“My apologies. I did but jest.”
“Oh, mine to you, too. I do feel as if I walked on nails or suchlike tonight.”
“Admi's news would turn any heart fretful, bain't?”
“Just so. Here, I saw not your master's lady here tonight.”
Harl grinned, then glanced around. Niffa could see that Verrarc still spoke with Admi, both of them a fair way away, too.
“The bitch did run off again,” Harl lowered his voice. “I ken not where she be. The master be ever so troubled, too.”
The strange cold warning clutched Niffa's heart, or so it seemed, so hard that she couldn't speak.
“And here be a thing most peculiar,” Harl went on. “Korla did tell me about it. Our mooncalf swears that she did see Raena standing naked on the back garden wall, and then she turned herself into a big raven and flew off. Raena, I mean, not poor little Magpie.”
“Oh come now! That can't be true!”
Yet even as she spoke, Niffa found herself hearing a little voice in her mind, telling her that true it was. Mazrak—she too had heard the old tales. All at once her loathing for the woman came clear in her mind, that someone would work the witchlore to do harm. All ye gods! she prayed. Do let Dalla get herself here straightaway! She remembered what she'd told Zatcheka: my master in the witchlore. It be true, she thought, mayhap the truest thing I've ever spoke. Harl was standing close to her, smiling at her with an unmistakable fondness.
“Harl?” she said. “Do get yourself another lass. In but a little while you'll understand why I do say this.”
Niffa turned on her heel and hurried off. Once she'd caught up with the last of the crowd, she looked backed to find him still standing where she'd left him, staring after her.
Evandar being Evandar, Dallandra and her expedition spent two full days, not one, on the west-running road before he finally joined them. On their second night out from Cengarn, they camped in a wild meadow some miles from the last farm of Cadmar's demesne, at about the time that Admi was summoning the citizenry to hear his news. While the men tethered out the horses and mules, Dallandra took Elessario from a weary Carra, whose back ached from a long day of carrying the baby in the sling. Lightning, Carra's wolfish grey dog, padded along behind as they strolled through the camp. By then Elessi could hold her head up, and she sat up in Dallandra's arms, looking round with her big golden eyes.
“Tomorrow Dar can take a turn at carrying her,” Carra said.
“Will she be quiet for him?”
“I don't care if she screams the whole way. He can still take a turn. But truly, she does love her da, and I think me she'll be good enough.”
Their stroll had led them to the center of the camp, where Jahdo had built the evening's fire out of scrounged wood. He knelt in front of it and began to strike sparks with his flint and steel. As they watched, the tinder finally caught, and flames leapt up in the kindling. Elessi crowed with laughter and twisted in Dalla's arms, leaning down to reach toward the leaping fire.
“Hot!” Dallandra stepped back and put alarm into her voice. “Very hot! Bad for babies!”
Elessi howled—there was no other word for it, howled like an angry banshee and wrenched herself around in the general direction of the fire. So surprising was her strength that Dallandra might have dropped her had Carra not grabbed the child from behind.
“Nah nah nah!” Carra crooned. “Be good now. Don't fuss!”
Her face red as a sunset, Elessi whipped her head around and caught Carra's arm in a toothless bite. Carra slid her flesh free to a cascade of screaming.
“I'll take her inside the tent.” Carra was yelling over the noise. “That usually quiets her right down. Mayhap she'll suckle for a while.”
Dallandra gladly let go her grip on the child. Elessi continued to scream and howl as Carra carried her at a trot across the camp and ducked into the peaked tent. For some while Dallandra stood outside, listening to Carra talk to her child. Finally Elessario's wails turned to a normal cry, then stopped as Carra managed to get her to nurse. No doubt the tantrum had left her hungry. Dalla turned away and found Jahdo watching her, his head cocked a little to one side.
“Not all babies be so irksome, my lady.”
“That's very true. I'll admit I'm worried.”
“I did wonder if you were. Ah well, if we get safely to my home, my aunt, Sirri, will ken what to do. No one in our whole town does ken babies as well as she, you see. The other women, they all call her a fair marvel.”
