Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [48]
“Er, she was, truly.”
“Do you know why?”
Nevyn sighed, considering. Anasyn would eventually discover the truth no matter what he did.
“Well, my lord,” Nevyn said at last, “her fortunes have become quite complicated. She was betrothed to Branoic, and I truly do think she loved him, but the prince took quite a fancy to her.”
Anasyn's face turned scarlet. His hands tightened on his reins so hard that his horse jerked its head up. With a foul oath Anasyn relaxed the reins again.
“I can see why no one told me.” Anasyn's voice growled. “Was she willing?”
“Of course! Our prince would never force a woman, never.”
“Forgive me. I know that's true.”
“Lilli's very young, and she was flattered. Maryn could charm fish out of the sea if he set his mind to it.”
“No doubt.” Anasyn hesitated, thinking. “I'll discuss it with her when we return to the dun, then. My thanks for the truth.”
They rode in silence the rest of the way.
Some miles from the Wyvern camp the path brought them to the grassy rise mentioned by the Boar clan's herald. As they walked their horses up the slope, Nevyn suddenly realized that something was wrong. He could hear birds squawking, and just as he was about to point this out to Anasyn, a flurry of ravens rose, squabbling among themselves as they circled the hill only to settle again out of sight.
“Oh by the gods!” Anasyn snapped. “This bodes ill.”
When they crested the rise they could look down the grassy slope to the camp below, or to what once had been a camp. Spread out across the flat lay corpses, all tumbled around, some half-dressed. Nevyn saw not a single wagon or tent, not a horse, either. Anasyn turned in the saddle and called out to the men behind them.
“Don't bring the wagons up! There's no need.”
With ten of his men for a guard, Anasyn and Nevyn rode down the slope. Birds rose and a cloud of flies as well. Nevyn dismounted, dropped his horse's reins to make him stand, then jogged into the camp. The stench of rot in the hot sun nearly overwhelmed him, but he steeled himself and went on. He could see that every single man there had had his throat cut, no doubt on the day before, while their lord still bargained for their safety. More slowly Anasyn followed, shaking his head in disbelief.
“What?” Anasyn snapped. “Who did this? Braemys? Was this his idea of a jest or taunt or suchlike?”
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Nevyn said. “It's the bandits, I'd wager. Remember his amnesty to men who'd lost their lords? Some of them doubtless were good men and loyal to their new warband, but others—”
“The ones that broke and ran during the battle. They couldn't loot on the field, so they took what they wanted here.” Anasyn shuddered convulsively. “Well, no doubt our liege will be hunting them down soon enough.”
When, after their return to camp, Maryn heard the story, he fulfilled Anasyn's prophecy, vowing to round up the bandits as soon as he'd been invested as high king.
“The cowards!” Maryn snarled. “Pisspoor bastards, more dogs than men! I'll hang the lot if it takes me the rest of the summer.”
“Good,” Nevyn said. “It turned my stomach. Tieryn Anasyn had his men bury them properly.”
“That gladdens my heart. Ye gods, I hope that our own wounded fare well!”
“That thought had crossed my mind. I'm glad Your Highness doubled the size of that escort.”
The bandits, however, must have ridden in some other direction, for they spared the Wyvern men. Maddyn had been leading his ragged procession of wounded riders, wounded horses, and wagons as fast as they could go—no more than some ten miles a day, by his rough figuring. No one could stay in the saddle for long, but the men in the carts fared worse, bounced, rattled, and thrown about by every stone in the road. At the end of each day's travelling the healthy men of the escort would bury those who had died, and in the morning, before they set out west again, they would bury anyone who had died in the night.
It was no wonder then that messengers from the prince caught up with them. In the middle of an afternoon