Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [169]
“Quite sure. The work I have to do won’t take that long. I should return to the dun in time for the noon meal.”
“No doubt you know your own affairs best, then, and I don’t care to know what they are.”
As the warband mounted up, Nevyn had a chance to say a few words to Jill, who was yawning in the saddle.
“Camdel will sleep for some hours when you get back. Can I ask you to go sit with him when he wakes?”
“I will, truly. We don’t want him to be all alone, in case he remembers somewhat of what he’s been through.”
Nevyn’s heart ached. If only the little dolt could see it, he thought, she’d make such a splendid healer! Yet never could he force her Wyrd upon her, and he knew it. Until the warband was well out of sight, he waited, yawning some himself in the warm morning sun. Even his unnatural vitality had its limits. Somewhat wryly he reflected that tonight he’d have his first full night’s sleep in fifty-odd years.
Blaen’s men had already buried Alastyr and what was left of the farmer’s corpse up in the hills. Nevyn went to the ritual chamber, tore down the piece of velvet, then threw it into the hearth for the Wildfolk of Fire to dispose of. While it smoked and crackled, he rummaged round and found the farmer’s store of salt in a little crock and a couple of thin splints of wood of the sort used for transferring fire from a hearth to a candle. Since he had no incense, plain smoke would have to do.
When he returned to the chamber, the atmosphere already seemed a bit lighter, just from having that blasphemous symbol down from the wall. Although he wanted to do the banishings immediately, the chamber had secrets to tell him that would be lost once he did the working. He sat down cross-legged in front of a brown stain of Alastyr’s blood, laid the salt and splints aside, then slowed his breathing until his mind was perfectly focused. He built an image of a six-pointed star until it glowed as two interlaced triangles, one red, one blue. Slowly he pushed the image out of his mind until it seemed to stand in front of him.
In the center hexagon he visualized Alastyr’s corpse as he’d first seen it at dawn, then sent his mind backward in time, at first only imagining the room as it would have looked by candlelight. Since the murder was so recent, true vision replaced his imagination in a few seconds. He saw the blond apprentice kneeling on guard at his master’s head. His mouth was twisted into a small, terrifying smile as Alastyr twitched and writhed in his trance; then his hand went to his belt and drew his dagger. For a while he paused, as if savoring the moment, then plunged the dagger into the helpless man’s heart, over and over. Since he didn’t care to watch the blows, Nevyn broke the vision and withdrew the star into himself.
“So that was my unexpected help, was it? And he must be the one who took Alastyr’s books and other ritual objects, too. Well, assuming that he had any with him.”
The Wildfolk crouched in the corners all nodded to indicate that, indeed, Alastyr had traveled with all the usual impediment of a dark master. They were a pitiful lot of spirits, all twisted and deformed by Alastyr’s meddling.
“And yet he left the cloth behind. Was he in a hurry because we were coming?’
Again they told him yes.
“Is that why he didn’t kill Camdel?”
They shook their heads no. One black gnome with protruding fangs lay down on the floor and pretended to cower in fear, while another stood over him, clawed hand raised as if it held a knife. Then it pantomimed kneeling down, sheathing the knife, and patted the other gnome gently on the shoulder.
“By the hells! Do you mean he pitied Camdel?”
They nodded a solemn yes.
“Now, I never would have thought that! Huh. Well, my friends, it’s no affair of yours. Soon you’ll be free of those ugly shapes. Help me perform the banishings, and then you can go to your kings.”
When they leaped up, he felt their joy washing over him as tangibly as water.
“Is he awake?” Rhodry said.
“Sort of.” Jill sounded doubtful. “It’s hard to tell.”
Rhodry walked