“I will. She’s an odd lass, isn’t she?”
“Very.”
“Have you ever seen her wash?”
“Um, I haven’t. Doesn’t she?”
“Oh, all the time, Solla tells me. But she takes a little bit of water in a basin and washes only one small bit of herself, her hands, say, or one arm, or a foot. Then a little while later she’ll get more water and wash another small bit. It takes her a couple of days to wash all of herself.”
“How very odd indeed! Now, keep this to yourself, but I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s as different from us as we are from the Horsekin.”
“But she’s not Horsekin?”
“Somewhat else entirely. When I feel stronger I’ll have a good long talk with her. For now, I’ll go see Rori.”
Up on the roof there was barely room for the dragon and Dallandra both, but Penna did climb the ladder and stick her head out of the trapdoor. Dallandra leaned against the dragon’s massive haunch and watched the lass study the wound on Rori’s side.
“There’s a hole in the blue shadow part,” Penna pronounced at last. “Did someone cut a piece out of his side?”
“They didn’t,” Dallandra said. “It’s just a stab wound in the flesh.”
“Well, in the blue shadow it’s a hole, like you’d scoop out of the dirt with a trowel, if you were going to plant a seedling.”
“That’s most interesting, and you have my thanks, Penna. I thought you might be able to see somewhat that I couldn’t.”
“It gladdens my heart to help.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “May I go now? I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s this smell about him.”
“I stink, you mean,” Rori said. “I know it, no need to mince words.”
“My apologies anyway.” Penna turned a little pale at the deep growl of his voice. She bobbed her head Dallandra’s way to substitute for a curtsy, then climbed down the ladder and disappeared from view. Dallandra could hear her speaking with someone on the landing below—a male voice, Neb’s, she realized. She could hear that Penna was telling him about the wound in the “blue shadow part,” as she termed the etheric double. Their voices faded away down the stairs. Someone else who’ll need teaching, Dallandra thought, a trifle wearily. Well, all in good time.
Rori crossed his front paws and looked at her expectantly.
“Thanks to Penna, we have somewhat of an explanation,” Dallandra said. “No wonder I can’t get that wretched cut to heal.”
“So!” Rori said. “The wound is cursed after all.”
“It’s not, not in the usual sense.” Dallandra sighed. It seemed that evil curses were the first thing everyone thought of whenever some bad thing needed explaining. “I’m not sure what exactly is wrong, but Raena didn’t attach any evil spirits to you or invoke any nasty godlets, either. I suspect Yraen’s silver dagger is what’s to blame. That beastly spell on it drains etheric force, somehow, when one of the People touches it, if that makes sense to you.”
“Is that what makes the blade glow?”
“It is. Eventually it would kill one of us, if we held it long enough, or so I think. I don’t care to actually try it to see.”
“I should think not.” He turned his head to contemplate the pink stripe of wound. “Can you do anything to heal it?”
“I don’t know, but I’m willing to try. The roof’s not much of a place to do a working.”
“And you shouldn’t tire yourself.” Rori fell silent, looking down over the dun wall to the green country beyond. “Dar and Cal are waiting for me down in the meadow. Branna told me that they want to discuss the Horsekin threat.”
“I could go down later—”
“I’ve seen you work dweomer. It saps your strength, and you need to rest. At least now I know what’s wrong. Let me go off and scout for Horsekin, and by the time I return, you’ll be stronger.”
“That might be best. I’ll admit to being surprised that you’d offer to wait.”
“Some dragons have good hearts.” His voice rumbled in amusement. “Besides, I want to make sure the spell or whatever it is you’ll do works.”
Dallandra laughed with him. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll go down now, and you can go off to talk with Cal and Dar. May you not find any Horsekin anywhere nearby!”
“So we may hope,” the dragon said. “You’d best go down that ladder before I fly.”
Dallandra climbed down and watched from the safety of the landing as he flung himself into the air with a rush of wings.
The sun had almost set by the time that Calonderiel returned to their chamber. When he walked in, he gave her a bright, cheerful smile.
