and screaming with rage.
“Get out! Get out! I don’t need your help!”
Loddlaen called up power and threw a stream of pure force, a barrage of fiery light, but long before it could hit the image was gone. Loddlaen fell to his knees and wept in the midst of the churning, filthy smoke, which slowly, a wisp at a time, cleared of its own accord.
It was a long time before he could get himself under control. He rose and staggered to a small table, where a pitcher of mead and a goblet stood ready, poured himself a full goblet, and drank it straight down. All at once, he could no longer bear to be alone. Goblet still in hand, he ran out of the chamber and hurried down the spiral staircase.
Lord Corbyn’s great hall was a hot, smoky confusion of men, sitting at tables, standing in the curve of the wall, talking in low voices, or merely drinking ale down as fast as the servants could pour it. Loddlaen took his usual place at Corbyn’s right. Across from him was Nowec, his eyes dazed as he looked around him. Even though Loddlaen had lost the others, he’d been able to keep his ensorcelment upon this lord. Corbyn was eating a slice of roast pork, biting into it, then cutting off the bite with a greasy dagger.
“Glad you came down, councillor,” Nowec said. “Your lord and I have just been discussing sending messengers to the gwerbret to sue