The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [71]
“Ah well, if we get this hire, it cursed well won’t be dull, will it now? Dweomermen, impressive young princes—it all sounds like one of your songs.”
“Oh, it’s stranger than any song I know. If Nevyn’s come to live in Pyrdon, I’ll wager he’s got grave things afoot, and the gods only know what they are.”
“Now here,” Casyl snapped. “When I spoke of getting you a personal guard, I was thinking of twenty men, not ninety.”
“But, Father, there’s bound to be fighting next summer. It would be splendid if I could lead close to a hundred men.”
“Lead? Listen, you young cub, I’ve told you a thousand times that you’re staying in the rear for your first campaign.”
“Well, if you’re so worried, then the more men I have, the safer I’ll be.”
Casyl growled under his breath, but it was a fond exasperation.
“My liege the king?” Nevyn said. “If I may interject a word?”
“By all means.”
“Although I doubt the prince’s motives, he does speak the truth. The larger the guard, the better. The time might well come soon when he’ll need many men around him.”
Casyl turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes. They were sitting in the shabby council chamber at a round table, set with only a pair of wobbly bronze candelabra.
“Father.” Maryn leaned across the table. “You know that Nevyn’s omens always come true.”
“It’s not a matter of his prediction, but of the coin. How are we going to pay and shelter ninety mercenaries?”
“I’ve got the taxes from that bit of land in my own name. They’ll help provision the troop. I get two whole cows this fall, just for starters.”
“And how long will it take hungry men to dispatch that much beef?”
“But, Father! You’ve heard all those tales about the silver daggers. If even half of them are true, why, they fight like demons from hell!”
Casyl leaned back in his chair and idly rubbed his chin with the back of his hand while he thought it over. Nevyn waited silently, knowing that Maryn was bound to get his own way in the end.
“Well,” Casyl said at last. “I haven’t even gotten a look at them yet. I’ll review them when they arrive tomorrow, and then we’ll see.”
“My thanks, Father. You know that the prince will always put himself under the king’s orders.”
“Out, you little hypocrite! Go talk to your mother. She told me earlier that she wanted a word with you.”
Maryn made him a formal bow, nodded to Nevyn, then ran out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him and breaking into a loud whistle as he trotted down the hall.
“Ah ye gods, next summer my son rides to war! Tonight, Nevyn, I feel as old as you.”
“No doubt, Your Highness, but I still hear a lad, not a man, when he talks of the glories of war.”
“Of course, but he’ll learn. I only pray that our next campaign is an easy one. Here, have you had some kind of omen?”
“Of sorts. Your Highness, the king in Cerrmor is fated to die soon, I think before the winter’s out.”
Casyl went very still, his hands tight on the arms of the chair.
“His only son is dead,” Nevyn went on. “His three daughters are too young to have sons yet. Tell me, Your Highness, have you ever fancied yourself as king in Deverry? When Glyn dies, you’re the heir.”
“Ah, by the hells, it can’t be! He’s just a young man.”
“Fevers and suchlike come to the young as well as the old. Your Highness had best think carefully, because with a Cantrae wife he won’t be terribly popular with his new vassals.”
Casyl sat so still, his eyes so heavy-lidded, that he seemed asleep. Nevyn waited for a few minutes to let him think before he went on.
“And about the silver daggers, Your Highness? You’ll need men like that if you’re going to have a chance to claim the Cerrmor throne.”
“Chance? Don’t be a dolt, man! Even if I had an army twice the size of the one I do, my chance is about as good as a flea’s in a soap bath, and I think me you know it.”
“If the Cerrmor lords accept you, then you have a very good chance, my liege.”
Casyl rose and paced to the open window, where the cold night air came in with a heavy scent of damp.
“If I strip my kingdom of men to