Days of Air and Darkness

by Katharine Kerr

  “Well, Rori,” the envoy said, “looks like neither of us will be going down to the Halls of the Dead just yet.”

  “So it does. But one of these days, I’ll be coming back to Lin Serr, on my way to Haen Marn if naught else.”

  “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

  They shook hands on it.

  Round noon, the army split up. Cadmar’s forces, including one silver dagger and a dragon, and the dwarven axmen headed out east by different roads to return to their respective cities, while Calonderiel led his men south.

  The gwerbret and his men had a long ride of it. The rain came day after day, washing them with an aching cold, sickening the men and horses both, turning the roads to mud. Although rain was the usual fare in the Northlands this time of year, Rhodry couldn’t help wondering if the raven woman lay behind the storms. He’d seen dweomerworkers call the weather before, and taking a petty revenge would be like her.

  The weather, though, was the least of their troubles. By then, the provisions they’d brought with them were mostly exhausted. The Horsekin had already stripped most of the food from the countryside, forcing Cadmar to ride home by a roundabout route to scavenge what he could. Everywhere they stopped, they met starvation. Although the Horsekin had killed most of the farmers they’d plundered, here and there a few who’d escaped huddled in shacks built on the ruins of their steadings. On the road they met starvation, too. Men leading cows so thin their ribs showed, women carrying children in the same condition, a whole family here, a broken one there, desperately heading south in the hope that some friend or kinsman had been spared and could take them in—the army passed them all, riding so hungry itself that it could do nothing for them.

  During the day, Rhodry and the dragon would hunt, but she found little enough game, and Rhodry didn’t care to test the power of the ring by ordering her to share the kills. At night, they would join the other men in camp. It seemed that every day, some man or another had died either from fever or an old wound. They lost horses, too, until a good quarter of the army was walking home, not riding. When the rain finally stopped, what firewood they found lay soaked on freezing ground. The gwerbret walked among his men that night and talked to as many as he could.

  “It’s not much farther now, lads, not much farther at all. A few more days and we’ll be home with a good fire and Cengarn’s stores to feed us.”

  Everyone tried to smile and agree, but those few days loomed as large as one of the Hells.

  That night, Rhodry dreamed of the raven woman, or rather, she invaded his sleep again. He was dreaming of Lin Serr and of walking down a long tunnel, shimmering blue in phosphorescent light upon marble. Ahead stood a round opening, glowing golden, and in the dream he heard a voice saying, “The Halls of the Dead.” He hesitated, wondering if he should go forward, when he saw her, striding toward him down the hallway from the direction in which he’d come. His first thought was to run into the golden light, but his courage saved him. He stood his ground and waited till she stood in front of him and smiled.

  “What a coward you are,” Rhodry said. “Coming only in dreams. You can’t have much faith in your wretched dweomer.”

  Her smile disappeared.

  “Or don’t you even have much power left, with Alshandra dead?” he went on. “A few farmwives’ spells, I’ll wager, and no more.”

  “Mock all you want, but leave that ugly beast of yours somewhere and come to me upon the ground. Then we’ll be seeing which one of us the coward may be.”

  When he hesitated, she laughed, but it was such a nervous giggle that he realized how much she feared him—as much as he feared her.

  “Look here at this.” She held up a silver dagger. “Do you know who this did belong to? Your friend, Yraen. The man who did slit his throat gave me his dagger for a trinket.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I do not. It be mine, now, back in the day world, and I keep it with me always.”

  “You lie, bitch!”

  “I do not, and I’ll prove it. The dagger carries a little wyvern graved upon the blade, right up by the hilt. The thongs wrapping the hilt were made of pale buckskin once, but now they be all dark and stained.”

  Choked with grief, Rhodry could say nothing.

  “I do tell the truth, don’t I?” She tossed back her head and laughed. “I do have it, Rhodry Maelwaedd, and while I do keep it, I have the keeping of your friend’s precious honor, too. Think on it! His silver dagger does belong to a woman and an enemy!”

