Read Online The Red Wyvern: Book One of the Dragon Mage by Katharine Kerr - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katharine Kerr
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swineherd with well-trained dogs.”
The three men looked back and forth at one another while Bevyan felt herself turn, very slowly, as cold as if a winter wind had blown into the hall. She glanced at Varylla.
“I should so like to see the embroideries you’ve been making,” Bevyan said. “You do such lovely work.”
“My thanks, my lady.” Varylla allowed herself a shy smile. “If you’ll come with me to my chambers?”
As they headed for the staircase up, Bevyan caught Peddyc’s eye. He winked at her in thanks, but his smile was forced. Why shouldn’t it be, she thought, if they’ll be talking treason?
Late on the next day, with Lord Camlyn and his men as part of the army, Gwerbret Daeryc’s entourage came to the city, which rose high on its hills behind massive double rings of stone walls, crenellated and towered. A cobbled road led up to the main gates, ironbound and carved with the king’s blazon of the wyvern rampant. To either side honor guards in thickly embroidered shirts stood, bowing as the gwerbret and his party rode through. Yet as soon as they came inside to the city itself, the impression of splendor vanished.
Ruins filled the space inside the walls—heaps of stone among rotting, charred timbers from the most recent siege; heaps of dirt covering stone razed long years past. Most of the remaining houses stood abandoned, with weed-choked yards and empty windows, the thatch blowing rotten through the streets. In the center of the city, though, around and between the two main hills, Bevyan did see some tenanted homes, surrounded by kitchen gardens. A few children played in the muddy lanes; more often the people she saw were old, stooped as they tended their produce or sat on a bench at their front door to watch the gwerbret’s army ride by. No one called out a greeting or a cheer. Bevyan turned in her saddle to look her husband’s way.
“It’s even worse this summer,” she remarked. “The city I mean. It’s so desolate.”
“Just so,” Peddyc said. “Everyone who could get out of here did.”
“Where did they go?”
“To kinsfolk, I suppose. The gods all know that there’s plenty of farmland lying fallow these days. Hands to work it would be welcome enough.”
“It’s so eerie, seeing all these empty houses. There can’t be any militia left to help hold the city walls.”
“There’s not, truly.” Peddyc looked abruptly away. “If there’s a siege this summer, we’ll have to cede the Usurper the town and hold the dun.”
Or try to—Bevyan seemed to hear that thought hanging in the air like a rebel lord. All at once she realized that this summer could easily bring her husband’s death. She had faced widowhood for so many years that the thought merely angered rather than frightened her.
The dun at least seemed in good repair. Through ring after ring of warding stone they rode, winding round on a spiral path to the top of the hill. A small village huddled around the final wall—the houses sheltering the king’s important servants, the blacksmiths and the like. Inside the palace ward itself Bevyan saw plenty of armed men, and these did cheer when they saw Gwerbret Daeryc and his contingent. Outside the double doors to the great hall, pages and servants stood waiting to take horses and unload carts. Bevyan waited until Peddyc had dismounted, then allowed him to help her down.
“I have to attend upon the gwerbret,” Peddyc said.
“Of course, my love.” Bevyan patted his arm. “I’ve been here often enough to take care of myself and my women.”
With a nod Peddyc strode off, yelling orders to his men. Anasyn followed his father without even a look back. Bevyan smiled—her son was growing up, all right, at home in the king’s own dun.
“Bevva!”
Dashing like a dog greeting its master, Lillorigga raced across the ward and flung herself into her foster-mother’s arms. Laughing, half on the edge of tears, Bevyan hugged her tight, then held her by the
The three men looked back and forth at one another while Bevyan felt herself turn, very slowly, as cold as if a winter wind had blown into the hall. She glanced at Varylla.
“I should so like to see the embroideries you’ve been making,” Bevyan said. “You do such lovely work.”
“My thanks, my lady.” Varylla allowed herself a shy smile. “If you’ll come with me to my chambers?”
As they headed for the staircase up, Bevyan caught Peddyc’s eye. He winked at her in thanks, but his smile was forced. Why shouldn’t it be, she thought, if they’ll be talking treason?
Late on the next day, with Lord Camlyn and his men as part of the army, Gwerbret Daeryc’s entourage came to the city, which rose high on its hills behind massive double rings of stone walls, crenellated and towered. A cobbled road led up to the main gates, ironbound and carved with the king’s blazon of the wyvern rampant. To either side honor guards in thickly embroidered shirts stood, bowing as the gwerbret and his party rode through. Yet as soon as they came inside to the city itself, the impression of splendor vanished.
Ruins filled the space inside the walls—heaps of stone among rotting, charred timbers from the most recent siege; heaps of dirt covering stone razed long years past. Most of the remaining houses stood abandoned, with weed-choked yards and empty windows, the thatch blowing rotten through the streets. In the center of the city, though, around and between the two main hills, Bevyan did see some tenanted homes, surrounded by kitchen gardens. A few children played in the muddy lanes; more often the people she saw were old, stooped as they tended their produce or sat on a bench at their front door to watch the gwerbret’s army ride by. No one called out a greeting or a cheer. Bevyan turned in her saddle to look her husband’s way.
“It’s even worse this summer,” she remarked. “The city I mean. It’s so desolate.”
“Just so,” Peddyc said. “Everyone who could get out of here did.”
“Where did they go?”
“To kinsfolk, I suppose. The gods all know that there’s plenty of farmland lying fallow these days. Hands to work it would be welcome enough.”
“It’s so eerie, seeing all these empty houses. There can’t be any militia left to help hold the city walls.”
“There’s not, truly.” Peddyc looked abruptly away. “If there’s a siege this summer, we’ll have to cede the Usurper the town and hold the dun.”
Or try to—Bevyan seemed to hear that thought hanging in the air like a rebel lord. All at once she realized that this summer could easily bring her husband’s death. She had faced widowhood for so many years that the thought merely angered rather than frightened her.
The dun at least seemed in good repair. Through ring after ring of warding stone they rode, winding round on a spiral path to the top of the hill. A small village huddled around the final wall—the houses sheltering the king’s important servants, the blacksmiths and the like. Inside the palace ward itself Bevyan saw plenty of armed men, and these did cheer when they saw Gwerbret Daeryc and his contingent. Outside the double doors to the great hall, pages and servants stood waiting to take horses and unload carts. Bevyan waited until Peddyc had dismounted, then allowed him to help her down.
“I have to attend upon the gwerbret,” Peddyc said.
“Of course, my love.” Bevyan patted his arm. “I’ve been here often enough to take care of myself and my women.”
With a nod Peddyc strode off, yelling orders to his men. Anasyn followed his father without even a look back. Bevyan smiled—her son was growing up, all right, at home in the king’s own dun.
“Bevva!”
Dashing like a dog greeting its master, Lillorigga raced across the ward and flung herself into her foster-mother’s arms. Laughing, half on the edge of tears, Bevyan hugged her tight, then held her by the
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