Free The Spirit Stone by Katharine Kerr Page B

the women’s hall when Maryn was king.
    All of Bellyra’s cushioned chairs and silver oddments had long since been replaced. On the stone walls hung tapestries of hunting scenes and hunting weapons—boar spears, bows and quivers of arrows, a maul for cracking the skulls of wounded game—displayed on iron hooks. The furnishings consisted of one long rectangular table and a scatter of benches. A pair of much-faded banners appliqued with red wyverns hung on the flat wooden wall, and in front of them in a half-round carved chair sat the king.
    Thanks to the royal line’s dubious inbreeding, Casyl looked much like Aeryc: the same squarish face, the same wide green eyes and tight-lipped smile, but his shock of hair was a dark brown, not blond like his grandfather’s. His long, nervous fingers played with a jewelled dagger. When Gathry started to kneel, the king pointed the dagger at him.
    ‘Leave us. Come in, my lord Nevyn.’
    Bowing, Gathry hurried out backwards and carefully shut the doors behind him. When the king nodded at a nearby bench, Nevyn sat.
    ‘Very well,’ Casyl said. ‘This is one of the few places in the dun where we won’t be overheard. I trust you’ll forgive the lack of ceremony.’
    ‘Ceremony means little to a man like me, your highness.’
    ‘So I thought.’ Casyl ran his thumb along the dagger’s hilt. ‘My scribes tell me many an interesting thing about men named Nevyn. Are they true?’
    ‘Do you doubt it after seeing me in the candle-flames?’
    Casyl’s hand tightened so hard on the dagger hilt that his knuckles went white. Nevyn said nothing. In a moment, the king glanced at his belt, took his time sheathing the dagger, then finally looked up.
    ‘King Aeryc was a very long-lived man,’ Casyl said. ‘I had the privilege denied to most men of knowing my grandfather. He made a point of telling me when I was a little lad never mock the dweomer.’
    ‘Aeryc was wise. My master in magic told me much about him.’
    ‘I’m honoured that you’d seek me out. But tell me, does this mean some great trouble coming to me and mine?’
    Nevyn almost laughed. He’d forgotten that most men saw the dweomer only in terms of dark and portentous warnings of doom.
    ‘Not in the least, my liege. I’ve only come to give you a gift, one that I hope will prevent such troubles.’
    At that, Casyl smiled, but his eyes stayed wary.
    ‘I’ve brought you a gem, a dweomer-stone,’ Nevyn went on. ‘And I’ll beg you to guard it as the greatest treasure you have and to pass it on to your son when the time comes. Will you promise me that, my liege, as one man to another?’
    ‘Gladly. Here, I never dreamt there truly was such a thing as magical jewels.’
    ‘They’re quite rare, your highness, as well you can imagine.’
    Nevyn brought out the pouch and unwrapped the opal, laying it onto the long table. Before he could offer to bring it to the king, Casyl got up and strode over for a look. When he saw the perfect opal gleaming among its silks, he gasped aloud. He reached out his hand, then stopped.
    ‘May I touch it?’
    ‘By all means, your highness. If it pleases you, do look into it. I’d be most interested in what you might see there.’
    Gingerly, as if he were approaching a wounded wild animal, the king picked up the gift, silks and all, and cradled it in the palm of one broad hand. The opal glowed with flame-coloured veins set against its misty white depths. While the king gazed into it, Nevyn silently called upon the Kings of the Elements, who ruled the spirits attached to the talisman. He directed their minds to the king and announced that he and his heirs were the rightful owners of the stone. Casyl felt their presence. Nevyn could see it by the way he shuddered, turning uneasily as if he felt a draught of cold air.
    ‘By the gods,’ Casyl whispered. ‘Never have I seen a gem like this one.’
    ‘Well, your highness, I’d wager high that you’ll never see its like again, so treasure it