Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [9]
At least at night, when they went up to their chamber, she could use kisses and caresses to change his mood. After their lovemaking he would be happy for a while, talking with her as they lay tight in each other’s arms. When he drifted off to sleep, often she would stay awake and look at him as if he were a puzzle to be studied out.
Rhodry was a tall man, heavily muscled but built straight from shoulder to hip, with long, sensitive hands that hinted at his elven blood. He had the raven-dark hair and cornflower-blue eyes so typical of Eldidd men, but there was nothing typical about his good looks. His features were so perfect that he would have looked girlish if it weren’t for the various small scars and battle-nicks on his face. Since she’d met some of the Westfolk, the name that Deverry men had given the elves, Jill knew that they too were as handsome. She would wonder over that trace of elven blood in his clan, which had, or so Nevyn assured her, merely all come out in him, a throwback. Logically, it seemed improbable.
One night her long pondering brought her the answer to the problem. Every now and then Jill had true dreams, which were actually dweomer-visions beyond the control of her conscious mind. Generally they came, as this one did, when she’d put a lot of time and effort into thinking over a problem. On a night when the rain beat upon the shutters and the wind howled around the inn, she fell asleep in Rhodry’s arms and dreamed of the Elcyion Lacar. It seemed that she flew above the western grasslands on a day when the sun broke through clouds only to vanish again. Far below her in a green sea of grass stood a cluster of elven tents, glowing like many-colored jewels.
Suddenly she stood on the ground among them. Bundled in a red cloak, a tall man strode past her and into a purple-and-blue tent. On a whim she followed. The tent was elaborately decorated with woven hangings, embroidered wall bags, and Bardek carpets used as floor cloths. Sitting on a pile of leather cushions was an elven woman, her pale-blond hair bound into two braids that hung behind her ears, which were as long and delicately pointed as seashells. Her visitor pressed his palms together and bowed to her, then doffed the cloak and sat down on the carpet nearby. His hair was as pale as moonlight, and his dark-blue eyes were, like all elven eyes, slit vertically with a pupil like a cat’s. Yet Jill thought that he was as handsome as her Rhodry in his alien way and also oddly familiar.
“Very well, Devaberiel,” the woman said, and though she spoke in Elvish, Jill could understand her. “I’ve been studying my stones, and I have an answer for you.”
“My thanks, Valandario.” He leaned closer.
At that point Jill realized that a cloth, embroidered in geometric patterns, lay between them. At various points on the web of triangles and squares lay spherical gems: rubies, yellow beryls, sapphires, emeralds, and amethysts. In the middle of the cloth lay a simple silver ring. Valandario began moving the gems along the various lines, finally bringing one of each color into the center to form a pentagon around the ring.
“Your son’s Destiny is encircled by this ring,” she said. “But I know not what that Destiny may be, except to say that it lies somewhat in the north and in the air.”
“In the air? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Doubtless all will be revealed in time.” Valandario waved a vague hand. “But I know the ring is his.”
“As god and Guardian wish it, then