"Kerr, Katharine - Westlands 01 - A Time Of Exile v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

Part Three
Eldidd
918
AFTER SIXTY-ODD years in Bardek, Nevyn returned to Eldidd late in the summer of 918, landing in Aberwyn with some unusual cargo tucked inside his shirt for safety's sake. While he'd been abroad, studying the scholarly dweomer lore of the Bardekian priests, he'd gotten the idea of making a talisman for the High King, a magically charged jewel that would radiate the noble virtues endlessly to its owner's mind. To that end, he'd bought an extremely unusual stone and studied the various writings about such creations in the libraries of various temples, but to make the talisman, he brought the stone home. As big as a walnut, but perfectly round and smoothly polished, a tribute to the art of Bardek jewelers, the opal was shot through with pale gold veins and bluish-pink shadows, as mottled as the coat of some exotic animal. At the moment, for all it beauty, it was an ordinary jewel, a dull thing in its way, though worth a fortune. By the time Nevyn got done with it, it would be supremely interesting, and worth a man's life.
Down in the center of Aberwyn stood the hall of the merchant guild, an imposing fat tower with glass in the downstairs windows and a stout slate roof. Their official money changer held court in a bare stone room with a hearth, two chairs, and a long table, where Nevyn found a stout and gray-haired man sitting behind a litter of Bardek-style scrolls. Behind him, at the entrance to another room, an armed guard slouched against the wall.
"I'm just back from Bardek," Nevyn said to the money changer.
"You've hit the rate of exchange at a good time, good sir. Sit down, sit down."
As Nevyn pulled up the rickety three-legged chair, he noticed the guard watching him with the interest of the longtime bored, a young man of about twenty, tall and well muscled, with blond hair, blue eyes, and the beginnings of a mustache blotching his upper lip. Nevyn wouldn't have given him a second thought if it weren't for the silver dagger at his belt. As it was, he took a good look at the lad's face and then nearly swore aloud, because the soul behind his eyes struck him as familiar and friendly both. Before he could observe more, the money changer's voice claimed his attention.
"We've been giving thirty Deverry silvers for each Bardek zotar of full weight."
"Indeed? That certainly is generous! Are things troubled in Eldidd?"
"Have you been away for some time?"
"Years, actually."
"Hum." The money changer reflected upon something before he spoke again. "I hope to every god in the Otherlands that these rumors are only rumors, but they say the gwerbrets are still pining for the days when they were princes. The High King's a long way away, my friend."
"Just so. Rebellion?"
"Let us merely say that Bardek merchants have never gotten rich by allowing themselves to be caught in the middle of trouble. They're not bringing us as much sound coinage as they once did."
The money changer counted out Nevyn's zotars, marked the tally on a bit of parchment, which Nevyn signed, then went back through the doorway to his vault to change the coins. Nevyn turned to the young guard and gave him a pleasant smile.
"What's your name, lad? It looks like this duty wears on you."
"Maer, my lord. But I won't be guarding this fellow's stores much longer. He just hired me to fill in, like. His regular man broke his wrist in a fall, you see, but thanks be to the gods, the splints are off now."
When Nevyn risked opening up a quick bit of the dweomer sight with the sigils that controlled memory, the silver dagger's face blurred and changed. For a moment Nevyn seemed to look into the weary eyes of Maddyn the bard. Nevyn was so glad to see him that he wanted to jump up and embrace him, but of course, since Maer would have no conscious memory of his last life, he did nothing of the sort.
"And what will you do next?" Nevyn said. "If these rumors of trouble are true, there'll be plenty of work for silver daggers in Eldidd."
"Oh, it's all a lot of horseshit if you ask me, my lord. The gwerbrets can mutter over their ale easy enough, but getting the coin to outfit an army's a bit harder. I'll go west, I suppose. I've never ridden that way before."
It was perhaps an omen of sorts. Nevyn had no real idea of where to settle down while he performed the dweomer work on the opal, but on the western coast lay a quiet little village that held pleasant memories for him.
"I'm heading west myself," Nevyn said. "How would your captain feel if I rode with your troop a ways?"
"Captain? Troop?" Mael paused for a laugh. "The silver daggers haven't ridden as a troop in fifty years, good sir. It was that royal decree, you know. We can only ride together one or two at a time, no more."
"Indeed?" Nevyn was honestly shocked. I've stayed away too long, he told himself. "Why?"
