Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [126]
“And what's so wrong with you?” Jahdo said.
“Naught,” Kiel said. “I did but notice how tall you've grown, this past year while you were gone.”
Niffa picked up the knife and returned to chopping up salt pork. The water in the kettle had come to a simmer, and she slid the grain in. Kiel got up and fetched the wooden paddle.
“I'll just be stirring that,” Kiel said. “You bring the other stuffs when they be ready.”
“I will, and my thanks.”
Kiel glanced her way and smiled, a wry twist of his mouth.
“Things be on the move, you did tell me,” Kiel said. “Huh. A bit more than that, eh? But Da did speak true. You've always been the peculiar one.”
“Beast!” Niffa grabbed a carrot end and tossed it at him.
At that the three of them could laugh. Jahdo carried Tek-Tek over and sat down.
“I swear, you did miss those weasels more than us,” Niffa said.
“I did, truly.” But he was smiling. “Though I forgot just how strong they stink. On the morrow I'll bathe them.”
“I've been lax about it, truly,” Niffa said. “And Kiel's been gone a fair bit with the town watch.”
In a few moments Lael and Dera returned. Dera stood looking at her brood unsmiling, then sighed.
“Well and good, then,” Dera said. “Wyrd is Wyrd. Now give over the knife, Niffa. That pork, it does need to be chopped finer than that.”
During the meal they said little. Jahdo knew nothing of her marriage, Niffa realized, or her widowhood either, yet she knew that this was not the night to tell him. By the dancing light of the fire they could pretend that all troubles had fled, at least for this short while, and she refused to break the fragile calm. By the time they finished eating, guests began to arrive, all eager to hear the rare news of faraway lands.
As the crowd grew, Niffa could slip away. When she lit a candle at the hearth, no one seemed to notice; she stuck it in a tin lantern and crept round the edge of the room to the door. For a moment she hesitated, looking back at the family and friends clustered round Jahdo by the hearth; then she stepped out, leaving the door open behind her for the air.
As she was walking down to the lakeshore she saw someone coming up, carrying another lantern. When she held hers away from her eyes, she recognized Verrarc, walking as slowly and hesitantly as an old man. She would have hurried past, but he hailed her, and they met in the pool of light from their lanterns. She was shocked to see how exhausted he looked, with dark circles puffy under his eyes.
“Good morrow, Mistress Niffa. What are you doing away from your hearth?”
“I've an errand to run in the town.”
Verrarc seemed to be studying her face. She smiled and waited.
“Ah well,” he said finally. “I don't mean to pry. Tell me, do you think it would trouble your mother if I went to hear Jahdo's tales? Curiosity's eating my heart, I'll admit it.”
“No doubt, all things considered.”
He winced and tossed his head like a fly-stung horse.
“But I know Mam would make you welcome,” Niffa went on. “When has she ever turned you away?”
“Just so. My thanks.”
He brushed past her and hurried up the path. She turned to watch him go, wondering if it were only some trick of the light that had made him seem on the verge of tears.
Earlier, Councilman Verrarc had led Dallandra and the Westfolk to a camp about halfway around the lake, a stretch of spring grass with a stone well set a long way back from the reeking shore. As the men bustled around, unloading the mules and tethering out the stock, Dallandra walked to the well and looked beyond it to a trio of peaked tents some hundred yards away. Beyond them mules and some heavy horses grazed at tether. In the middle of the tents a group of human men sat around a low fire, but the only Gel da'Thae she saw was a single guard, standing at the door of one tent with a staff at the ready. She could guess that the tent belonged to Zatcheka. The guard seemed to be looking them over in return.
Behind her a dog barked, and when she turned around, Dallandra saw Lightning trotting over the grass with his tail held high and wagging.