A Time of Exile (34 page)

“And who’s this, Nalyn? Another of your candidates for my betrothal?”

“Hold your cursed tongue, Glae!” Nalyn snapped.

“He’s better-looking than Doclyn, aged or not. No offense, good sir, but my beloved brother-in-law is bound and determined to marry me off to get rid of me, you see. Are you in the market for a young wife by any chance?”

“Glae!” Nalyn howled. “I said hold your tongue!”

“Don’t you give me orders, you afterbirth of a miscarried wormy sow.”

With an anguished glance in Nevyn’s direction Nalyn walked off to the well to wash away the egg. The lass leaned comfortably against the doorjamb and gave Nevyn a brilliant smile that transformed her face for one brief moment. Then she was merely wary, and plain, her eyes too suspicious and cold for beauty.

“Here, good sir, I haven’t even asked your name. Mine’s Glaenara. You must’ve been talking with the village women if you knew we were in the market for a mule.”

“Well, I did happen to speak with Samwna. My name is Nevyn, and that’s a name, not a jest.”

“Indeed? Well, then, Lord Nobody, welcome to our humble farm. Samwna’s a good woman, isn’t she? And her daughter Braedda’s my best friend. As meek as a suckling lamb, but I do like her.”

Glaenara ran her hands down the mule’s legs, thumped it on the chest, then grabbed its head and pried its mouth open to look at its teeth before the startled mule could even object. His wet shirt in his hand, Nalyn came back and watched sourly.

“Now, I’m the one who’s saying if we buy that mule or not.”

“Then take a look at its mouth yourself.”

When Nalyn went to do so, the by now wary mule promptly bit him on the arm. Howling with laughter, Glaenara cuffed the mule so hard that it let go. Nevyn grabbed Nalyn’s arm and looked at it: mule bites could turn
nasty, but fortunately, this one hadn’t broken the skin. Nalyn was cursing a steady stream under his breath.

“Just bruised, I’d say,” Nevyn said soothingly. “My apologies.”

“Wasn’t you,” Nalyn growled. “Glae, I’m going to beat you so hard one of these days.”

“Just try.” Glaenara set her hands on her hips and smiled at him.

At that, the other two women came running out of the house. Glaenara’s mother was gray and thin, her face drawn and etched deep with exhausted lines. Her sister was pretty, with less strength but more harmony in her wide-eyed face. Sniveling, the sister caught her husband’s arm and looked up, pleading with him silently. The mother turned to Glaenara.

“Glae, please? Not in front of a stranger.”

With a sigh, Glaenara turned tame, coming over to slip her arm around her mother’s frail waist and give her a kiss on the cheek. Nalyn patted his wife’s arm, looked Nevyn’s way, and blushed again. For a moment they all stood there in a miserable tableau; then Glaenara led her mother back to the house. With one backward glance at Nevyn, the sister hurried after.

“My apologies for my little sister,” Nalyn said.

“My good sir, no man in his right mind would hold you responsible for anything that lass does.”

As he was riding back to the village, Nevyn met Lord Pertyc’s warband, coming two abreast in a cloud of dust. At the head rode the lord himself, a tall but slender man who reminded him strikingly of Prince Mael, his distant ancestor, with his raven-haired Eldidd good looks and heavy-lidded dark blue eyes. Beside him on a gray pony was a young lad of about eight, so much like the lord that Nevyn assumed it was his son. As they passed, Pertyc gave Nevyn a wave and a nod; Nevyn bowed gravely. Behind came ten men with badgers painted on their shields. At the very rear, riding alone in the dust but grinning as cheerfully as ever, was Maer. When he saw Nevyn, he waved.

“I’ve got myself a nice warm spot in a badger’s hole. You brought me luck, Nevyn.”

“Good, good! I’ve settled into the village. No doubt we’ll see each other from time to time.”

•  •  •

“You know what?” Adraegyn said.

“I don’t,” Maer said. “What?”

“Da says he wants to hire more silver daggers if he can find them.”

“Does he now? Do you know why?”

“I’ll wager there’s going to be a war. Why else would he come fetch me back from Cousin Macco’s?”

“No doubt you’re right, truly.”

Adraegyn considered him for a moment. He was perched on the edge of the watering trough and watching while Maer cleaned his tack. Maer enjoyed the young lordling’s company; as the eldest of a family of seven, he was used to having children tagging after him.

“Do you have to polish that dagger a lot? Silver plates and stuff get dirty truly fast.”

“So they do. But the dagger’s different. It’s not entirely made of silver, you see.”

“Can I look at it? Or is that rude to ask?”

