Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [43]
Lilli put the mirror and knife away, then wrapped up the cut-off hair in the sleeve of the shirt that would have been Branoic's. She put the shirt away, then returned to her chair and stared out the window. Every breath she drew made her chest ache, as if her grief had filled her lungs and turned them heavy.
The sun had barely started to climb into the sky when Nevyn left his tent and went to tend the wounded. He found Caudyr there ahead of him, and as they started their work, other chirurgeons came to join them and some of the servants as well. As Nevyn had feared, several men had died in the night. The servants wrapped them in blankets and carried them away. Nevyn had finished his rounds and was just washing the gore off his hands and arms when Gavlyn, the prince's chief herald, came running, carrying a long staff bound with ribands.
“My lord Nevyn!” Gavlyn called out. “Lord Braemys wants to parley.”
“Indeed?” Nevyn said. “Well, that's welcome news!”
Together they hurried across the camp. The night before, servants had pitched Maryn's tent apart from those of the other noble-born; a good ten feet of bare ground surrounded it. Out in front a groom waited with Gavlyn's dun gelding, saddled and bridled. In the horse's black mane hung ribands of red and yellow. Maryn himself came out of the tent just as Nevyn arrived; he wore the red-and-white plaid of Cerrmor, pinned at one shoulder with the huge silver brooch that marked him as a prince.
“This is good news,” Maryn remarked to Nevyn. “I'm hoping and praying that Braemys wants to swear fealty and end this thing.”
“So am I, Your Highness,” Nevyn said, “so am I.”
“We should know soon. Gavlyn, you have my leave to go.”
But in the end they waited a good long while to hear Lord Braemys's decision. All that morning, while Maryn paced, stewing with impatience in front of his tent, the heralds rode back and forth, negotiating the conditions for the meeting between Prince Maryn and Lord Braemys. Each side suspected the other of having treachery in mind, and as Maryn remarked to Nevyn, he could understand why.
“The war's been hard enough fought,” the prince said, “and my men did kill his father.”
“And his men did his best to kill you,” Nevyn said, “by a ruse.”
Over the next long while, Maryn's vassals strolled over to join him in ones and twos. Daeryc and Ammerwdd paced up and down with him. The lower-ranked men sat on the ground and talked among themselves in low voices. Finally, not long before noon, Gavlyn returned, leading his horse with one hand and carrying the staff in the other. Everyone got up fast, but no one spoke, not even the prince. The groom trotted forward and took the dun gelding's reins, but when he started to lead the horse away, Gavlyn stopped him.
“I'll be going back out, lad,” Gavlyn said. He turned to the prince and bowed. “Your Highness, this is going to be a long slow thing. We've spent what, half the morning? And we've only got this far: Braemys wishes to discuss terms, but he'll only do so under certain conditions.”
A good many of the lords swore, muttering among themselves. When Maryn raised a hand, they fell silent.
“Oh ye gods!” Maryn said. “And does he think he's in any position to dictate these conditions?”
“He doesn't, Your Highness,” Gavlyn said. “There's no arrogance here, just fear. Their herald's going to ride back to their camp when he gets my answer. A long ride, he said, but he refused to tell me the slightest thing that might tell me where the camp was. I take it that Lord Braemys's army is much depleted.”
Everyone turned to look at Nevyn. Since he'd scryed on the etheric during the night past, he had answer for them.
“It is,” Nevyn said. “I'd say he has no more than a thousand men, and that's a very generous guess. A good many of his allies must have deserted him.”
“Indeed?” Ammerwdd stepped forward. “If we were to hunt him down, we'd have an easy victory and end the Boar clan forever.”
“Your Grace!” Gavlyn turned dead-white. “The man's asked for parley.”
“Just so.” Maryn