Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [44]
Ammerwdd started to speak, then caught himself with a shrug.
“Very well,” Maryn went on. “What are these conditions?”
“I've no idea, Your Highness. We've not got that far.”
“Ye gods!” Ammerwdd muttered. “How long will the little bastard weasel? It's an insult, Your Highness, for a man to drag these things out. How long are we going to put up with him mocking our honor?”
“Consider this, Your Grace,” Maryn said. “Suppose we cut the parley short. Braemys and his men will flee. If they reach Cantrae safely, we could spend a year digging them out of it.”
“True spoken.” Ammerwdd gave in with a bow in the prince's direction. “He won't talk as long as all that.”
“Just so.” Maryn smiled, then turned to Gavlyn. “Tell the Boar clan's herald that we'll parley till we reach an honorable conclusion to the matter.”
“My thanks, Your Highness. I'll just be on my way, then.”
To pass the time till Gavlyn returned, Nevyn organized the wagon train that would carry the wounded home to Dun Deverry. Maryn designated fifty sound men for an escort, and Oggyn handed over supplies for everyone. By then the army had eaten enough of their supplies to free up six wagons. Others of the wounded men would be able to ride.
“Just keep the pace slow,” Nevyn told Maddyn. “Not that you'll have much choice in that.”
“True spoken,” Maddyn said. “Do you have private letters you want delivered, my lord?”
“I do.” Nevyn reached into his shirt and handed him two silver message tubes. “One for Bellyra, one for Lilli. Go to Lilli first. She'll read the headings and tell you which is which.”
“The princess can read, too.”
“I know, but I don't want her getting a look at Lilli's letter.”
“I see.” Maddyn smiled briefly. “Very well, my lord. Lilli first it is.”
Maddyn put the letters into his own shirt for safekeeping. Nevyn considered him: still pale and visibly thinner, but he had managed to keep some porridge down that morning.
“Be careful of what you eat and drink,” Nevyn said. “No dried beef and suchlike for you, bard.”
“Oh, have no fear of that, my lord! One round of spoiled food is enough to last me for life.”
The wounded men left camp at noon. Nevyn stood in the road and watched them go until the dust cloud shrank to a smear on the distant view. He could only hope that they'd all reach the dun alive, but for many of them, he feared.
All that afternoon Gavlyn and the Boar's herald held their talks out in a green pasture to the north of the camp. By evening, nothing had been truly settled, but Gavlyn felt confident that the herald was bargaining in good faith.
“We'll reach an end to this eventually,” Gavlyn told Nevyn. “Not soon, but eventually.”
“What exactly is Braemys so afraid of?” Nevyn said. “Do you know?”
“From what his herald told me, I'm guessing he fears capture more than death. He suspects our prince of wanting to hang him.”
“Ah. That would explain it, then. It's a terrible death for a fighting man.”
“I don't know how convincing I am, but I've tried to make clear to the herald that Maryn is the soul of honor.”
“Well and good, then. There's not much else you can do.”
On the morrow the negotiations started again. Soon after Gavlyn rode out, Nevyn noticed a few wisps of cloud streaking the western quadrant of the sky. A west wind picked up, and all morning the clouds came in, a few stipples at first, then a sky-spanning reach of them, like a spill of clabbered milk against a blue dish. Oh splendid! Nevyn thought. The most important parley in a hundred years, and it's going to rain! Unless, of course, he did something about it. He left the prince to his vassals and hurried to his tent.
Outside the noisy life of the camp strolled by: men laughing and jesting, or mourning some dead friend in an outburst of rage. Thanks to long practice Nevyn could withdraw his attention from it all. He sat down cross-legged, let his breathing calm, then visualized a ray of silver light circling