  Rhodry stepped forward, grabbing at her throat, but she was gone, the hallway was gone—he was lying awake in a tangle of damp blankets and swearing at a dawn-streaked sky. Arzosah had swung her head round and was watching him.

  “Did that woman come into your dreams again?”

  “She did.” Rhodry sat up, pushing the blankets away. “How did you know?”

  “You were tossing and muttering in your sleep, that’s how.”

  “It was a wretched thing. Ah, ye gods, it’s hard to believe it’s real. Maybe it’s just the hunger and the cold.”

  “Don’t be silly. She’s a shape-changer and a sorcerer. Why shouldn’t she come to you in dreams?”

  “And a fine comfort you are.”

  “Better than you deserve. Tell me about it, Dragonmaster. I love this sort of lore.”

  Rhodry obliged, more to get it straight in his own mind than to please her, though the dragon listened in dead seriousness.

  “By the scaly gods of the air,” Arzosah said, “I’m glad you didn’t run for that gold light you saw.”

  “Truly? Why?”

  “Well, if you had, your soul would have been loose from your body, and that would have been a splendid mess! You’d have been fighting on her dweomer-ground. I’ll wager you’d have lost, too, and ych! I would have been her slave as well as you. Ych, ych, ych, how disgusting!”

  “Your sympathy warms my heart.” Rhodry shook himself like a wet dog. “And the worst of it is, I still feel like she’s watching me or suchlike.”

  “Quick! Mount up! She must be round here somewhere.”

  Since he slept dressed, of course, in that cold, all Rhodry had to do was pull on his boots and buckle on his sword belt. Arzosah bent her neck, carried him up, then took to the air while he was still wedging himself between the enormous scales where her crest met her spine. He clung to her and looked down, watching as she rose higher and began to circle. The army spun slowly under them, and the hills as well, dark under their cloak of pines.

  “No sign of her yet!” Rhodry called.

  “But I smell dweomer.”

  Arzosah swung round to the west and flew hard, rolling through the air while Rhodry clung for quite literally dear life. Far ahead, a black speck appeared. The dragon climbed, flying far higher than any bird, even a dweomer one, could easily go. Ahead, the speck resolved itself into the raven, gliding along the wind, flying slowly. Bit by bit, they overtook her, came close enough to see that in her claws she carried a bulging cloth sack. Arzosah curved her wings to steady herself, then stooped like a falcon and plunged.

  The whistle in the wind gave them away. The raven twisted round, saw them, shrieked, and flew, cawing and flapping straight ahead to a sudden mist, billowing in a clear sky. Rhodry howled out oaths and curses in vain as she skittered through and disappeared. Roaring in rage, Arzosah flung herself at the same spot, but nothing happened—they were still flying over the Northlands and the pine-dark hills.

  “May her womb rot green within her,” Rhodry growled, “and the slime drip down to her knees.”

  “You should have been a bard, you curse so well! Let’s go back. My wings ache with all this wretched damp. I do hope you let me eat a nice fat cow once we’re all safe in the city, Dragonmaster. The gods all know I’ve earned one.”

  “I doubt if there’s a nice fat cow anywhere near Cengarn. But you’re right—let’s get back to the army.”

  When they flew over the camp, they found the army gon
e, confident, no doubt, that Rhodry would catch up to them with no trouble. Following the track, they flew south and, indeed, found the army right away. They’d only ridden a few miles and called a halt to swarm round something they’d met in the road. As the dragon swooped down to join them, Rhodry recognized provision carts and men from the fort-guard at Cengarn.

  “Saved!” he called out. “It looks like we’ll be eating today after all!”

  Sure enough, the town had sent what provisions it could spare, scant but better than the naught they’d had before. When Rhodry took a chunk of flatbread and another of cheese from one of the carters, he thought that he’d never smelled food as good.

  “But here,” he said to the man, “how did you know where we were?”

  “The dweomermaster told us, of course. The lady of the Westfolk.”

  Rhodry laughed, but at himself. Of course. Dallandra would have been scrying them out, no doubt during their entire march, and she’d know exactly when they’d be returning.

