clan’s holdings. If I remember rightly, Glasloc marks half the distance twixt the Holy City and Cantrae town.’
‘I see,’ Maryn said with a nod. ‘I’ll wager Braemys will meet us before we start trampling on his lands.’ He glanced at Nevyn. ‘Do you know the lay of the land twixt here and Glasloc? Is it flat?’
‘Mostly, my liege.’ Nevyn turned to Daeryc to explain. ‘When I was younger, your grace, I lived near Cantrae.’
‘Good, good,’ the gwerbret said. ‘I haven’t been there since I was but a little lad, and we’ll need someone who knows the lie of things better than I do.’ He rose with a bow Maryn’s way. ‘If you’ll forgive me, your highness, I’ll be leaving you. I’m hungry enough to eat a wolf, pelt and all.’
Provisions for the silver daggers travelled in their own cart, tended by a stout carter and his skinny son. That particular night, Maddyn was sitting with Owaen when the son, young Garro, brought the two captains a chunk of salt pork impaled on a stick. Green mould marbled the fat.
‘My Da,’ Garro announced, ‘says it been in the barrel too long. Weren’t salted enough, either, Da says.’
‘Your Da’s no doubt right.’ Maddyn took the stick from the boy. ‘Owaen, what do you think?’
‘We’ve had worse,’ Owaen said. ‘Any maggots?’
Maddyn twirled the stick this way and that to catch the sunset light. ‘None that I can see.’
‘Weren’t none in the barrel, neither,’ Garro said.
‘Then it should do. Let’s see.’ Maddyn drew his dagger. He cut off the green streaks and took a few bites of the rest. ‘It’s not bad but it’s not good, either. It wouldn’t be worth fretting about, except I’ll wager this is Oggyn’s doing.’
Owaen swore so furiously that Garro cringed.
‘I’m not angry with you,’ Owaen snapped. ‘Go thank your da for us. Now. Give me that, Maddo. Let’s go shove it up the bald bastard’s arse.’
Unfortunately for Owaen’s plans, they found Oggyn attending upon the prince in front of the royal tent. Since not even Owaen could get away with violence there, the two silver daggers knelt not far from the prince’s chair and waited. Oggyn was congratulating Maryn for the birth of the new son in all sorts of long words and fulsome metaphors – as if, Maddyn thought bitterly, Bellyra had naught to do with it. Exposed to the open air, the pork began to announce that truly, it was rotten. Once Oggyn paused for breath, the two silver daggers, or their complaint, caught Maryn’s attention.
‘What’s that stench?’ Maryn glanced around. ‘Ye gods, Owaen! What have you brought me, a dead rat?’
‘I’ve not, my liege,’ Owaen said. ‘The rat is kneeling there beside you.’
In the firelight Maddyn could see Oggyn’s face blanch.
‘Spoiled rations, my liege,’ Owaen went on, waving the bit of pork. ‘Your councillor there assigns the provisions, and I think me he gave the silver daggers the last of the winter’s stores.’
‘What?’ Oggyn squeaked. ‘No such thing! If you received spoiled food, then one of the servants made a mistake.’ He glanced at Maryn. ‘Your highness, if you’ll release me, I’d best go have a look at the barrel that meat came from. I’ll wager it doesn’t have my mark upon it.’
‘I’ll do better that than,’ Maryn said, grinning. ‘I’ll come with you. Lead on, captains.’
Maddyn received a sudden portent of futility. No doubt Oggyn had been too clever to leave evidence lying about. The two silver daggers led the prince and his councillor back to their camp and the provision cart, where Garro and his da hauled down the offending barrel. By the light of a lantern Oggyn examined the lid with Maryn looking on.
‘Not a mark on it,’ Oggyn said triumphantly. ‘This barrel should have been emptied for the dun’s dogs, not carted for the army.’
‘Well, make sure it’s dumped now,’ Maryn said. ‘But a fair bit away. I don’t like the smell of it.’
‘Of course, your highness,’ Oggyn said. ‘I’ll have a replacement sent round from my personal stores.’
All at once Maddyn wondered if he should have sampled the pork. Too late now, he thought, and truly, we’ve eaten worse over the years. He put the matter out of his mind, but it remained, alas, in his stomach. He woke well before dawn, rolled out of his blankets, and rushed for the latrine ditch just beyond the encampment. He managed to reach it before the flux overwhelmed his self-control.
‘Nevyn, my lord Nevyn!’ The voice sounded both loud and urgent. ‘Your aid!’
Through the tent wall a dim light shone.
‘What’s all this?’ Nevyn sat up and yawned. ‘Who is it?’
‘Branoic, my lord. Maddyn’s been poisoned.’
Nevyn found himself both wide awake and standing. He pulled on his brigga, grabbed his sack of medicinals in one hand and a shirt in the other, and ducked through the tent flap. Branoic stood outside with a lantern raised in one hand.
‘He ate a bit of spoiled pork, Owaen told me,’ Branoic said. ‘But it came from a barrel that Oggyn gave us.’
Branoic led Nevyn to the bard’s tent. Just outside, his clothes lay stinking in a soiled heap. Inside Nevyn found Maddyn lying naked on a blanket. The tent smelled of vomit and diarrhoea. Owaen knelt beside him with a wet rag in one hand.
‘I’ve been wiping his face off,’ Owaen said. ‘I don’t think he’s going to heave any more.’
‘Naught left,’ Maddyn whispered.
‘How do you feel?’ Nevyn said.
‘Wrung out. My guts are cramping.’
The effort of talking was making him shiver. Nevyn grabbed a clean blanket and laid it over him. In the lantern light his white face, marked with dark circles under his eyes, shone with cold sweat. Nevyn sent Owaen off to wake a servant to heat some water, then knelt down beside his patient. Branoic hung the lantern from the tent pole and retreated.
‘Gods,’ Maddyn mumbled. ‘I stink.’
‘Good,’ Nevyn said. ‘Your body’s flushing the contagion out. I’m going to make you drink herb water, though, to ensure that every last bit’s gone. It won’t be pleasant, I’m afraid.’
‘Better than dying.’
‘Exactly.’
Maddyn sighed and turned his face away. The stench hanging in the tent was free of the taint of poison, or at least, Nevyn thought, free of any poison he’d recognize. While he waited for the hot water to arrive, Nevyn sat back on his heels and opened his dweomer sight. Maddyn’s aura curled tight around him, all shrunken and flabby, a pale brownish colour shot with sickly green. Yet it pulsed, as if it fought to regain its normal size, and brightened close to the skin. Nevyn closed his sight.
‘You’ll