“Good! We're going to need her counsel, no doubt of that. I hope Evandar gets himself here soon. The less time we spend on the road, the better.”
That night, when she went to the Gatelands of Sleep to look for Evandar, Dallandra found Niffa waiting for her instead. The lass's simulacrum was pacing back and forth by the fiery-red dweomer stars, and she blurted out her news as soon as Dallandra walked up.
“I did speak with Zatcheka! She did thank me for the telling of her son's death.”
“Well, that took courage!” Dallandra said. “I'm proud of you, Niffa. And my heart aches for the poor woman.”
“She were ever so sad, truly. But here be the strangest thing of all. I did approach her, and she did seem very pleasant, and then all of a sudden I did think, how can I tell her without telling her how I learnt of it?”
“Oh ye gods! Here I never thought of that!”
“But in the end, like, it mattered not. She did make it plain that she did ken witchlore, and that she'd seen me in a dream, so I did tell her.”
“The Gel da'Thae have dweomer? Huh, I can't say I'm surprised, after some of the things Meer told us.”
“Only a bit, said she. It be good she does, truly, with the times as black as these. Grave things be afoot. That be the reason she did come to our town. The wild Horsekin do gather an army. They do think some goddess or other did grant our lands and people to them to conquer.”
Dallandra swore so foully that Niffa gaped at her.
“My apologies,” Dallandra said. “I think me I've been spending too much time around soldiers. Do go on.”
“There be not much more to tell, truly. Zatcheka's town, Braemel, does wish to ally with us. We shall hold the Deciding in three days.”
“Well, I hope to every god we get there before that.”
“Do you think this alliance be a bad thing?”
“Not at all. I just happen to know a great deal about this wretched false goddess, that's all, and I think your town should hear it.”
“Ah, I do see. But here, there be another strange thing.
Raena, the councilman's woman—she did leave our town this day, and some say she be a mazrak. Know you what that be?”
“I most certainly do, and she is. I've seen her in raven form with my own eyes.”
Niffa stared for a long moment.
“Do you know where she went?” Dallandra said.
“Not I. I did but hear the news from the councilman's servant.”
“Huh! I wonder if she knows we're coming? But don't you worry about that. I'll do some scrying.”
“Well and good, then.” The girl's image was wavering and growing thin. “Forgive me, I do be so tired this night.”
“Go back to your body, then, child. We could all do with some rest after horrible news like that.”
Niffa's image smiled briefly, then disappeared. Evandar better get himself here, Dallandra thought. We need to make some speed.
With the first grey light of dawn Evandar did indeed arrive. Dallandra was sitting on the ground, eating breakfast with Jahdo while Prince Dar and his guard struck the tent. Off to one side of the confusion Arzosah sat crouched like a cat with her forepaws folded under her chest and her wings neatly furled, while Rhodry stood nearby, eating a chunk of bread. All at once, Arzosah hissed like a thousand snakes and lumbered to her feet. Lightning sprang up and began to bark a deep-throated warning. Dallandra got up herself and turned to see what had so alarmed the dragon: Evandar, striding into camp le
ading a scruffy-looking grey gelding on a halter rope for want of a bridle. The grey carried no saddle, either. Although the horse rolled an eye at the sight of Arzosah, it stayed remarkably calm. No doubt Evandar had worked his strange horse-dweomer once again.
“My apologies, my love,” Evandar said. “I did mean to get here faster than this.”
“No harm done, truly,” Dallandra said. “I suppose you stole that horse.”
“Borrowed it only.” He flashed her a grin. “I'll return it to the farmer when I'm done riding, I promise.” He glanced
Arzosah's way. “Ah, I see our wyrm is in a sunny mood to match the morning.”
“Hold your tongue, you foul clot of ectoplasm,” Arzosah growled. “How I wish I could snap you up and crunch you down my gullet!”
“No doubt, but being as I know the dweomer of your true name, I suggest you don't bother trying.” Evandar was grinning in a way that must have been infuriating to the dragon. “Be a good little lass and follow us through my country when we go in.”
“Your country? Never!”
