The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [85]
“Just so.” Maryn’s voice was more of a growl; he paused to collect himself with a pair of deep breaths. “Very well, good herald. Rest in our camp tonight, and on the morrow I’ll give you a message to take back to your lord the regent.”
The news spread fast. Before Maryn could call for a council, it assembled itself as his noble-born allies came running to his tent. Nevyn had never seen Maryn so angry. The entire time he talked, he paced back and forth, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Yet there was little that anyone could suggest that would ease the situation or end it. After wrangling deep into the night, the lords disbanded at last to get some sleep, but for most of the night Maryn was awake, walking back and forth in front of his tent with a lantern in his hand. Toward dawn Nevyn gave up on sleep and went over to join him there.
“My liege?” Nevyn said. “Is somewhat wrong?”
“Naught,” Maryn said, yawning. “I’ve been thinking about my answer to Braemys, that’s all.”
“I rather did assume you were.”
“Oh of course.” Maryn suddenly grinned at him. “Do you remember a dream I had once, back when I was but a little child, and you’d just become my tutor? I dreamt that I was in a battle in Cantrae, and everyone was calling me the king of all Deverry.”
“I do remember it, oddly enough. It was a very important dream.”
“So it was, and you know, it looks like it’s going to come true.” Maryn yawned again, hugely, covering his mouth with both hands. “So, I told myself, I shouldn’t be surprised that Braemys is spoiling for a fight. It’s a thing of Wyrd for both of us, and there’s no arguing with Wyrd.”
“So there’s not, Your Highness. And that said, I suggest you get some sleep.”
In the morning, the camp slept late, but the prince was up before many of his men. After he’d eaten, Maryn called the herald and his allies as well to him to hear his answer. Avyr bowed, then stood ready to memorize.
“Tell your lord this for me,” Mary said. “The high priest of Bel in Dun Deverry charged me with the holy task of bringing peace to the kingdom. If your lord refuses to make peace, then he defies the will of the gods themselves. If he surrenders now, the Boar clan will continue to hold the Cantrae rhan. Should he continue to defy the gods, he will lose it.”
The herald winced and bowed for want of anything else he could do.
“As for the other thing,” Maryn went on. “I cannot settle this matter betwixt him and Tieryn Anasyn of the Ram because Lord Braemys refuses to acknowledge me as heir to the kingship. Should he wish me to hold malover upon the matter, he may swear fealty to me, and then I’ll be happy to give him a fair hearing.”
“So I shall tell him, Your Highness,” Avyr said. “Every word.”
The prince, his councillor, and some of his lords walked with the herald to the edge of the camp, where a servant stood holding his black horse. Avyr bowed all round, mounted, and rode out fast. Maryn stood by the road and watched until the dust of his leaving had settled.
“Cursed little bastard,” Maryn remarked. “And I don’t mean the herald.”
“He’s much like his father,” Anasyn said. “There always was a lot of inbreeding among the Boars. My mother used to say that if they were dogs their kennelman would have to drown half their pups for having two tails.”
“Braemys may not live to grow old, dog or not, if he keeps on like this. Not that I’ll be drowning him, exactly.” Maryn was glaring down the road as if he could see his enemy lurking on the horizon. “Pissproud little whoreson! He drew me out of Dun Deverry just to make us waste our days and provisions both.”
“And to infuriate you,” Nevyn said. “Angry men don’t think as clearly as they might.”
“Your point is well taken.” Maryn took another long deep breath. “Very well, my lords. Let’s get our men ready to ride. The sooner we return to the Holy City, the sooner you may all disperse to your own lands.”
By the time the army left camp, the sun hung near its zenith. At the very head of the line rode two men carrying the Red Wyvern banners; next were Maryn