Katharine Kerr - The Spirit Stone

Salamander said something in Elvish that sounded immensely foul, though Branna had no idea of what it meant. ‘Well, I can read and write.’ Salamander switched back to Deverrian. ‘I’m not much for scribing, Neb, but if you packed me up some inks and pens, I could do a passable job, and Dar’s scribe will be riding with us as well.’

‘But it’s my duty to –’

‘Hang duty! Neb, you and Branna both are far too valuable to risk your lives in a dangerous venture like the one we have in hand. Don’t you understand? Your dweomer is the hope of the border.’

Branna turned away, saw the books lying on the bed, and turned back again. Her heart was pounding as badly as if she’d run a long way.

‘I see.’ Neb, however, sounded perfectly calm. ‘What I can’t see is how to explain that to the tieryn.’

‘Imph,’ Salamander said. ‘No more can I, but it has to be done. I’ll consult with Gerran.’

‘Does he know?’ Branna turned back. ‘Gerro, I mean.’

‘He does, if you mean about dweomer and Neb having it,’ Salamander said. ‘And he suspects it about you. He doesn’t know the bit about the hope of the border and all that. Think! Even if we wipe Zakh Gral off the face of the earth, this is only the first skirmish in a long war. Do you think the Horsekin are going to go meekly back to their own lands and stay there if they lose?’

‘I see your point,’ Neb said. ‘The more dweomermasters we can muster, the better.’

‘It’s the best weapon we have against them,’ Salamander said. ‘We’ve got some days before Voran and Ridvar arrive. I’m bound to come up with a good tale for the tieryn’s ears before then.’ He paused for a sunny grin. ‘I’m good at tales.’

Whenever the tieryn left the great hall, Gerran went back to his old place at one of the warband’s tables. He had the only chair, and he liked to lean it back on its rear legs to allow him to put his feet up on one of the benches. He was just starting on his first tankard of ale for the day when Salamander came trotting down the stone staircase. The gerthddyn hailed him and hurried over.

‘I need your advice on somewhat,’ Salamander said. ‘May I join you?’

‘By all means. Fetch yourself some drink.’

Salamander found a tankard and filled it from the barrel over by the servants’ hearth, then sat down on the bench not occupied by Gerran’s boots.

‘It concerns Neb the scribe,’ Salamander said. ‘He tells me he’ll be riding with the army. He shouldn’t. He needs to be here in the dun. The fortguard can’t keep watch against certain kinds of danger, but he can, if you take my meaning.’

‘I do.’ Gerran had a long swallow of ale. ‘Not that I like thinking about it.’

‘I realize that.’ Salamander paused for a nervous glance around, but none of the servants were in earshot. ‘I can take his place, if our good tieryn will let him stay behind. But I need a tale that will convince Cadryc, some clever ploy, some magnificent obfuscation, a lie, in short, since I can’t tell him the truth.’

‘There’s no need to pile up horseshit.’ Gerran set his tankard down. ‘You’re not inventing a tale for the marketplace.’

‘Well, what else can I do?’

‘Leave it to me. I’ll go speak to his grace right now.’

Gerran found Tieryn Cadryc out in the stables, where he and the head groom were making an important decision: which horses the warband would take to Zakh Gral. Gerran waited for a lull in their talk.

‘Your grace?’ Gerran said. ‘A private word with you?’

‘Of course.’ Cadryc nodded at the groom. ‘I’ll be back straightaway.’

They walked across the kitchen garden and out to the curve of the dun wall, where no one could overhear.

‘What’s all this, Gerro?’ Cadryc said.

‘Your grace, do you trust me?’

‘What? Of course I do!’

‘And do you trust my judgment? You don’t think me daft or suchlike, do you?’

‘Of course not! Gerro –’

‘Then grant me a daft-sounding boon on my word alone. Neb the scribe should stay here when we ride out.’

For a long moment Cadryc stared at him narrow-eyed. ‘On your word alone? No explanation?’

‘None, your grace.’

Cadryc shrugged and smiled. ‘Done, then,’ he said. ‘It’s an easy enough boon to grant, eh? I can always ask Prince Dar’s scribe if I need a message written or suchlike.’

‘Better yet, Salamander can read and write. Neb can give him what he needs for the job.’

‘Well, there you are, then. Easy and twice easy.’

Cadryc went back to the stables, and Gerran started for the broch. He took a shortcut through the kitchen garden, then realized that someone was lurking behind the cook’s little gardening shed. He could guess who it was.

‘Come out, gerthddyn,’ Gerran said wearily. ‘I should have known you’d be eavesdropping.’

‘Think of all the effort I’ve saved you.’ Salamander strolled over to join him. ‘This way you won’t have to tell me what our noble tieryn said. My thanks, by the way. You were quite right. We didn’t need the pile of horseshit. I’ll just go tell Neb that the matter’s settled.’

Salamander trotted off with a cheerful wave. As Gerran followed, he happened to glance up. Far above the dun the black dragon floated on the summer breeze. Although he didn’t know where Arzosah was lairing, at various times during the day this strangest of all possible allies would appear, keeping watch over the dun. She’d take a turn or two over it at night, as well, when she was on her way to hunt down a wild meal. Gerran was never sure if her presence was comforting or terrifying. As long as she doesn’t scare the horses , he thought. With a shrug he went inside to join the warband.

‘Well, it gladdens my heart to have that settled,’ Branna said. ‘I feel horribly selfish, though. I’m just so happy that Neb will be staying here safe in the dun.’

‘Why not be happy?’ Salamander gave her one of his sunny grins. ‘Life is short, so grasp what joy it gives you. As to safe, I hope you both will be, but you’ll need to be on your guard.’

‘Because of the raven mazrak?’

‘Precisely. He may not know who you specifically are, but dweomer can always smell out dweomer. He must know you have it, and that therefore you’re a potential thorn in his feathered side.’

‘Let’s hope I can be a dagger, not a thorn.’

‘Someday, mayhap, but not now.’ Salamander’s voice dropped to a cold seriousness. ‘Never challenge him. Merely watch. He’s got a hundred times the power you do.’

‘Well and good, then. Will Arzosah be carrying messages back and forth? I can always send you one if I see him.’

‘Alas, I doubt it. We’ll need the dragons with the army.’

‘Rori will be there, too?’

‘Oh, of course. He never was the sort of man you could keep out of a good fight.’

Branna felt that she should know exactly what he meant, but the memories eluded her. She was about to ask more, but she heard voices behind her. They were standing just inside the honour door of the great hall, which was beginning to fill up for the evening meal. When she glanced over her shoulder she saw Aunt Galla and her daughter Adranna walking towards them. She stepped aside to let them enter. As they passed, Salamander bowed to both women. Galla favoured him with a smile and a wave of her hand, but Adranna strode on by with her mouth set in a thin line and poison in her eyes.

‘Alas,’ Salamander said. ‘I fear me your cousin will never forgive me. Truly, if I were her I wouldn’t forgive me, either. My heart aches for her loss.’

‘She’s better off without Honelg,’ Branna said. ‘So are the children.’