Katharine Kerr - Darkspell

“Then well met indeed. I’m a good friend of old Nevyn the herbman.”

Rhodry went a bit white about the mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Salamander said.

“How do you know who we are?”

“I just saw the old man over in Cerrmor. Why?”

“Did you, now?” Jill broke in. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Just six days ago, over in Cerrmor. He looked as fit as always. I swear, he’s the best advertisement for his herbs that ever a man could have. If I see him again, and I might well do so, I’ll tell him that you’re both well.”

“Our thanks,” Rhodry said. “Have you heard anything about local wars in this part of the kingdom? A gerthddyn always knows what news there is.”

While Rhodry and Salamander talked over the local gossip, Jill paid little attention. Although it seemed that Salamander had no idea that Nevyn was dweomer, which made it unlikely that the gerthddyn possessed it himself, Wildfolk clustered around him. They sat on the table, they climbed in his lap, they perched on his shoulders and affectionately patted his hair. Every now and then his eyes moved as if he could see them. Of course, all elves could see the Wildfolk, and he was at least half an elf, she was sure of it. Rhodry, however, couldn’t see them. It was a puzzle, and she studied the pair of them carefully, noting all the little points of resemblance: the curve of their mouths, the way the corners of their eyelids drooped slightly, and above all, the shape of their ears, a sharper curve than normal for human beings. She remembered her true dream of Devaberiel, and certainly they both resembled him. Her curiosity stopped irking her and began to gnaw.

In a while, when Rhodry left the table to fetch them more ale, her curiosity bit hard enough to force her to give in.

“Salamander,” she said, “did you know I spent a lot of time once out in the west.”

“Nevyn mentioned somewhat like that. Why?”

“Is the name of your father Devaberiel by any chance?”

“It is, at that. Fancy your knowing that!”

“Well, I just guessed.” She found a convenient lie. “A man named Jennantar once mentioned in passing that a bard he knew had a son who was a gerthddyn, here in Deverry I mean. Well, think I, it’s not likely there’d be two men like you, half-an-elf and all.”

“By the gods, you have sharp eyes! Well, I have to confess, now that you’ve ferreted out my parentage so neatly, that I am indeed the son of that esteemed bard, for all that it seems to vex him deeply at times. I know Jennantar well, by the way. I hope he’s well. I haven’t been in the elven lands for—oh, two years now.”

“He was well the last time I saw him, last summer.”

So, she thought, I’ll wager he doesn’t know Rhodry’s his brother. She felt sad, knowing that she could never tell them the truth, but she held her tongue. It was truly best that Rhodry thought himself a Maelwaedd, for his sake as well as Eldidd’s.

Later that night, when they were going out to the hayloft to sleep, Salamander went with them, for a word in private, or so he said. When she heard what he wanted to know, Jill was very glad that he had the sense to keep quiet about it in the tavernroom.

“Opium smugglers?” she said. “Don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to use that stuff.”

“Not on your life,” Salamander said. “Nevyn asked me to help track them down, and so I thought Dun Mannannan would be a logical place to start.”

“Oh, the lads here would never touch that kind of cargo. The smuggler lords have a certain amount of honor, you see.”

“So much for that, then. It’s lucky I met up with you, because truly, for all that my tongue is glib and golden, I was having a hard time thinking up the right sort of questions to ask.”

“And the wrong sort would have gotten your throat slit.”

“The thought had occurred to me. Now, here, Jill, from what Nevyn tells me, you’ve traveled all over this kingdom and been in many a strange place, too. Do you have any idea who buys the vile distillation of peculiar poppies?”

“Brothel keepers, mostly. They use it to keep their lasses in line.”

Salamander whistled under his breath. Rhodry was listening as if he couldn’t believe she’d said it.

“I never knew that,” Rhodry said. “How do you?”

“Da told me, of course. He was always warning me about men who lure lasses into brothels. It’s most common in Cerrmor, he said, but it happens all over.”

“Oh, by the black hairy ass of the Lord of Hell!” Salamander said. “Here it’s been under our noses the whole time! When I see Nevyn next, I must tell him that silver daggers know many a thing worth learning.”

Floating above the fire, Nevyn’s image looked as startled as if someone had just dumped cold water all over him.

“I never would have thought of that in a thousand years,” the old man’s thoughts came in a wave of bemusement. “And a vile and impious thing it is! Well, I’m almost to Eldidd. I think I’ll have a long talk with our Cullyn.”

“It seems a sensible thing to do,” Salamander thought back. “And I’ll return to Cerrmor if you like.”

“Splendid, but don’t make a move or say one thing until I tell you to. There are thugs mixed up in this trade as well as the dark dweomer, and we’re going to have to move carefully and lay clever snares.”

“Just so. You know, some brothels are secretly owned by men with considerable influence.”

Nevyn’s thought came like the growl of a wolf.

“No doubt! Well, we’ll see what we can do. My thanks, lad. This is a very interesting bit of news.”

After they broke the contact, Salamander put out the fire in the charcoal brazier with a wave of his hand. Through the window of his innchamber the gray dawn light was creeping in. When he glanced out, he saw Jill and Rhodry below, saddling up their horses. Hurriedly he pulled on his boots and went down to say farewell. Although he couldn’t say why, he’d never met a man he liked as well as Rhodry on first meeting.

“I take it you leave on the wings of dawn,” Salamander said.

“We do,” Rhodry said. “It’s a long ride up to Yr Auddglyn from here.”

“So it is. It saddens my heart that our paths should cross only to part again. Ah, well, mayhap we’ll meet again on the long road.”

“I’ll hope so.” Rhodry held out his hand. “Farewell, gerthddyn. Maybe the gods will allow us to sit over a tankard again.”

As he shook hands, Salamander felt a dweomer-touched cold run down his back. They’d meet again, he knew, but not in the way that they were hoping. The dweomer-cold was so strong that he shivered convulsively.

“Here,” Jill said. “Do you have a chill?”

“A bit of one. Ye gods, I hate rising early.”

They all laughed and parted smiling, but all day, as he rode back west to Cerrmor, Salamander remembered the dweomer-cold.

In a splendidly appointed innchamber in Dun Deverry, Alastyr and Camdel sat at a small table and haggled over the price of twenty bars of opium. Sarcyn leaned against the windowsill and merely watched this meaningless charade. Although the money meant little to Alastyr, he had to pretend it did to keep Camdel convinced he was nothing more than a midnight importer. Finally the deal was done, the coins handed over. It was time for the true purpose of this meeting. Sarcyn opened up his second sight to watch.

“My lord,” Alastyr said, “you must realize that it’s dangerous for me to come to Dun Deverry. Now that we’ve met, I’d prefer that you deal directly with Sarcyn.”

With a sneer of objection, Camdel looked up, but Alastyr sent a line of light from his aura, threw it around the aura of the lord, and sent the egg of light spinning like a top. Camdel swayed drunkenly.