Free The Spirit Stone by Katharine Kerr

wife.
    ‘May I ask you somewhat?’ Petyc had gathered his courage. ‘If I pry, then tell me, but do those old tales of other men named Nevyn have somewhat to do with you?’
    ‘They do. What made you guess, besides the name, of course?’
    ‘The name, mostly. Some of the records discuss a clan—I suppose you’d call it a clan—of sorcerers, always headed by a man called no one. I take it you’re sworn to aid the king?’
    ‘Him, too, but we do our best to offer our aid to anyone who needs it, whether prince or bondman.’
    Petyc considered this in some surprise.
    ‘Matters of history have always interested me.’ Nevyn decided to change the subject. ‘It’s a great honour to meet the keeper of the King’s archives. Olnadd tells me you understand their importance, unlike so many scribes.’
    With this sort of opening, the conversation could turn to the safe and pleasant matters of scholarship. As Petyc talked about his chronicles, his intelligence became obvious. He carefully selected what to record with a clear view of what granted an event importance.
    ‘Some of the ancient annals we have would no doubt amuse you,’ Petyc said. ‘They record with great solemnity every two-headed calf and dragon-shaped cloud seen in the kingdom, but omit to tell us anything about the king’s councils.’
    ‘You seem quite interested in ancient times.’
    ‘I am, truly.’ Petyc nodded in Olnadd’s direction. ‘His holiness here was the first to show me how fascinating the past can be. I was just a lad, then, sent to him once I’d been taken on by the dun. He taught me that there was more to books than the shaping of their letters.’
    ‘You were a quick pupil, one of the best I ever had.’ Olnadd glanced at Nevyn. ‘Petyc has an interesting library, some twenty volumes in his own personal collection.’
    ‘That’s an amazing number, truly.’ Nevyn took the hint and the opening. ‘I have a volume with me, actually, that might interest you, Petyc.’
    Nevyn brought out the bribe, a copy, some eighty years old, of the anonymous saga of Rwsyn of Eldidd, a king who’d ruled in the fifth century. When Petyc exclaimed over it, Nevyn could easily press it upon him as a gift without the word ‘bribe’ ever coming near the surface of conversation. With the saga duly accepted, Nevyn mentioned that he’d always wanted to see King Casyl from some better vantage than as a bystander to a formal procession.
    ‘That could be arranged,’ Petyc said. ‘I’d be most honoured, anyway, if you’d visit my humble quarters and look over some of the other books we’ve been discussing.’
    ‘And I should be most honoured to see them. May I visit you sometime soon?’
    ‘Come tomorrow afternoon, by all means. I’ll speak to the chamberlain about your audience with our king, but I fear that the chamberlain will tell you that he’s much too distracted these days. The Cerrgonney war, you know. I mean, rebellion.’
    ‘Oh no doubt. But perhaps I can impress the chamberlain with my sincerity.’
    On the morrow, wearing a clean shirt for the occasion, Nevyn presented himself at the massive iron-bound gates of the dun. When he announced his business, the guards looked him over suspiciously, but they allowed him into the ward while they sent a servant off to fetch the scribe. Petyc appeared promptly, then escorted him inside the rearmost tower of the conjoined brochs. As they were walking down a corridor, a pair of the king’s riders came swaggering along, shoving them out of the way and walking on fast. Petyc made a sour face at their broad backs.
    ‘That reminds me,’ Nevyn said. ‘Do you know anything about one of the King’s captains, a man named Gwairyc?’
    ‘I do. Now, I’ve only met him most briefly and formally, but his liege requested I enter a tale about Gwairyc into the annals for 980. It marked an event important in itself, but as well our liege meant it as a mark of honour to the captain. To give the man his due,