"I don't know. It's the king's law, and so it's good enough for me. But I'm for hire, sure enough, if you need a guard."
"Feel like riding to Cannobaen?"
"Gladly. A couple of silver pieces?"
"Done. We'll leave at dawn, then, the day after tomorrow."
When the time came to leave, Maer turned up promptly. Nevyn was loading up his newly purchased riding horse and pack mule in the little innyard just at dawn when the silver dagger appeared, leading a splendid black warhorse, laden with a pair of saddlebags, a bedroll, a plain white shield, and a pot helm, all tied in a messy sort of way to his saddle. He looked over the mule packs with some interest.
"So you're a herbman, are you?"
"I am. Don't worry about falling sick on our journey."
Maer grinned and finished loading the mule without being asked. They led their horses through the busy morning streets, then mounted outside the west gate just as the last of the sea fog was burning off into a late-summer morning. To their left, the turquoise sea sparkled and churned at the foot of pale cliffs, and to their right, the winter wheat stood ripe and golden in the fields. As they rode, Maer burst into good cheer, whistling and singing in a fine clear tenor that with training would have made him a bard. Nevyn was so genuinely glad to hear the man he would always think of as Maddyn sing again that he had to give himself a stern warning. This was Maer now, not Maddyn, and it was against the laws of dweomer as well as common sense to treat the one as the other.
When he turned in the saddle to pay Maer a compliment on his voice, he was in for a surprise. Riding behind the silver dagger's saddle and clinging to him like a child was a good-sized blue sprite. Just as he was telling himself that of course it couldn't be the same creature, not Maddyn's favorite still loyal after all these years, the sprite grinned at him in such smug contentment that he was forced to recognize her. Over the next few days, as they made their slow way to Cannobaen, Nevyn saw the sprite often, hovering around Maer during the day, cuddling up to him like a dog while he slept at night. It became obvious, though, that Maer never saw her, because often he would have stepped on her if she hadn't jumped aside. Once, when Maer was off at a farmhouse buying food, Nevyn got a chance alone with her. Talking about death to one of the Wildfolk was, of course, a complete waste of time.
"He doesn't see you anymore, you know. He's changed since the last time you saw him."
She snarled, exposing long and pointed teeth.
"It's not good for you to follow him this way. You should be off with your own kind."
At that she threw back her head and howled, a thin wisp of sound. Since normally the Wildfolk were incapable of making noise, Nevyn became even more troubled.
"I'll talk with one of your kings," he began, "and we'll see what . . . "
In a screech of fury she seemed to swell, sucking up substance from the material plane and turning for one brief moment quite solid and as large as a growing child. Then she was gone in a gust of cold air.
Beside seeing the Wildfolk, Maer had been a silver dagger in his last life, too, of course, but Nevyn tended to consider that a simple coincidence. Although he would never have pried into the reason for his dishonor, Maer himself volunteered the story as they sat round the campfire on their second night out.
"You're not an Eldidd man, are you?" Nevyn had asked him.
"I'm not. I was born in Blaeddbyr, over in Deverry, and that's where I got this blasted dagger, too. I was riding for the Wolf clan, you see, and one night, well, me and the lads got a bit drunk. So one of my friends got this daft idea. There was this lass he fancied-oh, bad it was, good sir-he was like a boar in rut over the tailor's daughter, but her da, he kept an eye as sharp as one of his needles on the lass. So my friend puts us up to helping him. We went round to the tailor's shop and Nyn calls the lass out of her bedroom window, while me and the other lad went round the front. We pretend to get into a brawl, you see, and old Da comes running out. So we led him a merry dance, insulting him and having a fine old time, and truly we got a bit carried away." With a sigh, Maer rubbed his chin with a rueful hand. "We ducked him in the village horse trough, just for the fun of the thing, and all the time Nyn's tumbling the daughter out under a hedgerow. So Da goes complaining to the lord, and cursed if Avoic doesn't side with the old tailor and kick us out of the warband! Cursed unjust, I say. He let Nyn come back, though, because the stupid lass had to go and get a child, and so Nyn had to marry her."
Maer sounded so indignant that Nevyn laughed aloud. Maer drew himself up square-shouldered and glared at him.
"Don't you think it was unjust?"
"Umph, well. But you're the first lad I've ever met who got that dagger because of a prank."
"That's been the tale of my days, good sir. I only want a bit of fun, and ye gods, everyone goes and takes it wrong."