The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [68]
“I dreamt I was king of all Deverry. It was ever so real. I was leading my army, you see, and I could smell the horses and everything. We were in Cantrae and we were winning. You were there, too, sir. You were my royal councillor. I was all sweaty and dirty, because I’d been fighting, but the men were cheering and calling me the king.”
For a moment Nevyn found it hard to breathe. It was possible that the prince had only picked up the images from his tutor’s mind, in the uncanny way that children can sometimes read the minds of adults they want to please, but the detail, such as the smell of horses, was so exact that he doubted it.
“You think it’s daft, don’t you?” the prince said.
“I don’t. How good are you at keeping secrets?”
“Truly good, and I’ll swear a vow if you like.”
Nevyn stared into the boy’s eyes, where his soul lay, like a fire ready in a hearth, waiting for a spark in the tinder.
“Swear to me you’ll never repeat what I say, not to your father or your mother, to priest or peddler, not to anyone.”
“I swear it, on the honor of my clan, my royal line, and the gods of my people.”
“Well and good. You will be king someday, king of all Deverry. The great god Wmm has marked you out in his oracle and sent me here to aid Your Highness.”
When Maryn looked away, his face pale, his soft boy’s mouth was slack, but his eyes were those of the king to come.
“You’re dweomer, aren’t you, sir, just like in the tales? But oh, Father says there’s no such thing as dweomer anymore, that it was all in the Dawntime.”
“Indeed, my liege? Watch the hearth.”
Nevyn summoned the Wildfolk, who first obligingly put the fire out cold, then lit it again with a great gust of flame when Nevyn snapped his fingers. Maryn jumped up and grinned.
“Oh, that’s splendid! Then my dream was truly, truly true?”
“It was, but not a word to any living soul until I tell you that the time is ripe.”
“I won’t. I’d die first.”
He spoke so solemnly that he seemed more a man than a child, caught in one of those rare moments when the levels of the soul blend and let something of its Wyrd slip through to the conscious mind. Then the moment vanished.
“Well, if I’m going to be king, I guess I’d better know all these wretched laws, but oh, they’re so boring! Can’t we read about battles and stuff for a while?”
“Very well, Your Highness. As the prince wishes.”
That night, Nevyn had to admit to himself that he was well pleased by the way things were going. He could only hope that he’d have enough time to train the lad properly, at least five more years. Although he’d never leave Maryn’s side again until the long wars were over and the land at peace, he wanted to put, not a puppet on the throne, but a king.
FOUR
The year 842. While he was walking down by the riverbank, Retyc the high priest saw this omen. A flock of sparrows was pecking in the grass. Suddenly a raven flew by. All the sparrows flew up and followed the raven, just as if he were another sparrow and the leader of their flock. Someday, His Holiness said, a man from another people will come to lead Deverry men to war …
—The Holy Chronicles of Lughcarn
Late on a warm autumn day the silver daggers made their camp on the grassy banks of the Trebycaver. It was an organized chaos: ninety men tending a hundred and fifty horses, the fifteen women who followed the camp pitching tents and getting supplies out of the pair of wagons, the handful of bastard children running around and shouting, free at last after a long day behind one saddle or another. While the others worked, Maddyn and Caradoc strolled through, shouting an order here, a jest there. By a pile of saddles a weary Clwna was nursing her fussy new daughter, Pomyan. Clwna looked so pale and faint that Maddyn hunkered down beside her.
“How do you fare, lass? You shouldn’t have ridden so soon after having the babe.”
“Oh, I’m as well as I need to be. It was better than never catching up to you again.”
“We could have waited a few days.”
“Huh. I’m sure the captain would have waited for the likes of me.”
When she