The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [166]
Toward dawn she lay awake for a long time, thinking about Evandar and the help he’d promised, months ago now. Would he return soon, now that it was spring? Perhaps his ship had never reached Deverry, what with the autumn storms and the pirates. Perhaps the healer he’d told them about wouldn’t return with him.
All her doubts killed her small hope. As she lay exhausted on their blankets, watching the canvas walls of the tent brighten with the dawn, she found herself thinking a traitor’s thought, that perhaps if Ebañy should run off somewhere it would be better for them all.
Up by the plaza on Citadel stood a public well, which drew water from a spring sweeter than the lake. Every morning Niffa would carry two wooden buckets on a shoulder yoke to fetch the day’s drinking water. With the coming spring in the air, the task gave her a certain domestic pleasure. The sky itself seemed lighter, as if the gods had spread a prettier blue upon it. From the plaza she could look down to the town and beyond the walls to the surrounding meadows, dark brown with mud, streaked here and there with dirty snow. At the well itself stood other townsfolk, gossiping while they waited their turn to draw.
On a day that was undeniably warm, Niffa trudged up the hill to the well. Councilman Verrarc’s blond young servant, Harl, had just filled his buckets. He saw Niffa, smiled, and hurried over.
“Good morrow,” Harl said. “And how do you and yours fare?”
“Well enough, my thanks,” Niffa said. “And your household?”
“Fine, fine, though the master’s woman still be sickly, like.”
One of the women at the well screamed. Niffa spun around just as two others began to shriek and point at the sky. Niffa looked up and saw a dragon flying toward Citadel.
In the pale sun the beast glittered like obsidian. Huge-Niffa could not judge how large, but at least the size of two wagons, and the wings spread out in vast sweeps of greenish-black. She could hear each wing stroke beat the air like the pound of an enormous heart as the dragon dropped down, swooping in a soundless glide, then banking one wing to circle lazily over the plaza. Niffa could see the enormous copper-tinged head bend down as if it were looking them over. She nearly screamed herself, thinking it would land.
The dragon spoke in a huge rumble, but although Niffa could tell the sounds meant words, it spoke a language she didn’t know. All she could think to do was raise a hand in the sign of peace. With one beat of its wings, it sheared off and flew, gaining height as it headed south and east.
Everyone at the well started gabbling at once. Niffa walked a few steps away and watched the dragon until it turned into a tiny speck against the morning.
“Niffa, Niffa!” Harl came running. “What did the beast say?”
“I know not. Here! Think you I ken Dragonish or suchlike?”
“Well, truly, not.” Harl had the grace to look embarrassed. “It be only that you—well, you do see things most folk can’t see, and so mayhap, I thought, you heard hidden things as well.”
She realized that the other women had walked over to stand behind him. They were nodding their agreement.
“The only one round here who do ken secrets be Werda,” Niffa said. “And I’d best be telling her about this wyrm.”
Werda, however, had heard and seen the beast herself. Wrapped in her white cloak, she came striding across the plaza. When everyone started talking at once, she hushed them and beckoned to Niffa.
“Come walk with me a bit,” Werda said. “I saw the beast speak to you.”
Niffa left her buckets at the well. As she and the Spirit Talker walked away, she looked back to see the townsfolk gathering to discuss the omen among themselves. At the edge of the plaza, where worked stone met the huge boulders of the hill, Werda stopped and