  On the day that Cadmar and his men finally rode home, Dallandra sent Jahdo down to join the welcome at the dun gates. Although the boy was fretting with excitement, she preferred to stay up in her chamber till the confusion and greetings were over. Much to her amusement, though, the other women in the dun were surprised at her.

  “Oh, come now, Dalla,” Carra said. “Don’t you want to see Rhodry as soon as ever you can?”

  Dallandra laughed, turning the girl red with embarrassment.

  “It’s not that sort of thing between us. Truly.”

  And yet, she had to admit that it was good to see him when, late that evening, he came to find her. She’d eaten alone, avoiding the feast in the great hall, then brought out one of Jill’s books to study by dweomer light. Although Dallandra had never been the studious sort of dweomerworker before, ever since Jill’s death she’d taken to poring over the books her friend had left behind. She was just considering an interesting passage about astral currents when she heard someone opening the door. She smiled, knowing before she looked up that it would be him.

  “You’re turning into a hermit like Jill,” Rhodry said.

  “The dweomer takes you that way, sooner or later. It gladdens my heart to see you safe and well, though.”

  “My thanks, and the same to you.”

  “Have you seen Jahdo? He’s talked of naught else but your homecoming for days. And the dragon’s, of course.”

  “Has he now? Well, he sat with me most of the evening. I sent him off to bed a while ago. He can keep Arzosah company tonight.”

  “Oh?” She raised a teasing eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

  He smiled, then strode over, putting his hands on her shoulders and bending down to kiss her. She rose, took a second kiss, and found herself slipping into his arms as easily as if he’d never left the dun. Later—much later—she would wonder at herself, that she could spend months and even years away from Rhodry Maelwaedd with never a thought about him, only to take him into her bed the moment he asked.

  After that first night home, Rhodry and Arzosah made a camp outside Cengarn, to spare the dun’s horses the sight of her and to spare Dallandra scandal. They found a cozy spot in a sheltered hollow near the base of the north cliff. Jahdo helped him build a proper fire pit with flat stones, and the town guard donated a tent from its stores. Rhodry took to spending much of His time there in the dragon’s company. Every afternoon, some while before sunset, she would fly off to hunt deer, grumbling, usually, because he wouldn’t allow her to steal a cow or two from the local farmers. Once she did bring back a bear, stinking of grease, who’d waited a little too long to retreat to his winter cave. Rhodry made her take that kill some distance away before she ate.

  On an afternoon warm with false summer, Arzosah had just flown off, leaving Rhodry to sit alone in the sun, when he saw a man striding toward him across the meadow. He rose, watching while Evandar came strolling up, smiling as if the world couldn’t please him more.

  “I’ve just had a word with Dalla,” Evandar announced. “She tells me that Carra will have the baby soon.”

  “That concerns you?”

  “It does, most completely so.” He let the smile fade. “As do you, of course.”

  “I’m well enough.”

  “Are you? Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  Evandar considered, studying his face for so long that Rhodry finally turned and walked a few steps away.

  “Oh, here,” Evandar said. “I don’t mean to distress you.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Indeed?”

  All at once, Evandar stood facing him again. Cengarn was gone. They stood on a grassy island in a sea of white mist. Nearby grew a clump of white birches, their slender branches nodding, their leaves all yellow with autumn. On the other side of the trees there seemed to be a stone well—Rhodry couldn’t see it clearly through the opalescent haze.

  “Evandar, take me back.”

  “Not just yet. It’s pleasant here. Come sit down.”

  Before Rhodry could say a word, he found himself doing just that, sitting beside Evandar in the tall grass, as soft and green as spring growth. The seeming-elf lounged back on one elbow, his yellow hair gleaming in a dim sunlight that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

  “The town might need me,” Rhodry said. “And Carra and the child, too, to defend them, like.”

  The mist, the island, the birches were all gone. They sat on the stubbly grass in front of Rhodry’s tent near Cengarn. The sun was setting.

