The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [70]
“Well, there’s no harm in riding out to ask.”
With a gloomy nod, Caradoc sipped his ale. Down the twisting street, a silver horn rang out; a squad of horsemen appeared, walking their mounts at a stately pace. At their head were two riders with rearing stallions blazoned on their shirts, and a guard of four more rode behind. In the middle, on a splendid bay gelding, rode a handsome blond lad of about fourteen. His white, red, and gold plaid cloak was thrown back and pinned at one shoulder with an enormous ring brooch of gold set with rubies. Beside him on a matched bay was an old man with a thick shock of white hair and piercing blue eyes. Maddyn stared briefly, then jumped up with a shout.
“Nevyn! By all the gods!”
Grinning broadly, the old man turned his horse out of line and waved, paused to say something to the lad, then rode over, dismounting as Maddyn ran up to greet him. Maddyn clasped his outstretched hand and shook it hard.
“By the hells, it gladdens my heart to see you, sir.”
“And mine to see you,” Nevyn said with a somewhat sly smile. “See, I told you that our paths would cross again.”
“And right you were. What are you doing in Pyrdon?”
“Tutoring the marked prince. Are the rest of the silver daggers with you?”
“Not far, just camped down the river. Wait—how do you know about them?”
“How do you think? Has your captain had any strange dreams lately?”
Maddyn turned cold with an awe that ran down his back like melting snow. Tankard in hand, a puzzled Caradoc strolled over to join them as the young prince dismounted and led his horse over to join his tutor. When Maddyn and Caradoc knelt to him, the prince gave them a courteous nod of acknowledgment, but the gesture was splendidly firm for one so young. Maddyn was instantly struck by how noble the young prince was, the gallant way he stood, the proud set to his head, the easy way his hand rested on his sword hilt, as if he’d seen many a battle beyond his years. A prince indeed, he thought, born to be king. At the thought, his cold awe grew stronger, and he wondered just why Nevyn the sorcerer was here in this obscure kingdom.
“Your Highness,” the old man said. “Allow me to present Maddyn the silver dagger, and the captain of the troop, Caradoc of Cerrmor. Men, you kneel before Maryn, marked prince of Pyrdon.”
At the casual mention of his name by one he didn’t know, Caradoc glared at Nevyn, who ignored him with a bland smile.
“Silver daggers, are you?” Maryn said with an engaging, boyish smile. “Pyrdon may be at the ends of the earth, but I’ve heard of your troop. How many of you are there?”
“Ninety, Your Highness,” Caradoc said. “And we have our own smith, chirurgeon, and bard.”
Maryn glanced at Nevyn for advice.
“It would pay to look them over, Your Highness, but you’ll have to consult with your father the king first, of course.”
“Well and good, then. Men, you may rise and stand in our presence.” The prince glanced Nevyn’s way again. “I don’t suppose I could go look them over right now.”
“Not with the king expecting you back. Have the captain bring them to you on the morrow.”
“Oh, very well. Captain Caradoc, assemble your troop before the gates of the royal palace on the morrow. Send me word through the guards on the causeway.”
“Well and good, Your Highness. We’ll arrive around noon.”
With a laugh of excitement, the young prince strode back to his men. Nevyn winked at Maddyn, then rejoined his lord. As the royal escort rode on, Caradoc stared openmouthed until they were out of sight. He retrieved his ale from the street and led the way back to the bench, where he sat down with an exaggerated heavy sigh.
“Very well, Maddo. Who is that old man?”
“The herbman who saved my life up in Cantrae. Remember me telling you about Brin Toraedic? And he’s the same one who tipped Caudyr off to leave Dun Deverry.”
“An herbman for a prince’s tutor? Horseshit.”
“Oh, by the gods, can’t you see what’s been stuck under your face? The old man’s dweomer.”
Caradoc choked on his ale.
“Well, he’s the one who sent you the dream,” Maddyn said after