A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [101]
“Do you think I should take the fellow’s advice, then?”
“Most likely. Ye gods, I wish Aderyn were here! We need a dweomerman’s counsel, we do.”
“I’m still surprised he never came to the alardan. It’s not like the old man to miss one.”
“Just so.” Calonderiel suddenly yawned with a convulsive little shudder. “Well, let’s get some sleep. It’s been a miserable night, all told. Maybe your dreams will tell you something useful”
That afternoon, though, Rhodry dreamt of the long road, that is, the time when he’d ridden as a silver dagger into political exile. When he woke, he could remember nothing particular about the dream, and it faded fast as dreams will, but the feeling of it lingered round him, a sour sort of omen. He found himself alone in the banadar’s huge tent, with the rest of the warband gone, though he did hear whispering voices just outside. When he dressed and went out, he discovered a clot of men, all white-faced and shaking, standing round the young prince, Daralanteriel, who had his hands set on his hips and an angry toss to his head.
“What’s all this?” Rhodry was instantly awake.
“My apologies, sir,” the prince said. “The men keep talking about ghosts, and I’m trying to force some sense into their heads.”
“Good.” Rhodry turned to Jennantar, who of all the men in the warband was usually the most hard-headed. “Now, what—”
“Mock all you like, we saw her!” Jennantar said. “Oldana, standing at the edge of camp clear as clear.”
The rest nodded in stubborn agreement.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Daralanteriel snarled. “Only Round-ears believe in trash like that. Well, begging your pardon, sir.”
“Tact isn’t your strongest point, lad, is it? But apology accepted. Look at it this way: the men saw something, so the real question is, what was it?”
“I’m glad to see that someone believes our sworn word.” Jennantar shot Daralanteriel an evil glance.
“Enough of that! It’s a prince you’re looking daggers at,” Rhodry broke in and quickly. “Where did you see this thing?”
With the others trailing after, Jennantar led Rhodry out of the camp on the forest side. He pointed to a spot between two ancient pines.
“Right there. She was standing between those trees, in the shadows, yes, but we still saw her really clearly, all wrapped up in the white linen, and her hair was all white, too.”
“When you looked at her, did she seem solid, or could you see things through her, like you can through smoke?”
“Interesting.” Jennantar thought for a moment. “In the bard tales, you can always see right through a ghost, but she looked as real as you or me, and it was sunny, of course, which should have made her look even less real, but it didn’t.”
“What did you do when you saw her?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, we all yelped and jumped. She didn’t say anything, just looked at us. And Wye said, ‘Look at her hair, it’s not yellow anymore, it’s turned white.’ And she smiled at that, like, and vanished, sudden as sudden.”
“And you’re sure it was Oldana?”
“Looked exactly like her, except for that white hair.”
The other men nodded agreement. Rhodry sighed with a sharp puff of breath. Whoever or whatever that spirit who coveted his ring might be, there was no doubt that she could shape-change to perfection.
As they walked back to camp, three women came running to meet them. They ringed Rhodry round and all began talking at once: they too had seen Oldana, prowling round her family’s tent.
“I suppose she wants a look at her children, poor thing,” Annaleria said, her voice shaking with tears. “I know I would.”
“Ye gods!” Rhodry snarled. “Where are the boys?”
“With their grandmother in her tent.”
“Good. Go join her. Fill that tent with women, and for