Free Darkspell by Katharine Kerr Page A

all the gods, it gladdens my heart to see you alive. When the news came in of Avoic’s death, I was sick, wondering if you and your sister had come to harm. I would have ridden north straightaway, but our liege wouldn’t allow it.”
    “Doubtless he didn’t want to lose you and your men along with ours. Maccy’s safe in the temple, and Mam along with her.”
    With a grin, Gwetmar draped himself in a chair. Gweniver perched on the windowsill and considered him.
    “Now, here,” he said, “are you truly going to ride with us?”
    “I am. I want a chance at vengeance even if I die for it.”
    “I understand that. I pray to every god that they’ll let me cut down Avoic’s killer. Listen, if we live till autumn, I’ll join my men to yours and join the feud.”
    “My thanks. I was hoping you’d say somewhat like that, because I’ve been thinking about the Wolf lands. They’re Maccy’s now, or they will be if the king grants my petition to let them pass in the female line. But I’m still the elder as well as a priestess, and she’s blasted well going to marry the man I pick for her.”
    “And no doubt you’ll pick a good one.” Gwetmar looked away, suddenly melancholy. “Maccy deserves no less.”
    “Listen, you dolt, I’m talking about you. I knowMaccy’s always been a coldhearted little snip to you, but now she’d marry the Lord of Hell himself to get out of that temple. I have no intention of telling any other land-hungry lord where she is until you’ve had a chance to send her messages.”
    “Gwen! I happen to honestly love your sister, not just her lands!”
    “I know. Why do you think I’m offering her to you?”
    He tossed his head back and laughed, as bright as the sun breaking through storm clouds.
    “Never did I think I’d have a chance to marry her. Taking the Wolf’s name and the Wolf’s feud seem a cursed small price to pay.”
    Gwetmar escorted her down to the great hall. In the curve of the wall stood a long dais, where the king and the noble-born ate their meals. Although Glyn was nowhere to be seen, a number of lords were already sitting at table, drinking ale while they listened to a bard play. Gweniver and Gwetmar sat down with Lord Maemyc, an older man who’d known Gweniver’s father well. He stroked his gray mustaches and looked her over sadly, but to her relief he said not a word about the road she’d chosen to ride. Now that the king had given his approval, no one would dare question her choice.
    The talk turned inevitably to the summer’s fighting ahead. Things promised to be slow. After the bloody campaigns of the last few years, Cerrmor simply didn’t have enough men to besiege Dun Deverry, nor did Cantrae have enough to make a real strike at Cerrmor.
    “A lot of skirmishing ahead, if you ask me,” Maemyc pronounced. “And maybe one good strike north to avenge the Stag and Wolf clans.”
    “A quick couple of raids and little else,” Gwetmar agreed. “But, then, there’s Eldidd to worry about on the western border.”
    “Just so.” He glanced at Gweniver. “He’s been getting bolder and bolder, raiding in deep to bleed both us and Cantrae. I’ll wager he holds back his full force until we’re both worn down.”
    “I see. It sounds reasonable, truly.”
    On the far side of the dais there was a bustle at the small door that led to the king’s private stairway. Two pages knelt ceremoniously while a third swung the door open wide. Expecting the king, Gweniver got ready to rise, but another man came through and paused to look over the assembled company. Blond and blue-eyed, he looked much like Glyn, but he was slender where the king was heavyset. His long swordsman’s arms were crossed tight over his chest as he watched the lords with narrowed, contemptuous eyes.
    “Who’s that?” Gweniver whispered. “I thought the king’s brother was dead.”
    “His true brother is,” Gwetmar said. “That’s Dannyn, one of the old gwerbret’s bastards, the only