The Spirit Stone (31 page)

Gwairyc dropped his table dagger in surprise. He broke into a broad grin and began to stammer his thanks.

‘No thanks needed,’ Nevyn said. ‘It’s time, is all. Just try to remember what you’ve learned from me, and I don’t mean only the herbcraft.’

‘I will do that, my lord,’ Gwairyc said. ‘Ye gods, it’ll be good to see my men again! Huh, I wonder how many of the Falcons lived through the summer? Well, I’ll pray it’s all of them, and I’ll be finding out soon enough. Although, truly, it would be good to see you now and again. Do you think you’ll ever come back to Dun Deverry?’

‘I doubt it,’ Nevyn said. ‘I think I’ll stay in Eldidd for the last few years left to me. I’ve got friends here as well as among the Westfolk, you see.’

‘Oh, here, my lord! You’re in such good health that I wager you’ll live to be a hundred.’

‘Well, you know, you might be right at that.’ Nevyn managed to keep from laughing. ‘And I’ll hope the same for you.’

And yet, as common sense would predict, Gwairyc’s life ended far short of that hundred years. The Cerrgonney wars dragged on and on, and many a good man died in battle, as Gwairyc did some five years after his trip to the Westlands, when a squad of Boarsmen cut him off from the main body of the king’s riders. Before the end came, practically everyone at court had remarked that he was a changed man, more courteous and far more pleasant company. Still, the only person at court who honestly mourned him was King Casyl himself.

Thanks to the link he’d forged between them, Nevyn knew what had happened the moment that Gwairyc died. He felt a stab of grief, and one that lingered.
May he have better in his next life!
Nevyn would think whenever Gwairyc came to mind. He wondered, as well, if he and Gwairyc would meet again. Only the Lords of Wyrd would know the answer to that question—not that they would ever have told any mortal foolish enough to ask. Nevyn would remind himself that after all, with a man like Gwairyc, news of his death in battle had hardly come as a surprise.

The next sad death that he heard of, however, shocked him to his very soul.

It was a good many years before anyone in the Westlands saw Loddlaen again. One spring day, he turned up on the seacoast riding a decent horse and leading a mule loaded with fancy trinkets and oddments from Bardek, which he proceeded to give away to whomever fancied them. He’d gone there to study physick, he told everyone, and done a little trading to support himself while there. Valandario heard the news some days later.

‘He must have done well,’ Javanateriel said. ‘I hear that he brought back real glass beads and some silver ones as well.’

‘That’s nice,’ Valandario said. ‘Um, wait—who?’

‘Loddlaen. Didn’t you hear what I said?’

‘My dearest love, forgive me! I was brooding about my wretched apprentice again.’

Javanateriel rolled his eyes and sighed with a shake of his head. They were sitting in front of their tent, sharing a roast rabbit and some Deverry-style flatbread that Jav had cooked for their dinner. Around them the noisy life of an evening camp eddied and swirled—harp music, yapping dogs, the whining of overly tired children, singing, laughter, and the occasional angry argument all mingled together.

‘Where is ebañy?’ Javanateriel said.

‘I don’t know,’ Valandario said. ‘That’s the problem. I suspect he’s gone off to Deverry again. I wish his father didn’t expect so much from him! Every time Devaberiel starts nagging him about his progress in the dweomer, off he goes.’

‘Tell Dev to stop.’

‘I have. He doesn’t listen. Bards don’t.’

‘That’s true, unfortunately.’ Javanateriel paused to lick a greasy finger. ‘But about Loddlaen. Danalaurel told me that Loddlaen wants to see you.’

Valandario stopped in mid-bite and laid her piece of rabbit down on her wooden plate.

‘What’s wrong?’ Javanateriel said. ‘An omen-warning?’

‘Nothing so strong. I just simply don’t like the fellow.’

‘Well, maybe we can just avoid him. The grass stretches a fair long way, after all.’

‘He’s got enough dweomer to scry me out.’

‘Oh.’ Jav scowled at their campfire. ‘I forgot about that.’

‘Besides, it would be better to simply confront him and get it over with. I’m not going to sneak around the grasslands just because of him.’

‘You know, in some ways you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.’

Javanateriel was smiling at her in such open admiration that Valandario blushed. ‘No,’ she said, ‘you’re braver than I. You’ve got the courage to live with someone like me.’

