Fire Dragon - Katharine Kerr [184]
“And what made you change?”
“Ranadar's curse.” Zatcheka looked away, troubled. “If you mind not that I speak of such things.”
“Not in the least. Truly, I'm hoping that one day a bard of my people will be able to talk with one of yours. If they could put together what they know of the Great Burning, maybe we could at last understand it. I know Carra would love to—” Dallandra stopped, caught by a sudden thought. “Oh ye gods. If one person died of that plague, and then the others ate—oh by the Dark Sun herself!”
“That be exactly what I did mean.” Zatcheka shuddered, as if she were suddenly cold. “It were a horrible contagion, or so the old tales tell us.”
“No doubt!”
“But I do admire your thought, that our bards should meet. Now that we have allied ourselves, Cerr Cawnen would be a grand site for that meeting, I should think.”
“So it is. And I hope that we shall meet again as well, you and I.”
“You do have my word on that.” Zatcheka smiled briefly. “One way or other, we will meet again.”
That evening, when Dallandra and Niffa visited her family, they found Verrarc sitting at Dera's table. His face was waxy pale, and his hands shook, but he was eating a thick chunk of bread, the first solid food he'd taken in days. Dera smiled over him as proudly as if he'd been a fractious baby newly calmed.
“And a good eve to you,” Verrarc said to them. “I did come here tonight to see if Jahdo were willing to become my apprentice.”
“Well, that would be a grand opportunity.” Dallandra glanced at Dera. “What do you think of it?”
“It would ache my heart to have our Jahdo gone again so soon,” Dera said. “But it would ache even worse watching a bright lad like him spend his life in killing rats.”
“So I thought, too,” Verrarc said. “I do hope that Lael agrees.”
“He will,” Niffa put in. “He be not the sort of man who hogs his children's lives.”
At that, Verrarc actually smiled. Good, Dallandra thought. He'll recover.
On the morrow Prince Daralanteriel led his followers out of Cerr Cawnen on the south-running road. Soon they left the water meadows behind and travelled through fields as lush as velvet with the burgeoning grain. Although Carra rode beside her husband at first, toward midmorning she turned her horse out of line and fell in between Dallandra and Niffa. Elessario slept comfortably, bound to her back with a new kind of leather sling, an invention of Jahdo's aunt, Sirri.
“I'm confused about somewhat,” Carra said. “We're going to Cannobaen, right? The lady of the dun there, Rhodda. You said she was Rhodry's kin?”
“His daughter, in fact.”
“That means Rhodry must have been noble-born.”
“He was that. And I'll ask you to help me keep a secret. His kin think he died many a year ago.”
Carra considered this for a long moment. “Let me guess,” she said finally. “Many years ago Gwerbret Aberwyn got himself killed hunting, but they never found his body. And his name was Rhodry Maelwaedd.”
“You are clever!” Dallandra said, laughing. “But keep it to yourself, will you? At least in Cannobaen. The People know the truth.”
“I will, never fear.”
“You know, I just realized somewhat. You and Lady Rhodda will have much in common. When Evandar decided to have Salamander brought to Cannobaen, he may well have been doing you a favor as well.”
“Really? Why?”
“Lady Rhodda is a scholar, and a famous one among the Westfolk.”
Carra turned her head to stare at her, then smiled, her eyes suddenly wide and bright, as if she'd opened an ordinary sack and found it stuffed with gold. “A scholar,” she whispered. “A real scholar and a woman both?”
“She is, though her townsfolk don't know what to make of it.”
“I don't suppose they do. How long will it take us to get there?”
“Weeks, alas. We don't have Evandar's dweomer with us any more.”
“That's true. Do you miss him, Dalla?”
“Of course.” Dallandra paused, feeling the bitter truth of it. “I'll doubtless miss him for the rest of my life.”
Some weeks after the travelling