The Spirit Stone. Katharine Kerr
traces of her soul upon the astral plane. He found nothing.
On the third day, when he was to return to the king to claim his boon, Nevyn woke to a realization. His old chains of wyrd, the tragedies over many lives that bound him to Gerraent and those other souls who had participated in his original fault – they would always take precedence in his life. Lilli had great talent for the dweomer, and most likely she would catch the attention of some other dweomermaster. If not, then he would find her when it was his wyrd to find her, and not a moment before.
Late in the warm and muggy day, Nevyn puffed back up the hill to the royal dun. The guards ushered him in with bows, and a page came running to greet him.
‘His highness told us to look for you, my lord,’ the page said. ‘He’s in council at the moment, but he begs that you’ll not be offended, and that you’ll wait for him in the great hall.’
‘I shall be honoured,’ Nevyn said. ‘Lead on.’
As they walked together across the ward, Nevyn noticed that Lord Gwairyc’s contingent of horsemen had just ridden in. The men were dispersing while the grooms were leading their mounts away. Near the broch Lord Gwairyc was standing and speaking with another nobleman. As they passed him, Gwairyc glanced Nevyn’s way. For a moment, their eyes met, only briefly, but what Nevyn saw there shocked him: no recognition, no hostility, nothing, really, but a cold indifference. Always before, Gerraent reborn had recognized him, as an enemy perhaps, but still, he had recognized him.
The page, Nevyn noticed, seemed terrified of the captain. In a moment he saw why. The groom leading Gwairyc’s dappled grey gelding had one hand on the horse’s bridle; with the other he held and idly swung the reins like a whip. Just as they were passing Gwairyc, the groom swung them too vigorously and clipped the startled horse across the nose. Gwairyc took two long strides, grabbed the groom by the shoulder, and hit him across the face so hard that the fellow yelped and staggered back.
‘I’ll take him in myself,’ Gwairyc snarled. ‘He’s twice as valuable as you are, and don’t you ever forget it.’
The groom pressed one hand over his bleeding nose and ran off, stumbling a little, without looking back. The page who’d been attending to Nevyn caught the old man’s sleeve.
‘Let’s go inside, my lord,’ he whispered.
‘By all means,’ Nevyn said. ‘We don’t need ill-temper coming our way.’
They hurried into the great hall, a cool refuge from the heat of the day as well as from Lord Gwairyc. Riders and servants were gathering at their hearth, while across the hall a few courtiers had already come in to sit together and gossip. At the table of honour Lord Gathry was waiting. He personally pulled out Nevyn’s chair for him, then sat down beside him.
‘Here, page,’ Gathry said. ‘Run and fetch mead and goblets. No doubt our guest is thirsty.’
The boy nodded and trotted off.
‘My thanks,’ Nevyn said, ‘Tell me somewhat, good sir. Do you know Lord Gwairyc?’
‘As much as any man can know him, I suppose. He’s part of the royal household now.’ Gathry paused for a twist of his lips. ‘There’s some talk that our liege will make him an equerry.’
‘Indeed? This idea seems to displease you.’
‘Oh, not at all, of course. If our liege chooses to do so, of course I have no objection.’ Gathry glanced around, turning to look behind him as if he expected Gwairyc to crawl out of a crack between the stones in the wall. ‘A good man, truly. Most devoted to our liege.’
‘Ah, I see. May I ask you just how devoted?’
For a moment, Gathry looked puzzled by the question; then he considered.
‘Now, truly, there are some at court who don’t care for Gwairyc and talk against him, but I must give the man his due, my lord. I think he’d walk into a fire if our liege asked him. The lords who grumble against him feel shamed. Their own allegiance runs a bit thinner than that, if you take my meaning.’
‘Oh, indeed I do, and my thanks.’
Nevyn turned in his chair and looked back at the doors. Gwairyc was standing alone, his arms crossed tight over his chest, his face utterly stripped of all feeling. No one spoke to him when he walked in and took his place at the head of one of the riders’ tables. A handful of men at a time, the king’s riders clattered in, laughing among themselves. Nevyn watched, and while he saw many men nod to Gwairyc or even bow to him, no one seemed to say a friendly word, nor did Gwairyc ever say one in return. Nevyn began to think of him as a soul standing on the edge of some abyss, just as when a man, all unmindful, strolls along the sea-cliffs to take a bit of air at night and cannot see the dirt crumbling just a few inches from his foot. A man so cut off from his fellows risked falling into evil ways, maybe not in this life, with his devotion to the king to guide him, but in his next the cliff edge might give way beneath him and let him fall into the darkness that recognizes nothing but its own wants and whims.
I truly can’t get out of this, Nevyn thought. He always was an irritating little bastard, so I don’t know why I’m even surprised that he’d be a nuisance now.
The sunlight streaming in through the windows had turned gold with the sunset by the time that the king’s private door opened. There was a blare of silver horns, two pages marched through, and everyone in the hall rose and knelt as Casyl came striding in with a pair of black-robed councillors. Casyl smiled and raised a hand in greeting to his court, then strode over to the honour table and took his place at the head. In a clatter of chairs and benches the assembled company sat down again, yet no one spoke more than a few whispers. Nevyn realized that almost every person in the great hall had turned to stare at him, that mysterious shabby old man, back again.
‘Greetings, my lord,’ Casyl said to Nevyn. ‘And have you come to tell me what you desire for your boon?’
‘I have, my liege.’
‘Splendid!’ Casyl rubbed his hands together like a merchant who’s just made a good sale. ‘The gift you gave me grows the more wondrous the more I study it. Speak. Tell me your wish, and if it’s in my power to bestow, then you shall have it.’
‘Your highness, my thanks.’ Nevyn paused for effect. ‘I want Lord Gwairyc to be my servant for seven years and a day, to serve me as faithfully and scrupulously as he would serve you.’
The men at the honour table gasped aloud; those at the nearest ones leaned forward, all of them desperate to know and unable to ask what had been said. Casyl frankly stared, eyes narrowed in confusion, as if he thought Nevyn were jesting.
Nevyn smiled briefly. ‘Do you think that Lord Gwairyc will comply with your wishes in this matter, my liege?’
‘No doubt. But with all the splendid things I can offer you, why do you want him?’
Nevyn leaned close to whisper.
‘For reasons of the dweomer’s and my own. I don’t care to reveal them, my liege. I swear it will be to your friend’s benefit and ultimately to yours.’
‘Done, then. Page, run and fetch me Lord Gwairyc.’
It took the page some while to thread his way through the crowded hall. He reached Gwairyc, said a few words, then stood back and allowed the lord to make his way back across alone. By the time he did, the human patience of the courtiers had been stretched beyond breaking. First the king’s servitors began to whisper about Nevyn’s strange request. The knowledge spread with the servants who’d been pouring mead and laying out baskets of bread. Once the warbands heard it, muffled oaths and loud talk overwhelmed the polite whispers. Gwairyc was forced to make his way to the king’s side through a clamour, all centred on what lay ahead of him. Silently Nevyn cursed himself – he should have requested the boon privately, but it was too late now.
Gwairyc knelt before the king, who turned in his chair and laid a hand on his shoulder.
‘My Lord