  “My thanks,” Rhodry said somewhat dryly.

  “Most welcome. You’re a hard man to argue with. Not an easy man to love, either.”

  For a long moment, they merely looked at each other in the fading light. Evandar sighed, turning away, clasping his arms round his knees in such a human gesture that Rhodry was oddly touched. Evandar wasn’t the first man who’d been devoted to him, though he was perhaps the first to admit it. Rhodry found himself remembering Amyr again, and other men who’d ridden in his warband, and Gwin as well, his personal bodyguard, all those years ago when he’d been a noble lord and taken the devotion of other men for granted. Perhaps, he realized, he was remembering Gwin most of all.

  “You look sad,” Evandar remarked.

  “I am. I was thinking of a man who died in my service. A long time ago, now.”

  “Did it ache your heart when he died?”

  Rhodry hesitated, wondering if he dared admit the truth.

  “It does now, remembering him.”

  “Even though it’s been a long time?”

  “Just so.”

  “But it didn’t then?”

  “Of course it did! Why are you asking me all this?”

  Evandar considered for a moment. “I just wanted to make sure I understood it a-right.”

  “Understand what?”

  “Grief. It’s a very strange thing to me.”

  “I’ll wager, my friend, that there’s a cursed lot of things you don’t understand.”

  “So Dalla always says. I thought I was the master of riddles, but I think me that I’m the barest apprentice, compared to this thing you call the world.”

  “Indeed? Well, one of my noble ancestors wrote a book, and in it he said that it was a grand thing to know you’re ignorant, because only then can a man open his heart and learn.”

  “But your heart’s as closed as a stone.”

  “And what’s it to you?” Rhodry could hear himself snarling. “Why don’t you go ask Dalla these cursed stupid questions?”

  “I told you already. Dalla could never bring me sorrow. Even if I were never to see her again, I’d have joy, remembering her. But you’re the one who can answer me the riddle of grief. Please, Rori? Tell me about this fellow, the one who makes you feel sad, remembering him.”

  At that moment, Evandar looked so much like a child, eager to hear some tale, that Rhodry gave in.

  “There was a man I met once in the worst of circumst
ances,” he said. “His name was Gwin, and he started out as my enemy, but in the end, he proved to be my friend, the truest friend I ever had, really. That was when I was lord of Aberwyn, and so I could give him a position in life, after he’d had none. He would have died for me, but thanks be to every god in the sky, he never had to. One winter he took ill, though. It was a wasting disease. The chirurgeon said he had stones in his stomach, and in the end, they killed him. But at least he died his own death, not one meant for me.”

  “Do you miss him still?”

  “Nah, nah, nah, it was too long ago for that.”

  “Then why—”

  “Will you hold your tongue? Or better yet—go away.”

  “Shan’t. Didn’t I give you the dweomer ring? You should gift me in return. It’s only fair.”

  “Well, it could well be, but why do you want to hear this wretched tale? It’s not much of a gift.”

  “It is to me. I’ll wager it holds the answer to this riddle.”

  Rhodry sighed in sheer exasperation. Evandar smiled, a flash of charm like sun breaking through clouds.

  “Please, Rori?”

  “Oh, very well. My heart’s still troubled because he loved me, and in my own way, I loved him as well, but I never said it, not once, not even when he was dying in my arms.”

  “So he never knew?”

  “Just that.”

  “So you feel that you lied to him?”

  “I do, blast you! And I lied twice, because I knew he was going, but I promised him we’d ride together in the spring, when he was well.” He felt his voice break. “But I think he knew the truth of that. He smiled at me, you see, and died.”

  “That is sad. That I do understand.”

  “Splendid! Now will you go away?”

  “Shan’t.”

  “Oh, ye gods! What more do you want from me?”

  Evandar considered, frowning.

  “I want to know what Dalla feels like,” he said at last, “when she sleeps all night in your arms.”

  Rhodry could find not a single word to say.

  “She tells me that she loves you no more than you love her,” Evandar went on. “But I love the pair of you. I want to understand.”