“What’s wrong?” Dallandra said.
“Trying to hide things from you is a waste of time.” Calonderiel sat down on the chair next to the bed. “Do you truly think you can turn Rori back into a man again?”
“I don’t know yet. I won’t until we find that wretched book. If Evandar didn’t leave us some sort of guide, then no, I can’t. I don’t have the slightest idea of how to work such a powerful dweomer.”
“Good.”
“Good? What do you mean by that?”
“Hasn’t it occurred to you that Rori’s the best weapon we have against the Horsekin?”
Dallandra leaned back against the pillows with a sigh. “No, it hadn’t.”
“Not so much for the fighting itself,” Calonderiel went on. “The Gel da’Thae aren’t stupid. It won’t be long before they have archers of their own. They’ll learn to fight unhorsed, too. He won’t have much effect on ranks of spearmen, once they get used to him. Oh, it sounds fearsome, the terrible dragon of the skies! The Horsekin don’t fight in the sky.”
“That’s true.”
“But the scouting!” Cal got up and paced over to the window. “By the Black Sun Herself, he can range so far and so fast! I know that dweomerfolk can give themselves wings, but how long and how far dare you fly?”
“Not very, not without a terrible risk. I’ve no desire to spend the rest of my life as a linnet.”
“Just so.” Cal leaned back against the windowsill. “Rori brought up the question of the dweomer spell.”
“And?”
“He knows that it killed Evandar. He told me that he has no intention of allowing it to kill you.”
“How very kind of him! Neither do I.”
He smiled in genuine relief. “But if you don’t even know what it entails—” he began.
“I can’t tell you all will be well, no. That’s not the real issue, anyway. Rori doesn’t know if he wants to become a man again or not. He’s searching for excuses.”
“Oh.” Cal considered this for several moments. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I thought maybe you hadn’t.”
He came back to the chair beside the bed and sat down again.
“Still,” Cal said. “I don’t want you working that dweomer if it’s going to hurt you. I’ll burn the cursed book myself if it comes to that.”
“Since we don’t know if the book still exists, or where it is if it does exist, or if we could find it even if we knew where, or what’s in the thing, for that matter, I’d suggest you stop worrying about it.”
Cal opened his mouth and shut it again. Through her east-facing window, Dallandra could see the sky darkening to a velvet blue. The chamber filled with shadow. With an irritable wave of her hand she sent a golden dweomer light spinning toward the opposite wall. It stuck and swelled, filling the chamber with a soft glow.
“It is really me you’re worried about?” Dallandra said. “Or do you just not want to lose your scout?”
“What?” Cal went white around the mouth, a sure sign that he was furious. “It’s you, of course. How could you think otherwise?”
“Well, you started this by talking about the Horsekin.”
“I started this? Started what? A stupid squabble, I suppose you mean.”
“No, I didn’t mean that!” Dallandra stopped herself
from snarling at him. “I’m very tired, you know.”
“So am I. No, I mentioned scouting because I was looking for some reason to keep you from working that dweomer.” Cal got up and perched on the edge of the bed. He reached over and caught her hand in both of his. “Forgive me? I’m just so cursed worried these days. There aren’t enough of us, you know, to stop the Horsekin if they decide to come down and take the Melyn Valley.”
She hadn’t known. Dallandra felt as if her heart might freeze in her chest. She caught her breath with an audible sigh.
“We’ll have to depend upon Ridvar and other Deverry lords,” Cal went on. “That’s why I’m glad we’re meeting Prince Voran at Cengarn.”
“I’m glad you are, too,” Dallandra said. “I really should go to Cengarn with you.”
Calonderiel opened his mouth to argue, but she continued before he could speak. “But I can’t, I just can’t. Cal, I feel like such a weakling, but I’m tired, and especially tired of riding sidesaddle. I still feel too sore to ride normally.”
“I’m not in the least surprised.” He smiled at her. “I want you to rest. If some sort of problem comes up, Ebañy will be with us. He can always consult with you.”
