The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [62]
“It’s a matter of choosing a new emblem for the future kingdom.” Councillor Oggyn nodded Maddyn’s way.
“The question is legitimacy,” Nevyn put in. “The stallion blazon will always mean a foreigner from Pyrdon to most people.”
“I suppose so.” Prince Maryn frowned at the spread parchments. “These are the ancient clans, then?”
“They are clans upon which His Highness has some claim.” The chief herald, Gavlyn, stepped forward. “As the learned councillor says, the crucial thing is legitimacy.”
From his seat in the corner of the council chambers, Maddyn sat quietly and merely watched the others. He felt too honored at merely being present to speak up as the debate went on over the merits of one device or another. Finally Nevyn leaned forward to tap one long finger on a page.
“The Red Wyvern has possibilities,” Nevyn said. “The false king’s device is a green one, and I like the arrogance of appropriating it nearly whole.”
Maryn laughed, glancing round the circle.
“I like that as well,” he said. “What do you think, Oggyn? Shall we filch their device like the Usurper they call us?”
“And why should you not, Your Highness? This clan was very well connected in its day.”
“Good herald, and what about you?”
“My liege, it seems a good choice,” Gavlyn said. “I would suggest a wyvern rampant, in the same posture thus as the stallion of Pyrdon.”
All at once Maddyn was aware of distant shouting, realized in fact that he’d been hearing it for some little time. He got up and walked to the window, looked out to see dusty men and tired horses walking into the ward below while servants swarmed around them. Some ally arriving for the muster, then, but as one of the men dismounted, his shield swung free of his gear.
“The Ram!” Maddyn forgot himself and spoke aloud. “By all the gods, the Rams of Hendyr have come over!”
“What?” Maryn swung round and grinned. “Then truly the gods do favor us! This is a thing I’d never thought to see.”
“No more I, Your Highness,” Oggyn said. “If I may be so forward and impertinent to suggest a thing, I’d suggest that your royal self would deign to welcome Tieryn Peddyc personally.”
“And so I shall, good councillor, so I shall.”
During the long journey south from Hendyr, Lilli had ridden at the head of the line with Peddyc and Anasyn, but she’d kept her boy’s clothing. Now all three of them stood beside their horses and gawked at the clustered towers of Dun Cerrmor, built of pale limestone with dark slate roofs. Bright banners with the three ships blazon hung above the doorways, and white and blue pennants snapped in the rising sea wind. The doors to the main broch glittered with brass hinges. The well-fed servants and soldiers hurrying toward them wore clothes that were mostly new or barely patched.
“This is a splendid place,” she whispered to Anasyn.
“It is, but let’s see what kind of man this prince is.”
In the growing crowd no one greeted them; everyone merely looked them over unsmiling. Lilli found herself remembering her first trip to Dun Deverry after her years in fosterage at Hendyr. She had stood beside her horse this same way, waiting while a page ran off to fetch her mother and tell her that Tieryn Peddyc and his foster-child had arrived. She had felt this same mixture of dread and eagerness then, wondering what her mother would look like and how generously she’d treat her returned daughter. In that instance, the dread had proved the more accurate omen.
From inside Dun Cerrmor a silver horn sounded; the doors were flung back. At the head of an armed guard, a tall and handsome man strode out; the plaid of Cerrmor flung over one shoulder and pinned with a huge silver brooch marked him as Maryn, prince and would-be king. Lilli stared. It seemed that the sunlight shone brighter around him than it did anywhere else, and that some private breeze lifted his blond hair. Where he stood the world seemed oddly larger. She found herself remembering the Great Lord of Earth and how the room had come alive when Brour chanted his invocation.
Without