Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [34]
“Don't try to kneel or bow,” Maryn said. “How do you fare?”
“Not so well, Your Highness, I'm afraid.”
“You look pale about the mouth still,” Nevyn put in. “After the army rides out, I'll have a better look at you.”
“My thanks, my lord.”
“Mine, too,” the prince said, nodding Nevyn's way. “I wanted to see you, Maddo, because I was just remembering how you and the silver daggers smuggled me from Pyrdon to Cerrmor, all those years ago. We had so little then, do you remember? And we hadn't the slightest idea of what we were riding into.”
“So we hadn't.” Maddyn smiled, the first time he'd felt like doing so in some days. “And you slept on the ground like an ordinary rider.”
“I did.” The prince smiled in return. “I remember sharing a fire with you and Branoic.” The smile vanished, and for a moment the prince was silent. “Ah well,” he said at last, “long time ago now, but that ride began everything. And so I wanted to come thank you now that we're about to end the matter.” Maryn held out his hand. “I only wish that Caradoc were here.”
“So do I, my liege, so do I.”
As he shook hands with the prince, Maddyn felt tears in his eyes, mourning not only Caradoc but all the men the silver daggers had lost in one battle or another. It had been a long road that they'd travelled to bring the prince to his rightful Wyrd.
“Well,” the prince said, “I'd best be gone and let you rest. It's time to get our men ready to march.”
Nevyn left with the prince, and Maddyn crawled back into his tent and lay down. The canvas roof, glowing from the light outside, seemed to spin around him. He'd not eaten a true meal in days, but was it hunger making him so light-headed? He doubted it. More likely it was the grief of war.
Nevyn accompanied the prince back to the royal tent. Out in front of it, his vassals were gathering to receive their orders for the battle ahead. Gwerbret Daeryc and Gwerbret Ammerwdd stood in front of the huge red-and-white banners of the wyvern throne, and the rising sun gilded their mail and glittered on their sword hilts. Behind them stood the tieryns, and behind them, the men who could only claim a lordship for their rank.
“Good morrow, my lords,” Maryn said, grinning. “Shall we go for a bit of a ride on this lovely morning?”
Some laughed, some cheered him.
“Very well,” Maryn went on. “We're dividing our army to match Lord Braemys's little plan.”
Nevyn merely listened as they worked out the battle plan. Gwerbret Ammerwdd would command approximately half the army and station it, looking east, across the main road. The other half, with Maryn in charge, would make its stand facing south at the rear of the other. As an extra precaution, Maryn decided to send some twenty men a few miles north to keep a watch for any further cleverness that Nevyn's night travels might have missed.
“Good idea,” Gwerbret Ammerwdd said. “I don't trust this son of a Boar.”
“Indeed.” Daeryc glanced at Ammerwdd. “The crux is this. Your men have to hold until Braemys charges the prince. We can't be turning our line to join your fight until then.”
“I'm well aware of that.” Ammerwdd's voice turned flat. “And I think our prince knows he may trust me on the matter.”
“Of course!” Maryn stepped in between them. “I have the highest regard for both of you.” All at once Maryn grinned. “I think me Lord Braemys is in for a bit of a surprise.”
“So we may hope,” Nevyn put in. “He's badly outnumbered, and cleverness was the best weapon he had.”
“Well, it's blunted now. Still—” Maryn hesitated. “Pray for us, and for the kingdom.”
“Always, Your Highness. Always.”
When the army rode out, Nevyn stood at the edge of the camp and watched till they were out of sight. The cloud of dust that marked their going hung in the air, as cloying as smoke, for a long time. Perhaps, he told himself, perhaps today will be the last battle ever fought over the kingship. All he could do now to ensure it was to invoke the gods and hope. With a weary shake of his head, he walked over to the circle of wagons to meet with the