“That’s true, isn’t it? I’ll stop berating myself, then.”
“Please do. There’s going to be a mob riding with the prince, anyway.” Cal frowned at the far wall. “Let’s see, Dar will need a royal escort, which means me and fifty men, Mirryn, Gerran, and a few men from the Red Wolf. Then there’s servants and horse handlers and, of course, Ebañy. I’ll wager it all adds up to about a hundred people and some extra horses.”
“It sounds like it. You know, Cadryc can’t feed everyone you’re leaving behind. He’ll need the pasture grass for his own animals, too.”
“Dar’s already thought of that. He’s leaving Cadryc some sheep to help feed the dun, and then Carra and Val are going to lead our people west. The herds and flocks need fresh grass, anyway. The prince and I will ride back here from Cengarn, get you and your women, and then join the others at Twenty Streams Rock.” He got up to leave, then paused. “Oh, Neb’s going to be going with us.”
“Oh, is he? Tell him I want to talk with him, will you?”
“I will. I think he’s in the great hall.”
Neb must have been close by, because he came to her chamber not long after Calonderiel had left it. He bowed to Dallandra, smiled at the baby sleeping in her cradle, then sat down on the chair when she offered it to him.
“Neb,” Dallandra said, “I hear you’re going to Cengarn.”
“I have to,” Neb said. “Prince Voran’s called me as a witness. I was present when the high priest insulted him.”
“That’s right, you were. I’d forgotten that.”
Dallandra considered his expression: perfectly polite, a bland little smile, his eyes watching her attentively but not too closely. She wondered why she was sure he was hiding something.
“Are you looking forward to the trip?” she said.
“I am. Ridvar’s chirurgeon has a book I particularly want to see again. I suppose I’ll have time to read it while the malover’s in progress.”
“No doubt. These things always seem to drag on so. Is it a book of healing lore?”
“Of a sort.” Neb frowned a little, considering. “It has a description of a plague that ravaged some of the towns down in Deverry proper during the Time of Troubles. It sounded much like the illness that killed my father.” His voice caught, then steadied. “I want to read it again to make sure.”
“Well and good, then. I take it you’ve been studying your herblore.”
“I have. Is that all right?”
“Most certainly. The more healers in the world, the better.”
“So I thought. I’m taking the herbs I’ve collected with me, unless you need them here. I want to memorize their properties. I’ll take the book of herblore, too. Branni’s not much interested in it.”
“Well and good, then. I have plenty of herbs here. Ranadario’s laid in a good supply for the alar. Now, do continue with your dweomerwork, too. If you have any questions about the exercises I set you, just ask Salamander.”
“I will. They’re fairly simple, after all.”
Again Dallandra hesitated, then decided that he couldn’t possibly be implying that only simple things lay within Salamander’s reach. Yet after he said a polite farewell and walked away, the sight of his bland smile hung in her memory, an annoyance like dirt under a fingernail.
"We’ll be leaving on the morrow,” Gerran said. "I’ll need to be up with the first light.”
"Very well, my love,” Solla said. “You can leave the shutters open so the dawn will wake us up.”
“I’ll try to leave without waking you.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll want to say farewell.”
Gerran turned from the window of their bedchamber and smiled at her. In her linen shift, she was sitting on the edge of their bed, combing her hair. Through the thin pale cloth he could see the contours of her body. The baby was beginning to show, just a soft curve, these days, invisible when she was fully dressed, but a definite promise of a child to come.
“Tell me somewhat, Gerro,” she said. “Dallandra’s child made me wonder. If I give you a daughter, will you be disappointed?”
“What? Of course not! I’m just terrified that you’ll die.”
“I doubt that’s going to happen.” She smiled, but a tinge of fear colored her voice. “The women in my clan have never had that sort of trouble. I—” She paused, tilting her head to one side and considering him. “Are you truly frightened?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve never seen anything frighten you before. Even the dragon—Sidro told us all how you saved her life.”
