The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [144]
“Just so. I think we can conclude that the vision or the Wildfolk or whatever it was was deliberately sent there.”
“Sent?” Her face went very pale.
“Just that, my lady. I’ll wager that someone used dweomer to try and murder your son. When I find out who he is, then I swear to you, he’ll rue the day he was born.”
“My thanks.” Although she spoke in a whisper, she was calm, the cold, bitter calm of a warrior surveying the field. “You told me that there was evil dweomer working behind Lord Corbyn when he rebelled. I never thought to see a blood feud worked by dweomer, but that’s what this must be, isn’t it? First they try to kill Rhodry, and now they’ve succeeded with Rhys. For some reason they hate the Maelwaedd clan.”
“Ye gods, you’re right enough! And Rhodry is …” He caught himself barely in time. There was no need to burden her with the truth at this particular moment. “Out somewhere on the roads. Well, doubtless the king’s men will find him soon. The gods all know that they have more reason than ever to look for him.”
Lovyan nodded, staring blindly down at her plate. Nevyn got up and went to the fire. He had to tell Salamander immediately that he could no longer come to Cerrmor. He would have to do his best to keep Rhys alive until the king made up his mind to recall Rhodry and instate him as Aberwyn’s heir. He had another piece of information to pass along, too, the grim truth that Lovyan had seen, that the matter had gone far beyond the politicking of Eldidd lords. The dark dweomer was waging war on the Maelwaedd clan.
The king was having his hair bleached. In the midst of his private chamber, Lallyn the Second, high king of all Deverry and Eldidd, sat on a low bench carved with grappling wyverns while the royal barber draped towels around his liege’s shoulders. As an honor to his high rank, Blaen was allowed to kneel at the king’s side and hold the silver tray of implements. Ever since Madoc had come to him with the news, he’d been trying to have a private work with Lallyn, but in all the pomp that surrounded the king, private words were difficult to get. Even though the king sincerely wanted to hear what he had to say, this was the first chance they’d found all evening.
Carefully the barber began packing the king’s wet hair with lime from a wooden bowl. Soon Lallyn would look like one of the great heroes of the Dawntime, with a lion’s mane of stiff, swept-back hair to add further to his six feet of height. Such a hairstyle was a royal prerogative, and, as the king remarked, a royal nuisance, too.
“Blasted lucky, aren’t you, Blaen? Look on our sufferings and be glad you were born a gwerbret’s son.”
“Glad I am, my liege.”
The barber wrapped two steaming-wet towels around the king’s head and fastened them with a circlet of fine gold.
“My liege, it will be some few minutes.”
“It’s always more than just a few. You may leave us.”
Bowing, walking backward, the barber retreated to the corridor. Blaen sincerely hoped that the king was going to believe his strange tale.
“Now, Blaen, what’s this urgent news?”
“Well, my liege, do you remember Lord Madoc?”
“The sorcerer’s nephew? Of course.”
“Here! You know that Nevyn’s a sorcerer, my liege?”
Lallyn grinned at him while he adjusted a slipping towel.
“I do, at that. There’s quite a tradition, passed down from king to marked prince, about sorcerers named Nevyn. The name’s something of an honorific, or so my father told me, handed on like the kingship. In times of great need, one Nevyn or another will come to aid the king. I always thought it a peculiar tale and wondered why my father would tell me such a lie—until those gems were stolen, and lo and behold, a Nevyn appeared to return them to me. I prayed to my father in the Otherlands and made my apologies quite promptly, I tell you.”
“I see. Well, then, I trust my liege will believe me when I tell him that Madoc has dweomer, too.”
“Ah, I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. I’m glad enough to know, but is this what you had to tell me?”
“Not at all, my liege. I