Free Everran's Bane by Sylvia Kelso Page B

it, where are you? Where’s Stavan? Call Gerrar—get a horse-litter—take this thing off me! By the Sky-lords’ faces, I’ll disembowel him when I get back south!”
    Thassal fairly bounced in with Inyx bursting after her, purple in the face. Beryx flung his sling at them left-handed, kicked back the quilts, shot to his feet, and promptly collapsed. Inyx shed crutches to arrive in time and pinned him down with a hand in the chest.
    Beryx roared, “Get your paws off me!”
    Inyx panted, “Can’t.”
    The king thundered, “What!”
    And Inyx gasped, “Can’t. Over... balanced m’self.”
    There was a frightful hush. Then Beryx unwound, and began, albeit painfully, to laugh.
    As Inyx levered himself upright, Thassal and I retrieved parchments. I recognized the Quarred ram-horns on one huge red seal.
    The king, eyes very bright and dangerous, said, “Do you know what they say? Quarred: ‘Where the doughty warriors of Everran failed, our shepherds can hardly hope to succeed.’ With a five thousand strong standing army and ‘shepherds’ who raid my Reshx every year! Holym: Most unusually concise. ‘Branding cattle. Can’t come.’ Hazghend: ‘Love and best wishes, Ragnor, I have pirates off Osgarien and Estar’s hired my ships.’ Estar: Oh, this is the pearl. ‘We have a current fluidity problem. Our assembly has voted to censure the dragon at the next Confederate Council, and will apply trade sanctions on your behalf.’ Trade sanctions! Shepherds! Branding! I fought for Hazghend, my grandfather saved Estar. Loyalty! Not to mention foresight! Let a dragon ruin your neighbor so you’ll have to fight it yourself!”
    Inyx was studying the Hazghend parchment. His brows knit. He said slowly, “This is a month old.”
    â€œMy uncle the royal incubator!” Beryx erupted all over again. “He’s sat on those for a month! The—the—incompetent!” It was the worst insult in his vocabulary. He hove himself up the bed. “Find me a horse-litter, Inyx. I can’t rot here any longer, Four knows what else he’s done. No, woman, blight your splinters. I’m going home!”
    Over his head Inyx caught my eye, and very nearly achieved a wink.
    * * * * *
    Characteristically, the turmoil of departure did not make Beryx forget his debts. While I was packing my harp, Stavan came in, perched on the table, and presently remarked, “King sent for me.”
    I cocked an eye.
    â€œOffered me a stewardship. Said, ‘If you ran this mess, you’ll run the palace in your sleep.’ I said, I belong in Stiriand. He said, ‘Then Gerrar shall rebuild the house at Coed Wrock.’” He shook his head. “Dictated the order there and then.”
    â€œYou deserve it.” I thought how I would miss him, how we had met. “Twice over.”
    He shrugged. Fingered my harp. Hesitated. Then, with a palpable jerk, he plunged.
    â€œHarper... what do you know about aedryx?” he said.
    â€œAedryx?” I was puzzled. “I never heard of it.”
    â€œThem.”
    He was watching me oddly. “Who are they?” I asked, wondering what obscure branch of Stiriann folklore I had missed.
    He looked down, growing still more reluctant. At last he said, “Wizards.” A pause. “In the old days.” Another pause. “There are songs.”
    â€œI’ve never heard them.” I was professionally piqued.
    He shot me another fleeting glance. Then he brought the words out as if loading a fireball catapult.
    â€œThey say... Lossian was one. And... he had green eyes.”
    Then he was off the table and gone before I could assemble a question to chase, let alone catch, the hint.
    Thassal was yet more tantalizing. She saw Beryx to his horse-litter, and as she stood by it in the steep stony street I now knew so well, he held out his left hand. “Thank