A good many of the lords swore, muttering among themselves. When Maryn raised a hand, they fell silent.
‘Oh ye gods!’ Maryn said. ‘And does he think he’s in any position to dictate these conditions?’
‘He doesn’t, your highness,’ Gavlyn said. ‘There’s no arrogance here, just fear. Their herald’s going to ride back to their camp when he gets my answer. A long ride, he said, but he refused to tell me the slightest thing that might tell me where the camp was. I take it that Lord Braemys’s army is much depleted.’
Everyone turned to look at Nevyn. Since he’d scried on the etheric during the night past, he had answer for them.
‘It is,’ Nevyn said. ‘I’d say he has no more than a thousand men, and that’s a very generous guess. A good many of his allies must have deserted him.’
‘Indeed?’ Ammerwdd stepped forward. ‘If we were to hunt him down, we’d have an easy victory and end the Boar clan forever.’
‘Your grace!’ Gavlyn turned dead-white. ‘The man’s asked for parley.’
‘Just so.’ Maryn smiled in a wry sort of way. ‘We’ve done our best to conduct ourselves honourably all through the war, and I’ve no desire to dishonour myself and my vassals now.’
Ammerwdd started to speak, then caught himself with a shrug.
‘Very well,’ Maryn went on. ‘What are these conditions?’
‘I’ve no idea, your highness. We’ve not got that far.’
‘Ye gods!’ Ammerwdd muttered. ‘How long will the little bastard weasel? It’s an insult, your highness, for a man to drag these things out. How long are we going to put up with him mocking our honour?’
‘Consider this, your grace,’ Maryn said. ‘Suppose we cut the parley short. Braemys and his men will flee. If they reach Cantrae safely, we could spend a year digging them out of it.’
‘True spoken.’ Ammerwdd gave in with a bow in the prince’s direction. ‘He won’t talk as long as all that.’
‘Just so.’ Maryn smiled, then turned to Gavlyn. ‘Tell the Boar clan’s herald that we’ll parley till we reach an honourable conclusion to the matter.’
‘My thanks, your highness. I’ll just be on my way, then.’
To pass the time till Gavlyn returned, Nevyn organized the wagon train that would carry the wounded home to Dun Deverry. Maryn designated fifty sound men for an escort, and Oggyn handed over supplies for everyone. By then the army had eaten enough of their supplies to free up six wagons. Others of the wounded men would be able to ride.
‘Just keep the pace slow,’ Nevyn told Maddyn. ‘Not that you’ll have much choice in that.’
‘True spoken,’ Maddyn said. ‘Do you have private letters you want delivered, my lord?’
‘I do.’ Nevyn reached into his shirt and handed him two silver message tubes. ‘One for Bellyra, one for Lilli. Go to Lilli first. She’ll read the headings and tell you which is which.’
‘The princess can read, too.’
‘I know, but I don’t want her getting a look at Lilli’s letter.’
‘I see.’ Maddyn smiled briefly. ‘Very well, my lord. Lilli first it is.’
Maddyn put the letters into his own shirt for safekeeping. Nevyn considered him, still pale and visibly thinner, but he had managed to keep some porridge down that morning.
‘Be careful of what you eat and drink,’ Nevyn said. ‘No dried beef and suchlike for you, bard.’
‘Oh, have no fear of that, my lord! One round of spoilt food is enough to last me for life.’
The wounded men left camp at noon. Nevyn stood in the road and watched them go until the dust cloud shrank to a smear on the distant view. He could only hope that they’d all reach the dun alive, but for many of them, he feared.
All that afternoon Gavlyn and the Boar’s herald held their talks out in a green pasture to the north of the camp. By evening, nothing had been truly settled, but Gavlyn felt confident that the herald was bargaining in good faith.
‘We’ll reach an end to this eventually,’ Gavlyn told Nevyn. ‘Not soon, but eventually.’
‘What exactly is Braemys so afraid of?’ Nevyn said. ‘Do you know?’
‘From what his herald told me, I’m guessing he fears capture more than death. He suspects our prince of wanting to hang him.’
‘Ah. That would explain it, then. It’s a terrible death for a fighting man.’
‘I don’t know how convincing I am, but I’ve tried to make clear to the herald that Maryn is the soul of honour.’
‘Well and good, then. There’s not much else you can do.’
On the morrow the negotiations started again. Soon after Gavlyn rode out, Nevyn noticed a few wisps of cloud streaking the western quadrant of the sky. A west wind picked up, and all morning the clouds came in, a few stipples at first, then a sky-spanning reach of them, like a spill of clabbered milk against a blue dish. Oh splendid! Nevyn thought. The most important parley in a hundred years, and it’s going to rain! Unless, of course, he did something about it. He left the prince to his vassals and hurried to his tent.
Outside, the noisy life of the camp strolled by: men laughing and jesting, or mourning some dead friend in an outburst of rage. Thanks to long practice Nevyn could withdraw his attention from it all. He sat down cross-legged, let his breathing calm, then visualized a ray of silver light circling him deosil, that is, in the direction of the sun’s travel through the sky. At each cardinal point he placed, again in his imagination, a five-pointed star of blue fire. When he spoke a word of power, the imaginary circle sprang into life on the etheric plane. While he couldn’t see it with his physical eyes, he could feel its energy trembling and surging all round him.
With the place of working prepared, Nevyn called to the Lords of Water. Streaks of silvery-blue light appeared in front of each pentagram, wavering at first, then solid, turning into pillars of light. Within each swam a vaguely human form. Nevyn could hear them as a chorus of thoughts within his own mind. How they might hear him lay beyond his knowledge. Yet they understood when he asked them to prevent the storm, and he understood when they told him it was impossible. They could, however, bring the storm to a head early, so that after a night’s rain the next day would dawn clear.
‘I thank you for that,’ Nevyn told them. ‘It will do splendidly.’
With a murmur of assent, they disappeared.
By sunset the iron-dark clouds seemed to hang so close to earth that it seemed one could reach up and touch them. The setting sun could do no more than stain the west with a sullen orange. Just before the night smothered even that faint glow, a weary Gavlyn returned to camp. After the evening meal, when Maryn’s vassals joined him around the fire in front of the royal tent, Gavlyn delivered his report.
‘Lord Braemys insists that Prince Maryn meet him in open country. He suggests that each side bring a personal guard of twenty men, a councillor, and a herald. The guards must stay some thirty yards away from the parley itself. Braemys has a field in mind, some ways from our camp, that’s free of trees and suchlike. He says that each side will be able to see the surrounding countryside clearly and thus be assured that no ambuscade has been laid by the other.’
‘Very well,’ Maryn said. ‘This all sounds fair to me. Nevyn, will you be able to tell if he has some treachery in mind?’
‘Most likely, your highness,’ Nevyn said. ‘But truly, think of the situation. Braemys is badly outnumbered. If he chose treachery, he’d lose the subsequent battle and his life.’
‘True spoken. Gavlyn, meet the