“My life doesn’t matter to me half as much as yours does.” He sat down beside her. “As for the child, our rhan needs a son, truly, but there’ll be plenty of time for that if we have a daughter first.”
Tears welled in her eyes and spilled.
“Here, here, my love!” Gerran raised a gentle hand and wiped them from her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to distress you.”
“I’m not distressed.” She snuffled back more tears. “What you said—it gladdens my heart.”
“That’s a cursed odd way of showing it.”
“Is it? Truly, I suppose it is.” She nestled against him. “Don’t let it trouble you.”
“Well and good, then.” Gerran kissed her on the forehead. “Another thing, my love. I’ll be asking your brother about that inheritance. ”
“Splendid!” Solla sat up again. “I’ve got a bit of parchment to give you. It’s in my dower chest, the letter from my uncle, telling me he was leaving me some coin in his will. He died not long after, but I was only a lass, and so my brother—not Ridvar, but our older brother, Adamyr—took charge of the coin.” Old grief touched her face. “It was just before he rode out for his last battle.”
“And a sad thing that was.” Gerran made his voice soft. “For the rhan as well as for you and your kin.”
She nodded, then sighed before she spoke again. “But the coins must be in Cengarn still.”
“I feel dishonorable, spending your coin on the dun.”
“Why? It’ll be my home, too.”
“So it will, and my thanks. I’ll take the letter with me, then.”
Before he went to bed, Gerran found the letter and stowed it in his saddlebags, then put them by the door with his other gear. He woke with the dawn and dressed. He considered kissing his wife awake, but she looked so comfortable, nested in their blankets, that he decided to let her sleep. He gathered his gear and crept out of the chamber.
Mirryn and the riders from his warband had gathered in the great hall to bolt down a hasty breakfast. The prince, Mirryn told him, had already left to assemble his retinue down in the meadow. Gerran grabbed a chunk of bread from one of the baskets on the table and stood to eat it.
Over by the door, B
ranna and Neb sat on a bench and talked, their heads close together. Now and then Neb reached up to touch her cheek with gentle fingers. Finally he gave her a farewell kiss, rose, and strode out of the great hall. Branna got up more slowly, glanced around, then smiled at Gerran and came hurrying over.
“Gerro,” Branna said, “Solla told me yesterday that she hoped you’d ask for her inheritance when you’re in Cengarn.”
“I’ll be doing just that,” Gerran said. “We need every coin we can get for that new dun.”
“True spoken.” Branna was looking away with a slight frown. “Solla probably told you this already, but she mentioned that Ridvar told her once that she didn’t have any such inheritance due. She thought he was just teasing, because he laughed when he said it, but I wonder.”
“She didn’t mention that to me. Huh! I wonder if the little bastard just doesn’t want to let go of the coin.”
“That was my thought, too. Although—” She hesitated again. “Oh, I’m probably just going daft, but be careful what you say to Lord Oth about it.”
“What?”
“Maybe it won’t matter.” Branna smiled brightly. “But Oth— oh, never mind!”
“But I do mind. What do you mean?”
“It’s just one of my feelings. I’m a little daft, is all.”
“Daft? Huh! Here, Prince Voran’s been appointed justiciar. What if I take the matter to him?”
“That would be far better.” For a moment she seemed to be about to say more, then turned and trotted away before he could call her back.
With so many men and horses, servants and carts, the ride to Cengarn took two days. Whenever the road came to a bend, Gerran would turn in the saddle to look back at the end of the line out of sheer habit. Not so long ago, keeping track of the supply carts would have been his responsibility, not Mirryn’s. Salamander and Neb were also riding among the servants. At times Gerran noticed Neb riding with his head tipped back as he studied the perfectly clear and sunny sky. Finally, on the second day, with Cengarn not more than five miles away, Gerran’s curiosity won its battle with his attempt to mind his own affairs. He dropped back in the line of march to ride next to the prince’s scribe and the gerthddyn.
“What are you looking for?” Gerran asked Neb. “Another dragon?”
The Shadow Isle Page 19
