Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [28]
“Good morrow, my lady,” he said. “Your fame has spread through the whole dun.”
“Has it, now?” Gweniver still felt shaken. “Well, I suppose that gladdens my heart.”
“Well, a Moon-sworn warrior’s a rare thing, but truly, the times are dark enough for Her of the Sword-Struck Heart.”
Gweniver frankly stared. How did a man know that secret name? Nevyn bowed gravely to her.
“You’ll excuse me, Your Holiness. I have to make sure those pages unpack the herbs carefully. No doubt we’ll meet again.”
When he strolled away, Gweniver stared after him for a long time. Finally she turned to Ricyn.
“Oh, well and good, then, Captain,” she snapped. “He’s dweomer, sure enough.”
At about the same time, the king was holding conclave in the narrow council chamber, which stood bare except for a long table and a parchment map of Deverry on the stone wall. At the head of the table Glyn sat in a high-backed chair draped with the ceremonial plaid of the kingship. Dannyn sat at his right, and the councillors in their black robes perched on stools like crows round spilled grain. This particular morning the king had invited Amain, high priest of Bel in Cerrmor, to attend. While the councillors rose one at a time to give solemn advice on matters of war, Dannyn stared out the window and thought of other things, because the real decisions would be hammered out later between the king and his warrior-vassals. Toward the end of the meeting, though, the discussion hit upon a matter that caught Dannyn’s attention. Saddar, an old man with white side whiskers and trembling chin, rose and bowed to the King.
“My most humble apologies, my liege, for questioning you,” he said. “But I was wondering why you took the Lady Gweniver into your warband.”
“After all her clan’s done for me, I didn’t feel I could deny her the boon she begged for. I’m sure Dannyn here can keep her from coming to any real harm, and soon enough she’ll tire of riding to war.”
“Ah.” The old man paused, glancing at the other councillors for support. “We were thinking that perhaps she could be spared the rigors more simply, you see, by simply coercing her back to her temple, then telling her men later.”
Dannyn pulled his jeweled dagger and threw, hitting the table directly in front of Saddar. With a shriek the councillor leaped back as the dagger stuck, quivering in the wood.
“Tell me somewhat,” Dannyn remarked. “How can a coward like you judge a warrior like her?”
When the king laughed, all the councillors forced out laughs, too, even Saddar.
“Dannyn thinks highly of her spirit, good sirs,” Glyn said. “I trust his judgment in such matters.”
“Never would I question Lord Dannyn in matters of war, my liege. I was merely thinking of the propriety of the thing.”
“You can shove that up your behind,” Dannyn snapped.
“Hold your tongue!” the king intervened sharply. “Good councillor, I assure you that I respect your wisdom far more than my arrogant brother here does, but I’ve already given the lady my sworn word of honor. Besides, I’ve invited his holiness here to the council to explain this matter for us.”
Everyone turned to the priest, who rose with a nod of recognition all round. Like all of Bel’s vassals, his head was shaved clean, and he wore a gold torque around his neck and a simple linen tunic, belted at the waist with a bit of plain rope. From the belt hung a small golden sickle.
“The king wished to know of the status of Lady Gweniver’s worship,” Amain said in his soft, dark voice. “It’s a most legitimate one, going back to the Dawntime, when, as the chronicles record, women were forced to become warriors by the cruel press of circumstance. The worship of the Moon in Her Darktime is by no means to be confused with the rites of either Epona or Aranrhodda.” At the mention of the second name, he paused to cross his fingers in the