The Silver Mage (70 page)

“I like Uncle Ebañy, but he’s not you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but wyrd is wyrd, and it can’t be denied. Can you be brave?”

“I’ll try.” Devar hung his head. “I’ll try very hard.”

“That’s all you or anyone can do. You’re growing daily, and soon you’ll be able to protect your sisters while your mother’s off somewhere, rather than them protecting you.”

Devar nodded, looked away, and spoke in a choked wet voice. “Can’t you even come back to visit?”

“No. I’m sorry. If I could I would, but I won’t be able to. Here’s the worst news of all. I probably won’t live very long, not as dragons measure our lives, a few years perhaps.”

“You’re ill?”

“Very ill.” It wasn’t precisely a lie, Rori decided, and might make the parting a little easier for Devar. “You know the dragonish way. When our time comes, we go off alone to await our end.”

“I do know that.” His voice began to tremble. “I don’t want you to die.”

“No one wants to die, but when their time comes, what can they do against it?”

“Naught.” Devar sounded one small step away from weeping. “I know that, too.”

“Still, one day we may well meet again. I’ll be in a different body then, a human one. I’ll hope and pray that we do meet. But while you’ll recognize me, I’ll not be able to recognize you, not at first, anyway. Don’t feel slighted. It’s merely the way things are. Do you understand? If I have a new body, I’ll not be able to recognize you.”

“I’ll remember.” Devar looked up, and his eyes, that strangely elven mix of dragon and human, glistened with tears. “If I tell you, will you remember?”

“I don’t know. You may have to be patient and explain things.”

“Da, I wish you didn’t have to die.”

“But I do. Your mother will explain more when you’re older. Now, I need you to be brave, but your sisters need you even more. You need to be strong for their sake.”

“I will, then.” His young clear voice strengthened. “I promise.”

Rori knew that if he stayed a moment longer, he would weep and shame them both. He turned and walked a safe distance away, then leaped, wings beating hard, and soared the brief distance to the gathering place in the grass where the others waited for him. Once Grallezar and Valandario had secured themselves, Val on Rori, and Grallezar on Arzosah, the two wyrms took flight, wheeled once over the sprawling camp, and headed south and east for the Lake of the Leaping Trout.

“
M
ara?” Dallandra said.“ I need to speak with you.”

Mara, who’d been studying one of the egregore keys on the north wall, turned to her with a smile and curtsied.

“I’m wondering if you want the island to stay here or return to where it was, eventually, I mean,” Dallandra continued. “There are certainly more people living here on the Deverry border than live up north of Lin Serr.”

“That be very true,” Mara said. “I did spend some time in thought over that myself. The Mountain Folk be hardy, and their women do possess much healing lore of their own. Mama does remember not one soul from Lin Serr ever coming to the island for help, and she did live here for seventy-some years before the taking of us all to Alban.”

“That says to me that the island should stay here, then, if you agree.”

“I do, indeed.”

“Splendid! How does Laz fare this morning?”

“As well as can be expected.” Mara frowned, biting her lower lip in thought. “I do wish he would allow you to see him, but he be still so heartsick and so—well—humiliated. He does curse himself for a fool and croak on and on about a woman. Her name be Sidro, but I do understand few of his words. I think me he does then speak in the language of his childhood.”

“Most likely he does. Perhaps when his leg stops paining him so much, he’ll grow calmer, and then we can talk with him.”

“I shall hope so with all my heart.”

“Now, I’ve got some good news to give you. Your father is on his way here. He and your stepmother should arrive soon, in fact. He can’t fly through the vortex to reach the island, so you and your mother will need to go over by boat to greet him.”

Mara smiled, and at that moment she looked more like a child filled with joy by the prospect of some splendid gift than the accomplished healer she was. “Let me be off to tell Mam,” she said. “We must make ourselves and the manse ready.”

The sun stood just past zenith when the two dragons settled upon the farther shore. The dragon boat immediately set out from the island with Mara and Angmar, who’d been waiting on the pier. Berwynna stayed behind and joined Dallandra and Branna in the great hall.

“I did have Da to myself for some weeks,” Wynni told them. “It be Mara’s turn to greet our father.”

“That’s generous of you,” Dallandra said. “Wynni, have you thought at all about the rest of your life?”

“I have, and I think me I may marry Mirryn of the Red Wolf.”

“He’d be a splendid choice,” Branna put in. “He’s my cousin, and I know him fairly well, you see. He’ll make a better lord than many another man I’ve known.”

“Well and good, then, if ever my heart heals from the losing of my Dougie.” Berwynna got up from her place at table. “Wish you some ale or suchlike? I could fetch it.”

“None for me,” Dallandra said.

“Nor me, either,” Branna said. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Very well. I’ll be taking myself to the kitchen hut to help Lonna and Kov with the meal.” Wynni glanced at Branna. “I do think my sister, she’ll be marrying far sooner than I. She be fair taken with Kov, and the island demands she give it heirs.”

With a nod all round, Berwynna hurried out. Branna moved around the table to sit next to Dallandra, who had brought the dragon book down with her. Dallandra opened it randomly to one of its infuriatingly identical pages.

“I’ve tried all the simple ciphers I know,” Dallandra told Branna. “Reading the first rune of each line, and then the last, and every third word and the like. None of them make sense except by chance. Down here—” she pointed to the bottom third of the page, “if you take every third word starting at the last word, you can put together ‘after the rabbit tree.’ I doubt me if that has much to do with anything.”

Branna laughed and nodded her agreement. The sound of a bronze gong drifted in through a window, growing louder as the boat made the journey back across the lake. Dallandra left the book with Branna and walked outside in time to see Valandario and Grallezar disembarking at the pier. With a shout of greeting, she trotted down to meet them.