He laughed, then got up, wiping his hands down the side of his trousers. ‘Want some honey water?’ he said. ‘I made some earlier.’

‘Yes, please, I do.’

Javanateriel brought the drink in a pair of wooden cups that he’d carved when she’d first agreed to share his tent. He’d sanded them down until they were almost as smooth as glass, then engraved their names around both rims. With the passing years the wood had polished up further into a rich dark patina. Valandario liked to think that their love had deepened the same way, domestic yet beautiful at the same time.

‘In a way I’d like to see Loddlaen again,’ Jav said. ‘He’s my foster-brother, after all.’

‘That’s right,’ Val said.‘Well, maybe he’s changed for the better, if he’s learned physick. It’ll give him a place in the world.’

Two days later, on an overcast afternoon, Loddlaen arrived at their alar’s camp. Danalaurel came running to tell Valandario that he’d arrived.

‘He’s asking to ride with us, Wise One,’ Danno said. ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

‘I won’t know until I talk with him,’ Valandario said. ‘So I’d better go do just that.’

Loddlaen was waiting at the edge of the alar’s horse herd. He stood next to his riding horse, a grey Western hunter, and heheld the lead ropes of two jenny mules, each carrying half-empty canvas packs. He looked much like the same old Loddlaen with his haunted eyes and nervous hands, twisting the ends of the lead ropes this way and that as he watched her approach. What interested Valandario the most, however, was not his physical being but his aura. She opened the Sight just enough to see it clearly—his usual trembling pale gold, hanging far too loosely about his physical body—the same old Loddlaen, indeed. She closed the Sight down again.

‘Well, and a good morrow to you,’ Valandario said. ‘We’ve not seen you for a good long while now.’

‘Yes, I’ve been in Bardek.’ His voice sounded steadier, even a little deeper, with a new confidence. ‘I managed to apprentice myself to one of their physicians.’

‘Excellent! How did the training go?’

‘Oh, very well indeed.’ Loddlaen smiled, again with a confidence he’d lacked before. ‘I learned a lot of valuable lore, though it mostly applies to Roundears. So, actually, Val, I’m planning on returning to Bardek before the winter. The only reason I’ve come to the Westlands is to visit my father.’ His voice suddenly reverted to its old jittery self. ‘If he’ll even see me, that is. I came here to ask you if you’d help me—if you could sound him out first, I mean.’

He was looking at her with a desperate hopefulness that touched her heart.

‘Of course,’ Valandario said. ‘I’ll get a couple of the men to help you pitch your tent. Turn your horse and mules into the herd.’

While Loddlaen was settling into the camp, Valandario contacted Nevyn to give him the news. She wanted his advice on how to approach Aderyn, as well.

‘Be direct,’ Nevyn said. ‘Tell him straight off why you’re contacting him.’

‘I will, then. My thanks, Master Nevyn I hope I’m doing the right thing by letting Loddlaen ride with us.’

‘Here, have you felt an omen against it or suchlike?’

‘Nothing so dire! I’ve just never really liked him. But he looked so pathetic when he asked for my help that I couldn’t turn him away. I suppose I’m just afraid that he’ll end up causing trouble. He always seemed to before.’

‘Well, let me know straightaway if he does.’

Since she wanted to get her thoughts in order, Valandario waited till later that day to reach Aderyn through the fire. He responded immediately.

‘I have news for you, Master Aderyn,’ she said. ‘Loddlaen’s returned from Bardek. He wants to see you, and he asked me to ask you if you wanted to see him.’

A flood of emotions rushed into her mind from his—joy, remembered anger, a tinge of fear, and a grief centred around Dallandra rather than their son. She waited, watching the flames crackle in her little campfire, until his mind returned to its usual steady calm.

‘Tell him yes,’ Aderyn said. ‘I do want to see him. No matter what he did, all those years ago, he’s still my son. Tell him that too.’

‘I shall indeed! Where’s your alar now? We’re about two days ride north of the southernmost trading ground.’

‘We’re about five days ride east of it and heading that way. Why don’t you ride straight there? We’ll join you as soon as we can.’ Aderyn’s image grinned at her. ‘And here I thought I’d never see him again!’

When Valandario relayed the conversation to Loddlaen, he wept, turning fast away to bury his face in the crook of his arm—tears of joy, she assumed.

‘My thanks, Val,’ he said.

‘You’re very welcome.’ She patted him on the shoulder.

