The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [127]
The lads looked at Perryn, then nodded again. When Rhodry walked toward them, they all parted to give him plenty of room and fell in behind him like an honor guard while he fetched his horse. He mounted and rode out, heading northwest to return to the river. His hands were bloody, bruised, and aching, but he’d never enjoyed a pain more in his life. As soon as he was out of sight of the village, the gnome appeared on his saddle peak.
“That was a splendid bit of fun, wasn’t it, little brother?”
With an evil grin the gnome nodded a yes.
“Now, am I going the right way? Is Jill heading for the river?”
Again, it nodded yes.
“Is she going to Cerrmor?”
It waggled its hands and shrugged its shoulders to show that it didn’t truly know. It occurred to Rhodry that place names would mean nothing at all to the Wildfolk.
“Well, if she’s on the river, I’ll catch her up, sure enough. My thanks, little brother. You’d best get back to Jill and keep an eye on her.”
Out of compassion on the one hand and a sense of having seen justice done on the other, the blacksmith and the baker picked Perryn up and carried him into the baker’s cow shed, where they laid him down on a heap of straw. Perryn could barely see them out of his swollen eyes. His chest ached so badly that he was sure Rhodry had broken a couple of his ribs, and his lower lip was split and bleeding. The baker’s wife brought out a bowl of water, gave him a drink, then washed his face for him.
“Didn’t like the look of that silver dagger, I didn’t. Here, did you really take his wife?”
Perryn mumbled out a sound that passed for “I did.”
“Huh. I don’t see why any lass would take you over him, but then, lasses is flighty sometimes. Ah well, you can stay here for a day or two, lad, if you’ll give me a couple of coppers for horse feed.”
Perryn nodded a yes, then fainted.
Irritated to the point of rage, Nevyn sat in his chamber and glared at Salamander’s image as it danced over the glowing coals in the charcoal brazier. The gerthddyn seemed honestly bewildered.
“But I couldn’t leave Jill with that lout—”
“Of course not, you dolt! That isn’t the point. The point is this Perryn himself. You’ve left behind a gravely ill man—”
“Who repeatedly raped my brother’s woman.”
“I know that, and I’m furious about it, but what I’m trying to tell you is that he’s deathly ill.”
“And if he dies, what loss will it be?”
“Hold your tongue, you chattering elf!”
Salamander’s image shrank back and turned pale. Nevyn took a deep breath and controlled himself.
“Now listen, Ebañy. If Perryn continues on this way, he’s going to pour out his life force until there’s precious little left. Then he’ll get some illness—most likely a consumption of the lungs—and die, just as you’ve guessed. But in the meantime, he’ll also be harming other women because he can’t help himself. He’s like a man with a plague, spreading foul humors and contagion over the countryside even though he doesn’t wish another soul harm. Now do you see?”
“I do at that, and my apologies.” Salamander did look sincerely chastened. “But what could I have done? Ensorceled him? Roped him like one of his horses and dragged him along with us? Jill can’t bear the sight of him, and in her state—”
“Well, true enough. Let me think … the nearest dweomerworker is Liddyn of Cantrae. He can possibly find our Perryn and corral him. Truly, your first concern has to be Jill. Form a link with her aura and then—slowly, mind you—draw off some of that excess magnetism. The process should take some days, because you’ll have to absorb it yourself. Or, here, expend it. Do some of your wretched little tricks with it. It might amuse her.”
“I doubt me if any show of dweomer will do more than terrify her now.”
“Maybe so. Ah ye gods! What a nasty mess you’ve dropped in our laps!”
“So they have. Here, one more strange thing about Perryn. When I first saw him, I opened up my sight and looked into his soul. I was thinking perhaps that he was some man linked to Jill by his Wyrd or suchlike.”
“Was he?”
“I couldn’t tell you that.