The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [191]
“I will.” Neb’s voice seemed a little less raw. “You know, you told me that I shouldn’t rush ahead with dweomer. I didn’t want to be patient, but truly, now I see what you mean. I don’t understand what happened to you, but one thing’s clear. There’s danger in working dweomer, more than I ever thought possible.”
“True spoken,” Dallandra said. “Tell her that, too. Thanks be to all the gods that she can read.”
With Ridvar on campaign, overseeing the life of the dun fell to his lady. Each morning Drwmigga sat in Ridvar’s chair at the head of the table of honor by the dragon hearth. Keeping her company there were Galla and her two serving women, Branna and Solla, as well, of course, as the four women Drwmigga had brought with her from her father’s dun. Drwmigga would lean back in her chair and smile at everyone, her large eyes as placid as always, as the various servitors and servants came forward to listen to her orders of the day. She tended to agree with everyone and grant their requests with a minimum of discussion.
“I’m still learning the ways of the rhan,” she remarked several times. “Dear Solla, you’ve been such a great help to me.”
Solla would smile in return but say nothing. At first Branna thought that Drwmigga was pouring vinegar on Solla’s wounds, but finally she realized that Drwmigga truly didn’t understand her sister-in-law’s situation. After that, Branna found herself more and more tempted to respond to Drwmigga’s comments with a moo.
Five days after the army rode out, Ridvar’s first messenger arrived. Branna, who was up in her chamber, heard a strange sound outside, an odd thwacking noise, as if someone were cleaning an enormous tapestry by beating it with an equally enormous stick. She went to her window and leaned out. Down below in the ward, a scattering of servants had stopped whatever tasks they were about. They stood still, heads tilted back, staring at the sky. All of a sudden a maidservant screamed aloud and went careening across the ward to duck into the great hall. The others stood as if frozen for a brief moment, then rushed after her. The dun dogs began howling, running this way and that across the ward before they too sought shelter inside.
Branna looked up to see a dragon circling the dun. In the bright light of afternoon her coppery-black scales gleamed with a greenish undertone as she dropped lower, aiming for the flat roof of the main broch. Without thought or hesitation Branna called out, “Arzosah! Arzosah Sothy Lorezohaz!”
“I am that,” the dragon called back. “I’ll just land.”
Branna rushed out of her chamber and ran, panting a little, up the stairs to the trapdoor that led to the roof. She climbed up the ladder and emerged into sunlight to find the dragon settled, her huge wings neatly folded, her tail tucked round her haunches. Yet despite her comfortable posture, reminiscent of a hearthside cat, under her scales muscles bulged, and when she yawned, she displayed teeth as long as Branna’s arms.
“I take it Dallandra told you my name,” the dragon said. “So you must be Lady Branna.”
“I am, indeed.” Branna felt as if someone had just hit her sharply in the face. How had she known that name? Dalla had never mentioned that she knew a dragon, much less the beast’s name. She fell back on ingrained courtesy. “It gladdens my heart to meet you. It’s a great honor.”
“My thanks, and the same to you, I’m sure. I’ve come with messages from the gwerbret. If you could just untie them for me?” Arzosah raised her head to reveal a leather pouch hanging from a strap around her neck. “I offered to bring them, just for somewhat to do. Sitting around and watching an army hold a siege turns out to be tedious in the extreme.”
“I imagine it would be, truly. Here, let me just undo this buckle, and you’ll be free of that strap.”
“My thanks.”
The strap had been pieced together out of a good many belts and bits of tack to make it long enough to go round the dragon