“I’ve got the crystal!” Valandario patted the quiver slung across her chest.

“Splendid, and my thanks,” Dalla said.

“My heart aches to see the dweomer book at last,” Grallezar said. “Though truly, my mind does need a few quiet moments to recover from riding upon dragonback.”

“Well, the lady of the manse has planned a feast for tonight,” Dalla said, “so I suggest we find some quiet spot outside and study it there.”

Dallandra went to the nearest window and called to Branna to bring the book. They walked around the manse in the opposite direction from the pier. Branna joined them at the back door, and they trooped down to the lakeshore. As they walked along, looking for a place to sit, Dallandra heard a sound she couldn’t quite place at first. A bird, perhaps?

“Someone weeps,” Grallezar said. “The sound does come from that willow tree.”

On the little bench under the willow they found Avain, sitting slumped over and sobbing into her cupped hands. When Branna rushed over to her, Avain looked up but continued weeping.

“Here, here,” Branna said, “what’s so wrong? You sound as if your heart would break.”

Avain paused to wipe her eyes and her nose as well on one sleeve. “Avain wants to see the dragons.”

“Well, mayhap later you can go across and see them.”

Avain’s eyes narrowed in thought. “The dragon, he be not my da. Mama did make me stay here.” With that she began sobbing again.

“Branna?” Dalla said. “I doubt me if she understands what you mean by ‘later.’ Time is a hard thing for such as her to comprehend.”

“So I see.” Branna hesitated, then smiled. “I’ll fetch Wynni. I’ll wager she knows what to tell her.”

The elder dweomermasters stood helplessly around as Branna trotted back in the direction of the manse and the kitchen hut. In the soft summer breeze the overhanging willow branches rustled softly, as if commiserating with the poor girl. Dallandra noticed Grallezar studying Avain with half-lidded eyes.

“Avain?” Grallezar said suddenly. “Be it that you wish you were a dragon?”

Avain looked up with snot smearing her upper lip. “Avain wants to fly.” She paused to wipe her nose on her sleeve again. “Avain dreams about dragons.”

Dallandra became suddenly aware of Avain’s green eyes, lashless, round, and slit vertically. She opened her sight and immediately saw what Grallezar had seen: Avain’s etheric double, a faint dragon-shape hovering around her.
Tonight the moon will be dark,
Dalla thought.
Rori’s true form will be dominant, so why not Avain’s as well?
The three dweomerwomen exchanged glances, but no one spoke until Branna returned with Berwynna.

Wynni immediately went to Avain and threw an arm around her sister’s broad shoulders. She spoke in Dwarvish, a soft murmur of words that soothed Avain the way a soft voice and stroking will soothe a nervous horse.

“I’ll coax her back to her tower,” Wynni said. “My thanks for fetching me, Branna.”

To please Wynni—and upon the promise of apple cake—Avain stopped weeping. She stood up and let her sister lead her away down the path toward the manse and tower. Grallezar set her hands on her hips and watched them till they disappeared among the apple trees.

“Well, well,” Grallezar said. “I think me we now know what we might do with that excess of etheric substance. It wraps Rori up like a pit in a peach, and truly, I did have doubts we could earth all of it after we stripped it away.”

“Indeed,” Dalla said. “I see what you mean—if we can keep from killing both of them.”

Grallezar smiled with a show of fang. “Too true, but still, I do count this as one problem solved.”

There remained the problem of the dragon book or, to be precise, the problem of reading it. Dallandra sat down on the bench astride, as if she were on horseback, so that she could lay the book down in front of her. Branna hunkered down at the far end of the bench to watch. Both Valandario and Grallezar preferred to stand and keep their feet upon solid ground after their experience of sailing through the sky.

Valandario handed Dallandra the black crystal. A quick glance into it confirmed what Laz had told her, that the white one lay at the bottom of the lake.

“I hope the black will work by itself,” Dallandra said. “Wish me luck!”

First, Dalla tried looking at one of the pages through the crystal with no particular result. When she set it down on the page, nothing changed. She tried placing it upon the front cover, the back cover, on each page, in different areas of each page—still nothing. Finally, she picked the crystal up, holding it without thinking close to her face.

“You wretched book!” she snapped. “Will you unlock, or shall I burn you?”

The book shimmered like the reflection of a book upon water. Dallandra nearly dropped the crystal in surprise as the illusion disintegrated. The front cover vanished first, then the back. The pages began to peel away, one at a time, and fade into air. In a startling gleam of silver light the last page but one followed the others into nothingness. A single piece of parchment, slightly singed around the edges, lay on the bench.

“Ye gods!” Branna whispered.

“He always did like to make a gaudy display,” Dallandra said. “Evandar, I mean, when he worked dweomer, no matter how much dweomer force he wasted doing it.”

Valandario quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

“Let’s see what this thing says.” Dallandra handed the crystal back to Val. “I know what you’re thinking, and no doubt you’re right. Does it matter? He’s gone now.”

“That’s very true,” Val said. “I shan’t mention it again.”

When Dalla picked up the parchment, she was relieved to see that the writing had turned into simple Elvish. As she read, she translated the words into Deverrian for the sake of Branna and Grallezar.

“If the man’s shadow survives, then he will survive,” it began. “If his shadow has died, then he will die unless he remain a beast.

Fear not the dark of the moon but its full. Unweaving the dweomer is much like unpicking a length of cloth. Unraveling the threads is a simple task, but without a spindle upon which to wind them, they tangle and are lost. If you lack a spindle, then he will be lost. If the threads fall into water, they will drain the man’s life. If they fall upon the ground, they will strangle the one who attempts the unweaving. If they come loose and waft through the air, they will destroy the spindle.”