“And why not? Your poor little wings will have to do less flapping that way.”
Arzosah opened her mouth and hissed like water poured on red-hot iron. Rhodry came hurrying up and laid a hand on Evandar's shoulder.
“Here, here, don't tease her,” Rhodry said. “For my sake if not for hers.”
“Oh very well.” Evandar gave him a lazy smile. “But it'll take the pair of you too long to fly all the way to Cerr Cawnen on your own.”
“No doubt she'll take the shortcut if I ask her. Just leave her to me.”
Rhodry returned to the dragon, who turned her back on him with a great deal of grumbling and swearing. Still, when he trotted round her bulk to face her, she did bend her head to listen as he talked, too softly for the others to hear. Evandar watched him with his head cocked to one side.
“Rori deserves the names she gave him,” Dallandra said. “Dragonfriend, dragonmaster.”
“For now,” Evandar said. “But I hope he can keep on handling her this well. She's a dangerous beast.”
“As if I didn't know that.”
“I don't mean her teeth and claws, my love. She has dweomer as well.”
“Ye gods! I had no idea.”
“All of Wyrmkind loves dweomer, and they have workings that pass from mother to hatchling. They dwell in the fire mountains, and the mountains listen to them and obey them.”
“Obey them? What—”
“They can call forth the molten blood of the earth, should they want to. Fire and ash and devastation come at their beck and call.”
Dallandra wondered if he were having a jest on her, but he seemed solemn enough.
“I've seen it happen,” Evandar went on. “Anger a dragon too near its lair, and you'll lose rather a lot of countryside. Why do you think I went to all that trouble to learn her name?”
“Indeed.” Dallandra shuddered like a wet dog. “Well, I'll do my best to keep her feeling kindly toward us.”
“Do that. I have hopes that the power of her name will work for you even without the ring. But Rhodry will be able to do naught that she doesn't want done.”
Once everyone had eaten, the men loaded up the packs and saddled the riding horses. Dallandra and Carra stood off to one side out of the way as Dar and two of the archers packed up the tent. Carra was holding Elessario in her arms, and the baby fretted, not quite crying, refusing to be cheered, until Evandar walked over to them.
“Look, beloved,” Carra said. “Look there! It's your grandfather.”
When Elessi saw Evandar, she squalled and stretched out her chubby little arms to him. As soon as he'd taken her, she quieted.
“Now that's real dweomer,” Carra said, laughing. “Maybe you should carry her from now on.”
“If I didn't have a working to do, I would,” Evandar said. “Come to think of it, it would be best if she slept on this part of the journey.”
As she understood, Dallandra winced and nodded her agreement. If Elessi should see her old homelands, she might well try to leave the body that was proving such a nuisance.
“That's all very well,” Carra said. “If I could make her sleep on command, my life would be a good bit easier, good sir.”
“Ah. Then I shall sing to her.”
Evandar settled the baby at his shoulder, then began to sing in a high-pitched wail that seemed to follow no particular rhythm. At first Elessi laughed, then she yawned, and in a few moments she shut her eyes and slept. When Evandar handed her back to Carra, she barely stirred.
“I'll teach you that song later,” he said, “when we have more time. We should be riding out.”
“I'd be ever so grateful,” Carra said. “And at least she'll sleep today for Dar. He's carrying her, whether he wants to or no.”
Dar, however, was perfectly willing to take a turn with his daughter, though Carra had to lengthen the sling with a bit of rope to go over his broader shoulder. Watching them together, fussing over their child, made Dallandra smile. Yet all at once she felt a thin cold line of fear run down her back—the dweomer-cold. There was some danger close at hand, too close, a thing she'd overlooked somehow. In the bustle of leaving she had no chance to meditate upon the warning, but she knew she'd remember it.
Once everyone had mounted up, Evandar led the way back to the path at the far side of the meadow. Dallandra rode next to him while the line straggled out behind. Overhead Arzosah flew in lazy circles with Rhodry on her back. For a few miles they followed a dirt track that wound through wild grasslands. At their approach birds broke cover and flew, grouse with a whir of wings, the occasional lark, winging up on a spiral of song. The sun was well risen by the time they crested a low hill and looked down to see a river where a mist was forming, a strangely opalescent mist, rising in long tendrils. Evandar held up one arm for the halt.
