The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [109]
“Now here!” Daeryc rose and glared at him. “You’re right about the need, but it’s my place to go.”
“It’s not, Your Grace. You’re more valuable to the prince outside the walls.”
Both men turned and looked at the prince.
“I’d say it’s up to Caradoc,” Maryn said. “Which he chooses shall go.”
“I agree with the tieryn, Your Highness.” Caradoc kept his gaze on the prince and away from Daeryc. “His grace the gwerbret is far too valuable to risk.”
With his honor salved, Daeryc could sit down and leave the task to his vassal. Nevyn was quite willing to wager that Daeryc would have proven more hindrance than help, but he found himself wondering why Peddyc had volunteered.
When the council broke up, Nevyn caught the tieryn’s attention. They walked a few steps away from the others where they could talk in reasonable privacy.
“I’m a bit surprised,” Nevyn said, “that you’re going with Caradoc’s lads and not young Anasyn.”
“Anasyn is my clan’s future. I’d not squander it.”
“You do know, then, how dangerous this will be.”
“Of course.” Peddyc gave him the ghost of a smile. “But I feel like a silver dagger myself these days. I believe with all my heart that Maryn’s the true king, mind. But the Rams have fought on the Cantrae side of this battle ever since the wars started, however long ago it was.”
“I see. I didn’t think that you’d change allegiance lightly.”
“My thanks. Some clans are like autumn leaves. They fall whichever way the winds of victory are blowing. But it was a hard thing for me.” Peddyc paused for a long time, staring into the darkened camp. “The prince may have pardoned me, but I still feel like a dishonored man.”
“For having fought against him? Or for having gone over to him?”
“Both.”
“Well, I’d count neither to your shame.”
“My thanks.” He smiled, briefly. “It’s getting late, Councillor. We’d best be getting ourselves to our rest.”
Peddyc walked off without another word. Nevyn watched him go and wondered if there was a thing he could say to the tieryn to ease this crisis of honor. He doubted very much if there was.
None of the silver daggers took part in the assault on the third ring of walls. Branoic felt ashamed at how glad he was of it, but from what Caradoc had told them, they had the hardest job of all ahead of them, anyway. When the dawn was still more a promise than first light, the assault men began readying the rams and the ladders. Caradoc gathered his men and, much to Branoic’s surprise, Tieryn Peddyc and Lady Lillorigga, and led them off away from the noise.
“Now then,” Caradoc said. “The lady has graciously deigned to tell us where this bolthole comes out, like, in the dun. And the tieryn will be coming with us when we go through to make sure we don’t get ourselves lost. My lady, if you’ll tell us what you know?”
Branoic was impressed with the way Lilli spoke. She described the bolthole’s debouchment so well that he formed a picture of the place immediately. When other men asked, she went over the information several times, each time presenting it in a slightly different way, until at the end they all felt they knew the place. With a stick she drew a diagram in the dirt, as well, which Peddyc pronounced accurate.
“I was just a lad when that section of the dun burned,” Peddyc said. “My father told me that they weren’t going to stand the expense of rebuilding, because it was deserted and held nothing of value.”
“What I wonder, my lord,” Caradoc said, “is why no one even remembered that a bolthole existed.”
“I don’t know that myself, Captain, but I can guess. The kings have never trusted anyone much, and probably rightly so. I doubt if anyone knew of the bolthole but them. When my father was a lad, a king and his eldest son were killed in the same battle. I’d guess they hadn’t told the younger son the family secrets yet.”
“Likely, indeed.” Caradoc turned to Lilli and bowed. “Here, my lady, you have my humble thanks. There’s no need to keep you standing