The Shadow Isle. Katharine Kerr
‘More than a hint.’ Val hesitated, then spoke calmly of what must have been painful things. ‘After Jav was murdered, Alshandra appeared to me. She was party to the theft, and that means she must have seen the message in the crystal.’
‘Maybe not.’ Dallandra paused to pull off the wet glove. ‘Evandar most likely locked it against her. Although for all we know, Loddlaen may have been able to see it and tell her.’
‘It seems more and more likely that the crystal’s on that island. So what we need to do, obviously, is bring Haen Marn back.’
‘Obviously, she says.’ Rori’s voice hovered near a growl. ‘And how, my dear Valandario, do you propose to bring it back?’
‘Dweomer, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Rori slapped his tail hard on the ground. ‘Just like that, eh?’
‘Will you stop that?’ Dallandra snapped. ‘The tail banging, I mean. It makes the water in the kettle slop around.’ She knelt down to rummage through her supplies, then brought out a pair of tongs to use instead of the glove.
‘My apologies.’ The dragon sounded less than apologetic.
Valandario once again gazed off at the distant horizon, using the lapis talisman for some sort of scrying or so Dallandra assumed. She used the tongs to fish the sop out of the herbwater and apply it to Rori’s wound. The dragon hissed with a long sigh of relief.
‘The itch is gone, and the sting’s easing up. You’re a marvel with your medicaments, Dalla, you truly are.’
‘My thanks.’
Valandario abruptly turned back to face them again. ‘But about Haen Marn,’ Val said. ‘Is there any chance that this lapis talisman came from there?’
‘No,’ Rori said. ‘I wore it there, and no one remarked upon it. They would have had it been theirs.’
‘I was afraid of that.’ She looked Dallandra’s way. ‘I was hoping that it might be linked to Haen Marn. All I get from it is a very dim impression of a rock vein, probably the one this thing was mined from.’
‘Life’s never that convenient, is it?’ Dallandra shared her regret. A dweomer talisman from the island might have given off a far more useful impression. ‘Rori, you didn’t happen to bring a trinket or suchlike away with you, did you?’
‘I didn’t. Naught except painful memories.’ He began to speak in Deverrian, as he often did when talking of the past. ‘And since it’s gone, I can’t fly off and fetch – hold a moment! I’ve just remembered somewhat. There was a silver horn chained to a rock outside Haen Marn. You could blow it, and it would summon the boatmen. Well, it would if you were meant to visit the island. Now, after the place disappeared, the horn was left behind, but all smashed and tarnished. Still, it must have had some dweomer upon it.’
‘It summoned,’ Valandario pronounced the words carefully. ‘Dalla, its function is to summon.’
‘The moons has horns when it’s new,’ Dallandra said.
‘And silver’s the metal of the moon!’ Val threw both hands in the air and jigged a few dance steps.
Rori growled long and hard. ‘What by the pink arses of the gods are you two talking about?’
‘Some omens, naught more.’ Dallandra turned to him. ‘Where is this horn?’
‘Enj has it, I think.’
‘Enj?’ Dallandra knew she’d heard the name before, but she failed to place it. ‘Who’s Enj?’
‘Angmar’s son, born on Haen Marn. His father was one of the Mountain Folk, but Enj is a fair strange example of them, I’ll tell you. He lives most of the year in the wilderness, out under the sun, and only goes back to Lin Serr for the winter snows.’
‘Very strange, then,’ Valandario said.
‘Well, only half of his mother’s blood came from the Mountain Folk,’ Rori went on. ‘And he was raised above ground on the island.’
‘But he didn’t disappear along with the rest of them?’
‘He wasn’t on the island at the time, Val. He was helping me find Arzosah.’
‘I remember that bit,’ Dallandra said. ‘Rori, can you bring Val that horn?’
‘That depends on Enj. If he’ll part with it, I suppose I could fly hundreds of miles north and figure out a way to carry it and then fly all the way back again.’
‘Well, by the Black Sun!’ Val said. ‘It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.’
‘Naught but scout for our mortal enemies.’ The dragon raised his tail as if to slap the ground, then gently laid it back down. ‘Or have you forgotten the Horsekin?’
‘They’re to the north, aren’t they?’ Val said. ‘Why can’t you do both at once?’
The dragon raised his head and glared at her. Val set her hands on her hips and stared into his eyes until, with a sigh, Rori looked away. ‘Flames and fumes!’ he said. ‘Living around dweomerfolk could drive a man daft and a dragon even dafter.’
‘There, there.’ Dallandra patted his massive jaw. ‘Don’t forget, we’re discussing this in hopes of turning you back into your true form.’
‘Just so,’ Valandario said. ‘Now, if you could fetch me that horn, and if I can heal it so it sounds the dweomer spell again, and if Dalla and I can figure out the correct workings, well, then, we might be able to summon the island.’
‘Exactly.’ Dalla said. ‘And if we actually manage to do all that, then let’s hope that the book does have the instructions for the dragon working in it. You never know with Evandar’s schemes.’
‘True spoken.’ The dragon heaved himself to his feet. ‘That’s the Guardians for you! But well and good then, I’m off to the Northlands. If Arzosah comes looking for me, you’d best not tell her where I’ve gone. I doubt me if she’ll take kindly to the idea of my turning back into a man.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Dallandra felt her stomach clench at the thought of Arzosah in a rage. ‘Um, we’ll ford that river when it’s time to cross. What else can we do?’
With a shrug of wing, the silver dragon waddled off, ridiculously clumsy in the grass. He waddled faster, bunched his muscles, and leapt into the air with a rush of wings like thunder booming, all grace, suddenly, and power, as he soared high and disappeared into the glare of the sun.
As he flew off, Rori was grumbling to himself about the arrogance of dweomerfolk, but soon enough the flying itself soothed him. He loved soaring high above the earth, rising on the wind in splendid freedom, or swooping down only to spiral skyward again. At times, when he glided upon a favouring wind, it seemed to him that the world below was moving while he rested, master of the air.
If he returned to human form, he’d be giving up the power and the freedom of flight. That thought nagged him worse than his wound. And what would he get in return? Hands, he thought. It would be splendid to have hands again, and cooked food, and other such comforts. But those puny comforts could never compensate for the loss.
As he flew over the Melyn River, he considered turning back and telling Dallandra that the effort she would have to make was simply not worth it, that she and Valandario doubtless had more important work to do. What stopped him was the thought of Enj. If naught else, perhaps the two dweomermasters could bring the island back and Enj’s clan with it.
And what of Angmar? Rori asked himself. He’d longed for her return himself, once, a very long time ago now, it seemed to him when he thought about it. He could remember her so clearly, and remember his grief at losing her, but the grief had lost its sting. Missing Angmar, flying north each spring to see if Haen Marn had