“Is everyone in good order?” Evandar called out.
Dallandra turned in her saddle and looked back. Carra sat on her horse at the head of the line while Prince Dar, one arm around the sling with the baby and the other gesturing as regally as he could manage, arranged his men in a proper two-abreast marching order, followed by Jahdo, leading his white packhorse. Tied down for safety's sake, Carra's dog lay uneasily atop the pack.
“All except Rhodry and the dragon.” Dallandra paused, shading her eyes with one hand. “Where—ah, there they are, coming right toward us.”
Evandar waited until the dragon had flown close enough to see them and the mist both, then yelled out the order to march. As they rode downhill, the gleaming pearl-shot mist swelled and put out long cool arms to greet them. A few more paces, and the grey covered the sky above, though when she looked back, Dallandra could still see the morning sun in the east. Once they'd ridden well into the grey-and-lavender clouds, they could see naught but mist and a pale strange light that seemed to emanate from inside the water drops rather than from any sun beyond. Dallandra could hear the prince's guard muttering among themselves.
“Hold steady, men!” Daralanteriel called out. “The Wise One knows what she's doing.”
Dallandra smiled to herself. It was better to let them think that she was the one working a familiar dweomer, but of course, she understood next to nothing about Evandar's gates between worlds.
At length the mist began to thin in patches, as if invisible fingers were teasing it out the way a woman teases out wool for the carding comb. The sun beyond brightened as the mist finally faded away. In a cool sunlight they found themselves on the bank of a dead river where brown reeds stood crisp and lead-grey water oozed over filthy sands. The bank itself, covered with short dead grass, made a hard road under the horses' hooves. Dallandra turned in the saddle to look at Evandar, whose eyes had gone bleak.
“Oh by the holy stars!” Dallandra whispered. “What's happened, my love?”
“When my people left to cross the white river, they took the life of the Lands with them.” Evandar kept his voice flat and steady
, but she knew how much losing his creation must have cost him. “I built this world for them, after all.”
Dallandra rose in her stirrups and looked round. Her formal garden had disappeared, although a few cracked bricks among dead weeds marked the spot where it had stood. The cloth-of-gold pavilion had disappeared without leaving even that much of a trace behind. She sat back with a shake of her head and leaned forward to pat her nervous horse's neck.
“It's a ghastly change, in't?” Evandar said.
“It is, and I'm so sorry. I know you loved this place.”
Evandar shrugged, then turned to call to Daralanteriel.
“We're all here? Good! Let's move on.”
With a wave of his arm the prince signalled to his caravan, and they set off, following the dead river through desolation. After perhaps a mile's worth of riding, the view around them began to change, burgeoning green and wild, with long meadows sprinkled with white daisies and yellow buttercups. Farther away grew trees in shaggy copses. Here and there Dallandra saw rabbits out in the tall grass. When they passed a stand of trees, squirrels chattered.
“This isn't your doing,” Dallandra said. “Where did it come from?”
“I don't know,” Evandar said. “I suspect it's the work of an old man who lives out in the further reaches.”
“What? Who?”
“Ah, I see I've forgotten to tell you. When I was searching for the hag Alshandra, back last summer, I flew beyond my lands and into a dead place, all barren rock and sand, where ugly creatures lived, mostly under the rocks. You could see their little red eyes, glaring at you. But in the midst of this grim spot I found an old man, sitting and peeling an apple, and every slice he cut turned into the stuff of life, somehow, like the heat of a fire pouring into the dead place. Whenever I visited there, it seemed more alive and larger, and so I think that in the end his work succeeded, even as mine was dying.”
“How very odd!”
“And here I was hoping you could tell me what it all meant.”
Dallandra merely shook her head. Something of his tale had triggered a memory—no, more a ghost of a memory, deep in her mind. She had heard that place of rock and death described once, some very long time ago, but try as she might, she could not recall when or how.
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