The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [45]
It was a few days later that Dallandra heard the truth of Demet’s death, when she met Evandar on the crest of Market Hill. They found each other just at nightfall under a sky so clear and cold that the stars seemed chips of ice, glittering in the silver fire of the rising moon. Wrapped in his blue cloak Evandar glowed to match the moonlight.
“And how does Salamander fare?” Dallandra asked him.
“Who? Ah, Rhodry’s brother.”
“Indeed. I asked Rhodry if he knew anything about a curse Jill put on him, and Rhodry swears up and down that she’d never have done such a thing. He did say, though, that she might have sworn like a silver dagger at him, and in his madness he might be remembering it and misinterpreting.”
“Now that makes a great deal of sense. I’ll try to visit him again.” Evandar frowned up at the stars. “I’ve not had a moment to spare, my love, what with the trouble Shaetano’s causing.”
“In Jahdo’s city? I’ve heard another nasty tale myself, about Raena and the way she murdered a man there.”
“The young militiaman? It wasn’t her who killed him. It was Shaetano.”
Dallandra found herself with nothing to say. Evandar laughed at her shock, then sobered fast.
“It’s an evil thing,” he said. “And I’ve no idea how he did it. Worse yet, neither does he. He’s been calling himself Lord Havoc, and he seems to be living up to his name.”
“Things are even worse than I thought, then. I’d better go have a look at all of this in the spring.”
“If you wanted to go straightaway, I could take you there by the mothers of all roads.”
“I can’t leave Carra and the baby.”
“We could all go, Jahdo and Rhodry too.”
“True, but Rhodry won’t leave until spring, because he’s waiting for Arzosah. Not that she’s likely to return.”
“It was foolish of him to break that binding spell, truly. The great wyrms have devious little hearts.”
“But here, he knows—we all know, truly—her true name. Shouldn’t that—”
“It’s not enough. I don’t care what the old tales say, but merely knowing a dragon’s name is no protection for an ordinary man. Someone who can put dweomer behind speaking the name—well, that’s different.”
“I see. Well, dragon or no, in the spring I’d better get myself to Cerr Cawnen.”
“Shall I bring Rhodry’s brother there to meet you?”
Dallandra considered this for a moment.
“I don’t think so,” she said at last. “I think he’d be better off in the Westlands, nearer his father. But for the love of every god, don’t bring him anywhere just yet, will you? I’ve got enough on my mind as it is.”
“True spoken, so I’ll leave him be for now. It’s not like his poor wife has to handle him on her own.”
“That’s one good thing about all those wretched acrobats.” Dallandra glanced around and realized that all the houses she could see had gone dark. “Ye gods, I’d better get myself back to the dun! The gatekeeper won’t wait for me forever.”
“I’ll walk with you. I don’t trust these streets at night. Which reminds me. Does Rhodry still have that bronze knife?”
It took Dallandra a moment to remember which knife he meant.
“The ancient one?” she said. “The one that has some strange dweomer on it?”
“That’s the one. He might need it with Alshandra’s pack still on the loose.”
“He keeps it on his belt with the silver dagger.”
“Good. Tell him to stay on guard, too.”
Together they hurried back to the dun, but at the iron-bound gates Evandar left her. Dallandra gave the old gatekeeper a coin for his patience, then walked into the main ward, where torchlight danced and threw fitful shadows on stone. Not far from the back door to the great hall she saw a crowd of the gwerbret’s riders, all arguing about some incomprehensible thing. Out of curiosity she drifted over and found a place to stand on the steps of one of the side brochs.
From there she could see the trouble. In the center of a ring of Cadmar’s sworn men stood a man of the Westfolk and one of Cadmar’s riders, both of them trembling with fury while Cadmar’s captain and Prince Daralanteriel