Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [45]
“She sounds even more dangerous than I thought her, then.”
“Unfortunately, that’s very true. What’s even worse is she’s quite mad.”
“Mad? May the gods preserve us!”
“I wouldn’t mind their help, truly.” Jill smiled in a wry sort of way. “Now here, did your brother worship this creature?”
Meer nodded, his mouth slack, then bent his head as if he were staring at the floor. His hands rubbed up and down his staff for the comfort of it.
“The infamy!” he snarled. “That my own brother’s dishonor and sin would lead me to trust strangers who are no doubt no better than he and perhaps a good bit worse! Are you truly a mazrak?”
“I have no idea.” Jill turned irritable. “If you’d deign to tell me what one is, I might be able to answer.”
“A shape-changer, one who takes animal form.”
“Oh. As a matter of fact, I am that.”
She spoke in such an ordinary way that Jahdo shuddered, a long convulsion of terror. Meer growled under his breath and showed fang.
“But which one are you? The falcon or the raven? My servant here told me of two.”
“What?” Jill hesitated. “The falcon’s the form I take. Are you sure you saw another dweomer shape, Jahdo, or were you just scared or suchlike? I wouldn’t blame you, mind. There’s no shame attached, none at all, to being frightened of such things.”
“I do know I did see it. It were a raven, and it were huge, and I did see it the morning Meer knew his brother was dying. It was flying close over the trees, so I could see how big it were.”
“Well, well, well, could you, then?” Jill glanced Rhodry’s way. “You didn’t happen to see any birds that looked unnaturally large, did you? When you were riding to fetch Meer and Jahdo, I mean.”
Rhodry shook his head no. He’d gone white about the mouth.
“But all those weeks ago, when you and Yraen were riding to Cengarn, you saw a raven, didn’t you?”
“So we did,” Rhodry said. “It was just when we stumbled across that farm the raiders destroyed, the one where that poor woman was lying dead and her unborn babe with her. Ye gods! I made a jest about the wretched bird, teasing Carra, like, and saying it was a sorcerer, most like.”
“Were you really only jesting?”
Rhodry grinned, briefly.
“Not truly. Are you telling me I was right, and a dweomermaster it was?”
“I’m not telling you anything. But I begin to think it likely.”
“Ah, infamy and abomination!” Meer whispered at first, but slowly and steadily his voice grew louder, till it rumbled in bardic imprecation. “O Thavrae, how could you, brother who is no longer no brother of mine! May your spirit walk restless through all the long ages of ages! May the gods turn you away from their doors! May their gardens be forbidden you! May you never drink of their drink, may you never taste of their food! That you could commit such sin, such perfidy! That you could break every law of every god! A brother’s curse fall upon you! And in the end, if ever our mother should learn your evil, may her curse pierce your spirit as you writhe in the thirteen pairs of jaws of many-headed Ranadar, the Hound of Hell!”
“So be it,” Jill said, and her own voice boomed like a priest’s. “May the gods be his witness.”
The room seemed to ring for a long, long moment. As he crouched beside Meer and watched the dweomer light swirling over the walls, Jahdo felt a peculiar intuition, that this moment marked a great change for more than the few individuals in this chamber, that some mighty thing, a destiny indeed, had begun to rouse itself from some age-long sleep, or that some vast night had begun to turn toward day—he could not find words, not even for himself, but he knew, he knew.
“You look solemn, lad,” Jill said. “What ails you?”
He stared up at her, then rose, laying one hand on the back of Meer’s chair.
“I just felt—I don’t know—” The moment was passing, the insight fading, even as he struggled to grab it and pin it down. “That some great thing will happen, and