The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [160]
Yet just after she’d finished eating, Dallandra had a visitor. When she saw a woman leave the gates of the town, she stood up, assuming that someone had sent a servant with a note or message for her. Much to her surprise, it was Branna, waving cheerfully as she came trotting across the meadow.
“I couldn’t stand the noise a moment longer,” Branna said by way of greeting, “and Calonderiel told me that you were down here.”
“I am, and it gladdens my heart to see you,” Dallandra said. “Is Neb coming down, too?”
“Alas, he couldn’t sneak away like I did. The tieryn has him writing some sort of fancy letter of congratulations to the gwerbret and his wife. My aunt will give it to them when we leave on the morrow.”
“The Red Wolf’s leaving so soon?”
“The army’s riding out tomorrow. My uncle’s sending us women home with an escort.” Branna made a profoundly sour face. “I wanted to ride to Honelg’s with the warbands, but Aunt Galla was truly upset about it, so I agreed not to.”
“Your aunt’s very fond of you, isn’t she?”
“She is. You see, over the years she gave birth to four daughters and two sons. One son died when he was but a fortnight old. The other one’s Mirryn. One daughter died of the choking fever when she was but a little lass, another grew up but died in childbirth, and the third married a lord who inherited a demesne down in Pyrdon, too far away for visits. Oh, and then there was the miscarriage Galla had, too. I think there was only the one, anyway, and I don’t remember if it was a lass or a lad that she lost. But all of that trouble means that Adranna’s the only daughter she’s got left. When I was born, I filled a gap in her heart.”
Branna spoke so calmly about Galla’s domestic tragedies that Dallandra was taken aback. She had to remind herself just how common it was in Deverry for a woman to bear a good many children and then lose most of them.
“That’s very sad,” Dallandra said. “No wonder she’s so concerned about Adranna.”
“Truly.” Branna paused, glancing around her as if she were looking for an escape route. She swallowed heavily before she spoke. “I had another one of those dreams last night, but I couldn’t tell you about it in front of Neb.” Her voice turned to a whisper. “Would it be tedious of me to ask you about it now?”
“Not at all. Here, let’s sit down. I’ll get some cushions from the tent.”
Dallandra ducked into the tent, grabbed the first cushions she saw, and hurried out again, before Branna’s nerve failed and she ran off. When they sat down, Branna drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible. For a long while Branna stayed silent, staring off into the distance. Dallandra had to force herself to be patient and let her speak first.
“Well,” Branna said finally. “In the dream—wait! I’d best start admitting the truth. I remembered last night when I was asleep that before he died, Nevyn had lost much of his memory. He’d lived so long and seen so much that everything was jumbled together. At times he even had trouble remembering where we were or why we’d gone there. I was wondering if that might be why Neb doesn’t remember things as vividly as I do.”
“I’d say that it’s entirely possible, even likely.”
“But is there somewhat of Nevyn left in him?”
“There is, rather a lot of him, in fact. Neb stands like him, strides along like him, even at times says things that Nevyn always said. And then there’s his dweomer talent. The Wildfolk always recognize it in someone, you know. They flock around him.”
“True spoken. You Westfolk live so long, how do you keep your memories safe?”
“We have very different minds from Deverry folk, I suppose.”
“It’s like carrying things in sacks, then, like you told us.” Branna smiled, but faintly. “Yours must be larger.”
“Well, we also live simple lives, but truly, before the Horsekin came, we did live complex ones, in the lost cities, that is.” Dallandra paused, struck by a sudden thought. “But they were very rigid lives, from what Meranaldar’s told me. Very ritualized