The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [198]
“That’s probably why the wound hasn’t killed him.” Dallandra paused, struck by an ugly thought. “You know, if we do manage to transform him back into human form and that wound tears the lung again, he’ll die. Oh, ye gods! I’m utterly perplexed by this.”
“Don’t say that!” Arzosah’s voice rose high. “If you can’t find a cure, what hope does he have?”
Dallandra merely sighed for an answer and glanced at Salamander, who’d gone pale.
“I don’t know anything about physicking,” Salamander said. “I never studied it, not even when I was in Bardek. Nevyn might have been able to help, but I don’t suppose young Neb remembers medical lore.”
“It’s not the sort of thing one does remember from life to life,” Dallandra said. “He’s got a good mind for learning it, though. The herbwoman in Trev Hael taught him about some common herbs in return for his writing out labels and such things for her, and now I’m teaching him more, but he’s still an apprentice. I wish Rori weren’t being so stubborn. Until I see him and get a look at the wound, I won’t know if I can help or not. It’s too bad I can’t summon him, but I don’t know his true name.”
“Maybe you don’t, but maybe you do.” Arzosah said. “My guess is that it’s Rhodry tranDevaberiel. Or perhaps, Rhodry Aberwyn tranDevaberiel. I doubt if the Maelwaedd clan comes into it, but one never knows. I’d wager high on some combination of those names, I would.”
“Oh, ye gods!” Dallandra felt like an utter fool. “I was thinking that he’d have a Dragonish true name now.”
“No. Oh, no! You see, what I’ve come to realize is this: at root, in his soul and heart, he’s still that elven half-breed. He’s not a true dragon, Dalla, and he’ll never be one. And that’s the crux, the predicament, the quandary, as our prattling gerthddyn might say.”
“I beg your pardon!” Salamander said. “I don’t prattle.”
“You should beg it, and you do too prattle. But Dalla, now Rori’s driving me mad in turn. By all the holy flames of fire! If you could help, I’d—well, I don’t know what I’d do, but it would be something good.”
“I’ll certainly do anything I can to help him, but I wonder. If he’s not a true dragon, will his name have the same power over him?”
“Blasts of brimstone!” Arzosah thwacked her tail against the ground. “I hadn’t thought of that. It doesn’t seem likely.”
“It’s worth a try nonetheless.”
“And I thank you for that.” Arzosah hesitated, then clacked her jaws together several times. “I hope I’m not wrong about his true name. Having to admit I was wrong twice in a single day? I couldn’t bear it.”
Arzosah was spared that further humiliation. In an ordinary tone of voice, Dallandra spoke aloud a number of possible combinations of the names: Rhodry tranDevaberiel, Rori tranDevaberiel, Rhodry Aberwyn tranDevaberiel, and the like. Eventually she came to “Rhodry tranDevaberiel o’r Aberwyn.” The moment she spoke it, she felt a little tremor of power, a slight burning in her mouth, and a delicate ripple of sensation around her lungs.
“That might be it,” she said. “I’ll try the summoning, but let’s not get our hopes up too high.” She glanced at the sun, low in the west, and allowed her mind to shift its focus away from the material plane. “The astral tides of Air are still running at the full. I’ll wait till they’ve given way to Water.”
Even though Branna’s letter was short and simple, Neb read it through three times. From her sloppy scrawl, so different from Solla’s precise hand, he could tell that she’d signed the letter herself. He kissed the signature several times, then rolled the letter up and put it into his saddlebags, where it would be handy when he wanted to read it again. While he waited for Dallandra to return, he wandered through the encampment until he found Tieryn Cadryc, who was pleased to learn that his wife and niece were faring well.
“Next letter you write,” Cadryc