Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [54]
“Nevyn?” Maryn said abruptly. “Are you well?”
“I am, my liege. I was just thinking about Eldidd.”
“Do you truly think the king will keep pushing his claim now? It was always the weakest of the three.”
“It was, and for a hundred years, the Eldidd kings have pushed it anyway.”
Maryn nodded, looking ahead of him where his stripped-down force waited for him, the men standing beside their weary horses.
“No doubt he'll attack Pyrdon,” Maryn said, “to draw me west. Do you think it will be this summer?”
“I don't. It will take some time for the news of your victory to even reach him. He'll want better information than the tale will carry with it. By the time he gets that, summer will be nearly over.”
“Next year, then. There's only one way to ensure the peace, you know.”
“What's that, Your Highness?”
“Conquer Eldidd. Put an end to it, turn it into a province.”
Nevyn's weariness increased fivefold. But he's right, he told himself. Alas, he's right.
Since Maddyn was the only man sleeping in the silver daggers' barracks, the silence began to trouble him. He took to staying in the great hall as long as possible of an evening, and to rising with the dawn to return there, but unless he wanted to sleep in the straw with the dogs and servants, he had no choice but to spend the night in his lonely bunk. He'd spent his entire adult life sleeping in the midst of a warband. Privacy meant nothing to him but the prospect of bad dreams.
After the first few nights, ghosts came to join him, or so it seemed. He would wake in pitch-darkness because of some sound or other, sit up on his bunk, and listen while he tried to convince himself that he was only hearing the wind at the shutters or a horse moving about in its stall below. Yet he could clearly hear men's voices, soft murmurs of regret, the occasional curse or angry quarrel, the occasional burst of laughter at some jest. He could never quite understand their words. At times he'd see someone out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, they'd be gone. Once, when a drift of moonlight came in an open window, he was sure that he saw Branoic standing beside his old bunk. Maddyn called his name, and the figure turned toward him, but when he sat up, the specter vanished.
It was on his twelfth night back in the barracks that Maddyn heard Caradoc calling him. He woke up, as suddenly as always, to hear that familiar growl of a voice. Get up, Maddo! I'll kick your arse around the ward, sleeping when you're on guard duty! Without thinking, Maddyn was on his feet and looking around for his sword, only to realize that he was alone as always, safe in Dun Deverry. Going back to sleep eluded him. He pulled on his brigga and his boots, then walked to the window and looked out in the warm summer night.
In the ward below a tiny dapple of light was moving across the cobbles, a candle in a lantern bobbing as its carrier walked—cautiously, stopping often to look around. When the light came close he realized that the carrier was Princess Bellyra. He leaned half out of the window, stared down, but there was no mistaking her silhouette, her gait. For a moment his heart seemed to freeze. Might she be looking for him? Might she be coming to the barracks? He dismissed the dishonorable hope with an effort of will, but it seemed that his heart stopped beating till she walked on past the barracks' stairs.
Then where was she going? Was her madness giving her spells of aimless wandering? Maddyn had heard of such things. If naught else, she shouldn't be wandering around alone at night. Caradoc had been right. He had been sleeping on guard duty. He grabbed his shirt, pulled it on, then picked up his sword belt and buckled it as he strode down the long room. He hurried down the stairs and trotted off, following her candle through the darkness. She was moving purposefully,