The Silver Mage. Katharine Kerr
yes, I suppose they are. For men of my kind.’
‘Well.’ Nalla paused for a grin. ‘If you shut your eyes, you could ignore their ears.’
When the other women laughed, Hwilli decided that hatred tasted like sour wine. She gathered a few bitter remarks, but when she looked Nalla’s way, Nalla rolled her eyes with a shrug toward the laughter, and Hwilli kept the remarks to herself.
Caswallinos, or so he’d often told his apprentice, had also realized that distance and time meant nothing to Evandar, but much to the elder druid’s surprise and Galerinos’s relief, the river did lie where that supposed god had told them. As they came down from the hills they could see the gleam of water far ahead, winding through a grassy plain scattered with huge boulders and dotted with the occasional copse. Laughter and cheers rippled up and down the line of wagons. The horses and cows raised their heads and sniffed the air, then walked a little faster.
As they hurried across the plain, Galerinos noticed several long and oddly straight lines of small stones. The savages had laid them out, he assumed, though the landscape made him think of old tales about the giants of olden times and their furious wars. Perhaps the Devetii had wandered into an armoury of sorts, with rocks laid ready for some battle that had never occurred.
Just at sunset they reached the river. The Devetian line of march spread out along its banks to allow their weary horses to drink. After them came the cattle and sheep. Only when the animals had drunk their fill, and the mud had had time to settle, did the humans wade into the river to drink and to collect the precious water in amphorae and waterskins. As priests, Galerinos and his master received their share first. After they slaked their thirst, they stood by their wagon and looked out across the stone-studded plain.
‘This is a very strange place,’ Caswallinos remarked.
‘It certainly is, your holiness! All those rocks! Do you know why they’re here?’
‘The Wildfolk told me that a big sheet of ice crawled down from the north. When it melted, it dropped them.’ Caswallinos shook his head sadly. ‘The Wildfolk lack wits as we know wits.’
‘So they must.’
‘But rocks or no rocks, the land looks good enough to plant a crop in. We need to get the winter wheat in the ground.’
‘Are we going to settle here for the winter?’
‘We can’t march in the snow, can we? Think! Besides, we’re going to have to build a bridge to get the wagons across that river. It’s far too deep to ford.’
‘You’re right, and my apologies, but it wearies my heart. This will be our second winter in Evandar’s country. Do you think we’ll ever stop wandering?’
‘Eventually even our cadvridoc will grow tired of slaughtering the white savages. I’ve given him that omen to look for, one we can arrange when we find a suitable place.’
‘Arrange? You mean you lied to him?’
‘Let’s just say I created a soothing truth.’
‘But that’s still lying –’ Galerinos caught the grim look in his master’s eyes and stopped talking in mid-sentence. ‘Apologies.’
Caswallinos snorted with a twist of his mouth.
Cadvridoc Brennos had reached the same conclusion, that the Devetii would set up a temporary settlement near the river and plant their carefully hoarded seed grain. That night, in the midst of campfires he called a general council of the vergobretes, the clan heads, and every free man who wanted to attend. Once the crowd had gathered, he stood on one of the smaller boulders and raised his arms for silence. In the firelight his golden torque and arm bands winked and gleamed. His stiff limed hair gave him the look of a spirit from the Otherlands.
‘You all know,’ he began, ‘that we travel east in search of the omen granted to us by the gods. By another river we’ll find a white sow who’s given birth, and there we’ll found our city.’
The gathered men murmured their agreement.
‘But the year turns toward the dark,’ Brennos continued. ‘According to the bronze marker of days that our druid carries, soon Samovantos will be upon us. We must plant our crops somewhere and build ourselves shelter. Now, right here the gods have given us plenty of stones to work with – an omen, or so I take it. I’d say that this is the place for our winter camp.’
More murmurs, a few cheers – as usual, Brennos had carried the day. Not even Bercanos of the Boar stepped forward to argue, an omen in itself, or so Galerinos thought of it.
‘For the first days here,’ Brennos began speaking again, ‘we’ll camp in our usual order, all together in case the savages attack us. After that, we can build farmsteads and walls to protect ourselves.’
More cheers, more murmurs of assent.
‘While everyone was watering our stock,’ Brennos continued, ‘I rode a little ways south. I found a grand supply of stone, waiting for us right beside a spring. We can use that to build a dun that’ll strike fear in the hearts of the savages. What say you?’
The entire assembly cheered him. The men of the council of vergobretes stood and threw a fist into the air to show their support. As the crowd scattered back to their various wagons and tents, Caswallinos and Galerinos left the camp to walk down by the river, rippled silver with moonlight.
‘Now,’ Caswallinos said. ‘Tell me about that curse.’
In as much detail as he could remember, Galerinos described what had happened up on the hillside. Caswallinos listened, nodding now and then.
‘I never dreamt you had this much of a gift,’ he said at last. ‘It’s time to let you know a few secrets, lad. The first is very simple. The power behind that curse didn’t come from the god. It came from your own soul.’
Galerinos stared at him with his mouth slack. I must not have heard right, was his first thought. Caswallinos laughed, just softly.
‘Don’t believe me, do you?’ the druid said.
‘Of course I believe you, but I’m just surprised.’
‘There are bigger surprises ahead. This will do for tonight.’ Caswallinos glanced at the sky, where the full moon hung like a beacon. ‘I’d ask you to show me that blue fire, but I don’t want you setting fire to the grass or boiling any undines out in the river, either. Huh. That reminds me.’
The elder druid frowned at the water and whispered a message to Evandar. Galerinos waited, unspeaking.
‘There, I’ve told the Wildfolk,’ Caswallinos said at last, ‘though I’ve no idea if they’ll find Evandar or not. I haven’t forgotten your two cousins, lad. I know how close the three of you are, raised together like that.’
‘They’re more like brothers, master.’ Galerinos’s voice went unsteady with fear. ‘I’ll pray he brings them back to us.’
But Evandar never returned. Late that night Galerinos woke from an omen-dream of loss and realized, deep in his heart, that he’d never see his bloodkin again.
Rhodorix woke to the sound of the bronze gongs booming over the fortress. Dawnlight streamed through the window, touching the painted walls with silver. His back ached from his night’s drunken sleep on a thin carpet over a stone floor. He sat up, yawning and stretching the pain away. The chamber door opened to admit the healer and the pale-haired woman. They ignored him and marched over to the plank bed where Gerontos was lying. The healer held a knife with a long, thin blade.
Rhodorix scrambled to his feet – what were they planning on doing to his brother? But as he watched, the healer deftly ran the blade under the cast around Gerontos’s broken leg. The honey had stuck bandages and leg both to the planks as the cast had dried overnight.
With the leg free, the pale-haired woman helped Gerontos sit up, then slid him back to lean against the wall