A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [23]
Near the western border of the kingdom was one last river, the Vicaver, where Aderyn went simply to take a look at it. Rather than the oak forests of his visions, however, he found the river bordered by farms, pastures, and the occasional stand of willow trees. Aderyn crossed it and rode to the village of Ladotyn, a straggle of some fifty houses scattered among poplar trees, though it did have a proper inn. The innkeeper told him that they got merchant caravans coming through the town, on their way to and from the kingdom of Eldidd to the west.
“And if you’re thinking of riding west through those mountains, good sir, you’d best see if you can join some other travelers. Those louse-ridden savages up in the hills are always causing trouble.”
“Well, I don’t intend to stay here all winter, caravan or no.”
“It’s your burying, not mine—well, if you even get a burial in the ground and not in their stomachs, if you take my meaning, like.”
Although a caravan did indeed appear at the inn, it turned out that it was coming home to Deverry from Eldidd, and the caravan master, Lillyc, doubted very much if Aderyn would see one going the opposite way so late in the season. As they stood talking together out in the innyard, Lillyc remarked that he’d been trading in some towns that lay on a river called the El.
“Now that’s a strange name,” Aderyn remarked. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”
“No doubt.” Lillyc gave him the grin of a man with a secret joke. “It’s not a Deverry word, nor an Eldidd one, either. The name comes from the Westfolk. They live off to the west of Eldidd, you see. Used to range farther east, but now the place is getting properly settled.”
“Indeed? Are they some of the Old Ones, then?”
“If you mean the squinty-eyed, dark-haired bondsfolk, that they aren’t. Oh, the Westfolk are a different lot altogether, and a strange bunch. They won’t settle in proper farms and towns. They wander around with their horses and sheep, just where the fancy takes them.” Lillyc paused for a small frown. “But they’ve helped me and many a merchant make his fortune. They love iron goods—can’t work the stuff themselves, I suppose. How could you, riding around with never a proper forge? They trade us horses. Look.”
At that moment one of Lillyc’s men walked by leading a pair of the most beautiful horses Aderyn had ever seen. They were both mares, but they stood sixteen hands easily, and their wide, deep chests and slender legs bespoke good wind and good speed both. The most amazing thing, however, was their color, a dark rich gold like fresh clay dug from a riverbank while their manes and tails were as silvery pale as moonbeams.
“Gorgeous, good sir!” Aderyn said. “I’ll wager any noble lord in Deverry would give you a small fortune for breeding stock like that.”
“Just so, just so. But I had to spend most of a small fortune to get them, let me tell you.”
A strange folk, then, these Westfolk, and perhaps with strange lore to match. The very thought made a cold shudder run down Aderyn’s back as he wondered if they were in some way linked to his Wyrd.
“Here, I’m determined to go west. Think the weather will hold up in the mountains for a few more weeks?”
“It’s not the weather you’ve got to worry about, it’s the savages. If I were you, lad, I’d wait. A herbman’s a valuable sort of man to have around. We’d all hate to lose you, like.”
Aderyn merely smiled. Waiting was not one of his strong points.
Since he was going to be traveling farther than he’d previously planned, Aderyn decided that he’d best consult with Nevyn. That night, he went up to his chamber and built himself a small fire in the hearth. When he called upon his old master, the image built