“You can look at mine, but never ask another silver dagger, all right? Most of us are a bit touchy about it. Now be careful. It’s sharp as the Lord of Hell’s front tooth.”

Grinning, Adraegyn took the dagger and hefted it, then risked a gingerly touch on the blade with the ball of his thumb.

“Have you ever slain a man with this dagger?”

“I haven’t, but then, I haven’t had it very long. Maybe I’ll get my chance if your father rides to war.”

“I wish I could go, but I’m still learning stuff.” Adraegyn sighed dramatically. “And I’ve got to waste all this time learning to read.”

“Truly? Now that’s a strange thing. Why?”

“Da says I have to. All the men in our clan learn to read. It’s one of the things that make us Maelwaedds.”

In a few minutes, the Maelwaedd himself came strolling over to lean on the watering trough beside his son.

“It’s always pleasant to see another man work,” Pertyc said. “Odd, but there you are.”

“So it is, my lord. Sometimes I’d be traveling and stop to watch some poor bastard of a farmer slaving out in the fields, just to be watching him.”

“Just so. Here, Draego, what are you doing with Maer’s silver dagger?”

“He let me look at it, Da. That’s all.”

“Careful—those things are blasted sharp.”

“I know, Da!” Somewhat reluctantly, Adraegyn handed the dagger back to Maer. “Da, I want to go riding. Can I take my pony down to the village?”

“By all means. Or here.” Pertyc hesitated for a moment. “Maer, go with him, will you? You can use some of the spare tack while yours is drying.”

“Done, my lord.” Maer looked up sharply. “Do you think there might be trouble?”

“The world’s as full of trouble as the sea is full of fish. I don’t think anything just yet, but listen, Draego, from now on, when you want to leave the dun, you tell me first and take one of the men with you.”

“Why? I never used to have to.”

“Do as I say and hold your tongue about it. I’ll tell you more when there’s more to tell.”

There was a fair amount of activity down in Cannobaen that afternoon, because it was market day. Most of the farmers and craftsmen had their goods spread out on blankets on the ground, though the weaver and local blacksmith did have little stalls. As Maer and Adraegyn strolled around, the lad would stop every now and then and ask a villager how his wife was doing or if his children were well, and he managed to remember everyone’s name in a most impressive manner. At the edge of the market, a young woman was sitting behind baskets of eggs. Maer was immediately struck by her. Although she wasn’t beautiful, she was handsome, with a slightly malicious touch to her grin and life sparkling in her blue eyes.

“Who’s that, my lord?” Maer pointed her out.

“Oh, that’s Glae. She and her kin have the farm next to our demesne.”

Maer guided the lad over to Glae and her baskets. Tied up behind her was a mule.

“Good morrow, Glae,” Adraegyn said to her.

“Good morrow, my lord. Come down for a look at your market?”

“I have.” Adraegyn waved at Maer. “This is Maer. He’s my bodyguard now.”

“Oh, is he?” Glae gave Maer a cool appraisal. “And a silver dagger at that.”

“I am.” Maer made her a half-bow. “But I beg and pray that you won’t think less of me for it.”

“Since I think naught of you one way or the other, I can hardly think less of you, can I now?”

Maer opened his mouth and shut it again, suddenly at a loss for words.

“You’ve got a new mule, I see,” Adraegyn said.

“We do, my lord. We bought him from the new herbman in town.”

“There’s someone new in town?” Adraegyn was openly delighted. “Where does he live?”

“In the cottage by Wersyn’s house. And he seems a wise old man indeed, from what Braedda tells me.”

“Come on, Maer. Let’s go meet him. Maybe he’s a dweomerman or suchlike.”

“Oh, now here,” Maer said, grinning. “You do have a taste for the bard’s fancies, don’t you?”

“Well, you never know. Good morrow, Glae. I hope you sell a lot of eggs. Come on, Maer. Let’s go.”

Maer made Glae one last bow, which she acknowledged with a flick of her eyes, then hurried after his half-sized commander.

They found Nevyn out in the garden in front of his cottage, digging up a flower bed as vigorously as a man a third his age. Adraegyn hailed him, leaned on the fence, then gasped in sudden delight.

“Oh, your garden’s full of Wildfolk! They’re all dancing round and round.”

Nevyn grunted in sharp surprise. Maer started to laugh, then choked it back for fear of hurting the lad’s feelings—he was already blushing scarlet at his lapse.

“I mean, uh, I’m sorry, I mean, I know there aren’t really Wildfolk …”

“What?” Nevyn’s voice was perfectly mild. “Of course there are Wildfolk. And you were quite right the first time. My garden’s full of them.”

