Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [27]
“You'll live,” Nevyn announced.
“Good.” All at once Maddyn tried to sit up. “The rose pin.”
“What?” Nevyn pushed him down again. “Lie still!”
“I've got to find the rose pin. On my shirt.”
All at once Nevyn remembered. “The token the princess gave you, you mean?”
“It was on my shirt.”
“All your clothes are right outside. It can wait.”
Maddyn shook his head and tried to sit up again. Fortunately, a servant provided a distraction when he came in, carrying in one hand a black kettle filled with steaming water.
“My thanks,” Nevyn said. “Put that down over there by the big cloth sack. I've got another errand for you. On the bard's shirt outside—”
“The rose pin, my lord?” The servant held out his other hand. “Branoic told me to bring it to him.”
On his palm lay the token. Nevyn plucked it off and showed it to Maddyn, who lay back down.
“I'll pin this on my own shirt,” Nevyn said, “so it won't get lost.”
Maddyn smiled, his eyes closed. Nevyn set a packet of emetics to steeping, then called in Branoic. Together they carried Maddyn and the kettle outside, where the herbwa-ter could do its work while sparing the tent. The rest of the night passed unpleasantly, but toward dawn Nevyn realized that Maddyn was on the mend when the bard managed to drink some well-watered ale and keep it down. He sent young Garro off to wash Maddyn's clothes and told Branoic to try feeding Maddyn a little bread soaked in ale the next time he woke.
“I've got an errand to run,” Nevyn said. “I wonder where Oggyn's had his servant pitch his tent?”
“Just back of the prince's own,” Branoic said. “He's put a red pennant upon it.”
“Just like the lord he wants to be, eh? Very well then.”
In the silver light of approaching dawn the tent proved easy enough to find. Nevyn lifted the flap and spoke Oggyn's name.
“I'm awake, my lord,” Oggyn said, and he sounded exhausted. “Come in.”
Nevyn ducked through the tent flap and found Oggyn fully dressed, sitting on a little stool in the semidarkness. Nevyn called upon the spirits of Aethyr and set a ball of dweomer light glowing. When he stuck it to the canvas Oggyn barely seemed to notice.
“I've been expecting you,” Oggyn said. “I heard what happened to Maddyn. The gossip's all over the camp. I suppose you think I made that wretched bard ill on purpose.”
“I had thoughts that way, truly,” Nevyn said. “Was it only the spoiled pork, or did you use a bit of Lady Merodda's poisons?”
“Neither, I swear it!” Oggyn began to tremble, and by the dweomer light Nevyn could see that his face had gone pasty white around the eyes. “Even if I had given them that barrel, how could I ensure that only Maddyn would eat the stuff? Nevyn, do you truly think I'd poison the entire troop to get at him?”
“Shame is a bitter thing,” Nevyn said, “and you had a score or two to settle with Owaen and Branoic as well.”
Oggyn slid off the stool and dropped to his knees. “Ah ye gods! Do you think I'd do anything that would harm our prince?”
“What? Of course not!”
“He depends upon the silver daggers.” Oggyn looked up. Big drops of sweat ran down his face. “Think you I'd poison his guards?”
“Well.” Nevyn considered for a long moment. “Truly, I have to give you that. And there's no doubt that spoiled meat will give a man the flux as surely as Merodda's poisons would.”
Oggyn nodded repeatedly, as if urging him along this line of thought. Nevyn opened his dweomer sight and considered Oggyn's aura, dancing a pale sickly grey in terror but free of guile.
“Will you swear to me again?” Nevyn said.
“I will,” Oggyn said. “May Great Bel strike me dead if I lie. I did not try to poison Maddyn or anyone else. That salt pork should have been left at the dun for the dogs.”
The aura pulsated with fear but fear alone.
“Very well,” Nevyn said at last. “You have my apology.”
Oggyn