Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [191]
“I’ll fly with you a fair while more, then. Truly, Rhodry—nah nah nah, I shan’t call you that anymore, because it’s a name from the language of men. Rori you shall be, Rori Dragonfriend.”
“My lady, never have I had a title that pleased me as much.”
“Good. Now, here, I’ll have to fly home before the first snow, but I promise you this: in the spring, I’ll return. You have my sworn word on that.”
And not for one moment did he doubt that she would keep it.
EPILOGUE
The Rhiddaer, 1117
POPULUS
A figure of most mixed import, which does color its character with those omens falling near it upon our map, but in general, it does signify good rather than evil, for when the people come together, there is feasting and merriment. In one thing only does it bode ill, matters of dweomer and secret things, for such have no part in the pleasures of public life. Thus, when it falls into the Land of Salt, this figure does bode evil most foul
—The Omenbook of Gwarn,
Loremaster
CERR CAWNEN LAY LIKE a turquoise in the midst of a world of white. The high mountains to the north stood shrouded in clouds. In the rolling farmlands to the south, only the roofs and chimneys of the houses poked up, feathered with wood smoke, through the first heavy snow. The water meadows surrounding the town lay frozen in a lace of silver. Behind the stone ring of town walls, Loc Vaed stretched unfrozen, from its long green shallows out to blue deeper water and the central rock of Citadel, where the public buildings and the houses of the few wealthy families stood. The rest of the town huddled in the shallows: a jumble and welter of houses and shops all perched on pilings or crannogs, joined by little bridges to one another in the rough equivalent of city blocks, which in turn bristled with jetties and rickety stairs leading down to the stretches of open water between them. Fed by volcanic springs as it was, the lake would stay clear all winter, shrouded under mists and steam where the heat from the water hit the chilly air.
With the harvest in and safely stowed in Citadel’s public granaries, the town had time for celebrations. Soon Admi, Chief Speaker of the town and head of the Council of Five, would be marrying off his daughter to the son of a merchant house. The two grand families would be throwing a public feast; they’d brought musicians in from every village around. Up on Citadel, another family was also considering plans, though these would be a fair bit less splendid.
“It were best we wait till the feasting be done,” Dera said to her daughter. “We don’t want your wedding to be lost, like.”
“Oh here, Mam!” Niffa said with a laugh. “And who would be noticing the ratter’s lass’s wedding anyway?”
“We do have friends in this town. It be needful for us to set things up right, like, for the celebrating. At the dark time of the year, the folk will be glad of a nice occasion, they will.”
Niffa smiled, surrendering. There never was any stopping Dera once she got an idea in her head.
“So now,” Dera said. “I’ll have your Da just stop by and tell Demet’s da, like, of the plans.”
“I can go tell Demet.”
“Now hush! It be needful to do things right, and the fathers, they be the ones to discuss it, like, now that we’ve made the decisions.” Dera paused for a wicked grin. “Men do like that, lass, the thinking that they’ve decided a thing. You remember that once you’re married.”
“Well and good, then, Mam.”
Dera let her smile fade and turned away, looking into the hearth where a fire crackled to keep off the damp. In the last few months, she’d aged. The wrinkles round her blue eyes ran deep, now, and gray stained her yellow hair.
“It be our Jahdo you be thinking of, bain’t?” Niffa said.
“It is. Ah, ye gods, I wonder if he still draws breath, wherever he may be.”
“Mam, if he were to die, I’d know it. I swear I would.”
Dera nodded agreement, then stared into the fire, as if she, too, could see the salamanders leaping and darting among the flames. At times, Niffa wondered if her mother really could see the Wildfolk as she could but denied