He wiped his face on his sleeve, then turned back to give her a smile—an odd smile, in a way, nervous, forced, and brief. Yet Loddlaen had always displayed such peculiar mannerisms that she thought little of it.

‘It’ll take us two days to get down to the coast and the trading ground, right?’ Loddlaen said.

‘That’s right,’ Valandario said. ‘And your father should be there three days later. I’m sure he’s going to hurry his alar along, so it won’t be more than that.’

Loddlaen nodded and pursed his lips, looking away as if he were counting something out. ‘My thanks again,’ he said finally. ‘I’m very grateful.’ With a last nod her way, he walked off, heading for his tent, which he’d pitched, as usual, some ways away from the rest of the alar.

When they reached the trading ground, they found two Deverry merchants who’d set up shop with iron goods, grain, and a general supply of threads, woven cloth, soap, and other small necessities difficult to produce out on the grass. This particular site lay close enough to the Eldidd border to attract merchants who were willing to take raw fleece in trade for small items, rather than dealing only in the more valuable horses. When several other alarli rode in the day after they arrived, the trading became a market fair, though in the Westfolk manner.

Everyone cooked their favourite food; everyone else was welcome to sample it. Here and there little groups of musicians gathered. Since they rarely bothered to play the same tunes as the other groups scattered through the encampment, music rang out in a pleasant cacophony. Children, dogs, and Wildfolk raced through the camps, dodging cooking fires, tripping over tent ropes, yelling and laughing as they invented games on the spot.

As a Wise One, Valandario found herself in demand for advice and omens both. The People brought her all manner of questions, a few of which she felt incompetent to answer. ‘Aderyn will be here soon,’ she would tell the askers, and they would smile and agree to wait. Despite his new-found knowledge of healing, Loddlaen kept to himself as much as always. He had brought no medicines with him, and whenever anyone asked him for advice, he would repeat that he only knew Roundear lore, nothing that would benefit the People. He too would suggest they wait for Aderyn.

The night before Aderyn was due to arrive, the music and the feasting went on late into the night. Out in a meadow lit by small fires the People danced in long lines. One of the other alarli had invited everyone in camp, including of course Valandario and Javanateriel, to their central fire. When Javanateriel suggested to his foster-brother that he come with them, Loddlaen said no.

‘I hate crowds, Jav,’ he said. ‘You know that. It’s the noise and suchlike. I might even take a long moonlight walk or suchlike, just to get away from all this confusion.’

‘All right, then,’ Jav said. ‘I didn’t want you to feel left out.’

‘The way I always was before, when we were children?’ Loddlaen’s smile grew tight. ‘Ah, that was a long time ago! But I remember things, you know, maybe more than other people do.’

‘You always did.’

‘Yes.’ His voice sank to a whisper. ‘Yes, I always did.’

As they walked off, Val glanced back to see Loddlaen standing alone, watching them with his hands shoved in his pockets.

When they arrived at the gathering, Val counted roughly eighty people in attendance. Loddlaen would have hated it, certainly. Some of the guests stood near a firepit and watched their host carving up an entire roast lamb; others sat in the grass behind the tents and watched the dancing out in the meadow. Javanateriel and Valandario found a good place to sit among the others. Women brought them plates of the choicest foods, happy to wait upon the Wise One and her man.

Although Val had no taste for strong drink, Jav had never said no to any skin of mead that came his way, and that night plenty of them arrived. While most Westfolk men could drink mead like water all night, for some reason Javanateriel had always been susceptible to strong drink, and he felt shamed that he was. The full moon was still high in the sky when Val realized that he had drunk more than enough. Someone passed him a full skin, and while he managed to get a good squirt into his mouth, he also sprayed mead across the front of his shirt.

His drinking was the only thing they ever argued about. Among strangers as they were, she tried to ignore his lapse, but she knew that her silence was growing colder and colder. Finally he spoke first.

‘You’re angry, aren’t you?’ Jav said.

‘Well, you promised me you wouldn’t get staggering drunk tonight.’

‘I’m not staggering.’

‘Not yet.’

‘What makes you think I will be?’

‘Past experience.’

‘Oh come on, Val! If you’d have a sip or two yourself—’

‘I don’t care to get muddled, thank you very much.’

‘Oh, so now I’m muddled!’

‘That’s not what I meant!’

Some of the others at the gathering were watching them, Val realized. She took a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh.