The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [55]
That afternoon, while Cinrae slept, Nevyn and Pedraddyn went to the Chamber of Records, which occupied the entire second floor of the broch. Aided by another neophyte, they sat at a table by a window and pored over dusty codex after dusty codex of genealogies. As they compiled lists of heirs, both direct on the male line and indirect through the sons of royal women, one name reappeared three times: Maryn, marked prince of the small kingdom of Pyrdon, related vaguely to the Eldidd throne, tightly to the Cantrae claimant through his mother, and most directly indeed to the Cerrmor line through Prince Cobryn, Dannyn’s son. Realizing that a man of Dannyn’s line might someday hold the throne of all Deverry made Nevyn shudder with the dweomer cold. It was just the sort of irony that the Lords of Wyrd seemed to love.
“This lad interests me.” Nevyn tapped the name with a bone stylus. “Do you know anything about him?”
“I don’t. Pyrdon’s a long way away. At times I even have trouble getting correct information for my records.”
“You don’t think the lad might be dead or suchlike?”
“I doubt that. Usually someone will make an effort to tell me of a thing as important as the death of a marked prince. I only meant that I’ve never laid eyes on the lad or his mother. I saw his father once when Casyl was … oh, twelve, I’d say. He impressed me as a nice child, but still, who knows what’s happened since then?”
Since, if their plan was to succeed, they would need the help of at least one powerful priest of Bel, Nevyn headed directly back to Deverry rather than going hundreds of miles out of his way to Pyrdon. He gave the job of looking over young Prince Maryn to Aderyn, who was roaming with his alar near the border of the kingdom. Nevyn had just crossed into Deverry proper when Aderyn contacted him through his campfire.
“I think we’ve found our claimant.” Aderyn’s image was smiling, but in a thoughtful sort of way. “Pyrdon’s a harsh place, but it’s the right sort of harshness, the kind that keeps a man mindful that he needs other people to survive. I was most impressed with King Casyl; he has an honor that’s rare even in the best of times. The young prince seems bright beyond his years, but he’s only five, so it’s a bit early to tell how he’s going to turn out. He seems healthy, though. It would be a pity if he died in childhood.”
“True-spoken, but then Casyl might have another son or two yet. I hate storing all my mead in one skin.”
“So do I, but we’ve got to. The whole problem is that we’ve got too beastly many would-be kings.”
“Just so. What about the omens?”
“They couldn’t be more right. Dun Drwloc is Casyl’s primary residence, and that’s where the young prince was born. It’s a fortified island, right out in the middle of a lake.”
“Excellent! My thanks for your help. I’m on my way to Lughcarn. I remember the high priest of Bel there as being a decent, honorable man—well, if he hasn’t up and died on me, anyway.”
Since it was far enough from the Cerrmor border to be spared the worst ravages of war, Lughcarn was still prosperous, and the biggest city left in Deverry. The center of the iron workings, it was continually dusted with fine dark ash from its smelters, forges, and of course the big beehive ovens where wood was turned into charcoal. In the still summer air, the haze hung over the city and turned the sky yellow. Nevyn made his way to the center of town, where the temple of Bel stood among soot-dusted ancient oaks. He was well known there, and neophytes came running to take his horse and mule as soon as he entered the sacred grove. Much to his relief, Olaedd the high priest was very much alive, though severely troubled by pains in his joints. A neophyte ushered Nevyn into Olaedd’s chamber, which was bare except for a narrow, hard pallet on the floor and one chair.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t rise, Nevyn.