A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [45]
“But these Hordes—why? Why did they just destroy everything?”
“I only wish I knew. No one does.”
“Uh, you said somewhat about these Hordes taking heads. I, er, well, wonder, er, does anyone remember what they looked like exactly?”
Nananna laughed, a bitter mutter under her breath.
“They may not have been actual demons, but they weren’t your people, young Aderyn, so rest your heart about that. All the old tales agree that they only had three fingers on each hand, for one thing, and that their faces, especially round the jaws, were all swollen and deformed, for another. Now, when I was a lass I heard one of the elders talk about those deformed faces, and he said it looked to him like they were actually covered with scar tissue in some kind of ritual pattern, maybe with some charcoal powder added in, like, to make the scars more prominent. I’ve never heard of a Deverry man doing such a thing.”
“And we all have five fingers, too. I can’t tell you how happy I am—for a moment I was sure that we were all somehow to blame.”
“Indeed? Why? Your folk’s general nature?”
“Well, that, too, but when I had my vision, I heard a voice telling me to go west. And it said, ‘Make restitution.’ So I thought, well, maybe we owed you somewhat.”
“Eldidd men owe us a great deal, but not because of the Burning, not as far as I know, anyway.” Nananna paused abruptly. “What’s all that noise out there?”
Aderyn heard urgent voices and footsteps. Just as Dallandra rose to go look, Halaberiel pushed open the tent flap.
“Wise One, my apologies for disturbing you, but Namydd the merchant is here with talk of trouble.”
When Dallandra spoke in Elvish, Nananna made an impatient wave in her direction.
“Aderyn has to understand this, too. Speak in his tongue. If you would, Banadar, bring Namydd to me.”
In a few minutes Halaberiel returned with a paunchy graying man in the checked brigga and elaborate shirt of a merchant. He was obviously exhausted, his eyes dazed, his movements stiff as he bowed to Nananna.
“My thanks for seeing me, Wise One,” Namydd said. “I’ve brought you some gifts, just tokens of my respect, but my son is still unloading our horses. We’ve ridden night and day to reach you.”
“Then sit down and rest. Dalla, fetch the poor man some mead. Banadar, stay with us. Now, what brings you here in such a hurry?”
“Great trouble, O Wise One,” Namydd said. “One of the northern lords, Dovyn of the Bear by name, is laying a formal claim to the lands by Loc Cyrtaer—the very place where we meet to trade every fall.”
“Oh, is he now?” Halaberiel broke in. “And does he think he’s going to cut the trees on our death-ground, too?”
“I know these lands are sacred to your people.” Namydd paused to take a wooden bowl of mead from Dallandra. “The merchant guild of Aberwyn is totally on your side. We tried to intervene with the prince, but all he’d say is that you’ll have to come to his court and file a legal counterclaim.”
When Halaberiel swore in Elvish, Nananna scowled him into silence.
“Then we shall do just that,” Nananna said. “I’m sure the prince will agree when he sees the justice of the thing. Now here, Namydd, has this lord chosen the death-ground itself?”
“Land that’s very close, but I think—I hope and pray—that the prince will listen to reason about such a sacred thing. Now, the guild sent me here with offers of aid. Your people can shelter with us if you come to Aberwyn. We have a man trained in our laws to act as your counsel—all at our expense, of course.”
“My thanks,” Nananna said with one of her wry smiles. “I forget sometimes how rich trading with us has made you.”
Namydd winced.
“Well, so it has. The Wise One is wise enough to know that when a man’s self-interest is at stake, he’s most trustworthy. If the banadar agrees, I think he’d be the best one to ride to Aberwyn. Our people have a great respect for those of high standing.”
“So they do,” Aderyn put in. “And even greater respect for those