It was nice of the old man, Maer thought, to help the lad over his awkward moment with a little lie. Adraegyn was beaming up at Nevyn.

“You see them, too? Truly?”

“I do.”

Adraegyn spun around to consider Maer.

“And you must, too. You can tell us, Maer. We all do.”

“What, my lord?”

“Well, come on. That big blue sprite follows you all over, you know. She must like you. Don’t you see her?”

For the second time that afternoon, Maer found himself speechless. He stared openmouthed while an awkward silence grew painful.

“My lord,” Nevyn said gently. “Sometimes the Wildfolk take a liking to someone for reasons of their own. I don’t think Maer does see her, or any of them, for that matter. Do you, Maer?”

“I don’t, truly.”

“Now tell me, Maer. Can you see the wind?”

“What? Of course not! No one can see the wind.”

“Just so. But it’s real enough.”

For the briefest of moments Maer found himself wavering. Did Adraegyn and old Nevyn really see Wildfolk? Did those fabled little creatures actually exist? Oh, don’t be a stupid dolt! he told himself. Of course they don’t!

Later, when they rode back to the dun, Lord Pertyc happened to be walking across the ward just as they trotted in the gates. A servant came running to take Adraegyn’s horse. As soon as he was down, the lad ran, dodging away from his father’s affectionate hand and racing for the shelter of the broch.

“Somewhat wrong?” Pertyc said to Maer.

“Uh, well, my lord, your lad wanted to go meet the new herbman in town, so I took him, but truly, I wonder if the old man’s daft.”

“Daft? Did he scare the lad or suchlike?”

“Not at all, but he scared me. Here, my lord, I don’t mean to open old wounds or suchlike, but does young Adraegyn talk about the Wildfolk a lot?”

“Oh, that!” Pertyc smiled in open relief. “That’s all, was it? Did the herbman tease him about it? Well, no doubt the fellow was startled to hear a lad his age still babbling about Wildfolk.”

“Er, not exactly, my lord. The old man says he can see them, too.”

•  •  •

Late on the morrow morn, Nevyn was working out in back, planting a few quick-growing herbs and hoping that they would reach a decent size before the days turned short, when he heard a horseman riding up to the cottage. Trowel in hand, he hurried round and saw Lord Pertyc dismounting at the front gate.

“Good morrow, my lord. To what do I owe this honor of a visit? I hope no one’s ill at your dun.”

“Oh, thanks be to holy Sebanna, we’re all healthy enough. Just thought I’d have a chat, since you’re new here and all.”

Nevyn stuck the trowel in his belt and swung open the gate. Pertyc followed him in, looking wide-eyed round the garden as if he expected to see spirits leering out from under every bush. The place
was
full of spirits, of course, little gray gnomes sucking their fingers, blue sprites, ratty-haired and long-nosed, grinning to show pointed teeth, sylphs like airy crystals, darting this way and that. Inside, near the hearthstone, Wildfolk sat on the table and the bench and climbed on the shelves full of herbs. On the table a leather-bound book lay open.

“Ye gods!” Pertyc said. “That’s my most illustrious ancestor’s book!”

“One of them, at least. Being here made me think of it. Have you ever read it?”

“I take it on, every now and then. When every Maelwaedd man comes of age, his father tells him to read the
Ethics.
So you plow through a bit, and then your father admits that he could never finish the wretched thing, either, and you know you’re truly a man among men.”

“I see. Won’t you honor me by sitting down, my lord? I can fetch you some ale.”

“Oh, no need.” Pertyc had an anxious eye for the shelves of strange herbs and drugs. “Can’t stay more than a minute, truly. Er, well, you see, there was somewhat I wanted to ask you about.”

“The Wildfolk? I figured that Maer would tell you what happened.”

“He did indeed. Um, you were just humoring my lad, weren’t you?”

A yellow gnome reached over and closed the book with a little puff of dust. Pertyc yelped.

“I wasn’t, actually,” Nevyn said. “Does his lordship truly doubt that young Adraegyn can see the Wildfolk?”

“Well, I can’t say that I do, but I like to keep it in the family, you know.”

“Ah. I take it that his lordship’s wife is a woman of the Westfolk.”

“Well, she was.”

“My apologies, my lord. I didn’t realize that she’d ridden through the gates of the Otherlands.”

“Naught of the sort, if you mean did she die.” A tone of injured pride crept into Pertyc’s voice. “As far as I know, anyway, she’s alive and well and no doubt as nasty and strong-minded as she ever was. I suppose I’m being unfair. I don’t know how I ever thought she could live in a dun and be the proper wife of a noble lord, but by all the ice in all the hells, she might have tried!”