The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [227]
“I wish you wouldn’t tease like that.” Branna dropped her voice as well. “Especially not here.”
Lady Galla cleared her throat. She was looking at Neb with one eyebrow raised.
“My apologies,” Neb said. “I shouldn’t have been whispering. Just lover’s drivel.”
Everyone laughed, even Adranna, and the moment passed.
“I was just wondering about the other dragon,” Branna said brightly. “Did he get any of the cows?”
“He might have,” Cadryc said, “but he didn’t stay around long enough for us to so much as thank him. They’re strange beasts, dragons, and I think me that the silver one’s the strangest of them all.”
Branna could well believe it. Ever since she’d seen the silver wyrm fly over Cengarn, an odd feeling rose from deep in her mind every time she thought of the dragons, a nagging sort of irritation, such as a person feels when she forgets the name of someone she should know perfectly well. She’d been hoping that she’d have one of her memory-dreams to explain it, but so far at least, nothing had come to her. Now that Dallandra had returned, Branna was hoping that the dweomermaster would tell her more.
After dinner, Branna found Dallandra standing near the dragon hearth and waiting for a chance to speak with Lord Oth. They sat down together on a bench in a reasonably quiet spot near the door. Branna tried to tell her how the sight of the silver dragon had affected her, but she found herself stumbling over her words. It seemed to her that she was trying to say two things at once, or that two selves were trying to speak at once—Jill, she thought with a cold shudder. That’s who the other voice belongs to.
“Have you dreamed about this?” Dallandra asked at length.
“I’ve not,” Branna said, “In fact, I’ve not had any of those memory-dreams for many a night now. I hadn’t realized just how much I’ve come to depend on them.”
“The time’s come for you to begin to remember your past lives consciously. That’s why they’ve disappeared. Curse this wretched war! I shan’t be able to start your training until it’s over, one way or the other.”
“You’re not going to go west with the army, are you?”
“I am. The Westfolk need a healer along who understands them. We have our differences from Deverry men.”
“I suppose you would, truly. But about the silver wyrm—”
For the first time since she’d met Dallandra, Branna felt the dweomermaster’s mind shy away from a question. “Is somewhat wrong with my asking?” she said.
“Not wrong at all, merely difficult.” But Dallandra hesitated for a long moment. “It’s a very complicated thing.”
“Did Jill know this dragon or suchlike?”
“She knew him before he was a dragon. Surely Salamander’s told you that Rori started life as his brother.”
“He did, but I’m not sure I believed him.”
“It’s quite true. Jill died before his transformation.”
“Was he a mazrak, then? Did he get, well, stuck I suppose I mean?”
Dallandra laughed, but it was a nervous little bark, not true mirth. “He wasn’t a mazrak. He was a silver dagger, just as Salamander told you. Well, I really don’t think I can explain it to you in a way that will make sense. You really need to know more about the dweomer before I can make it clear.”
Branna had never felt more bewildered. So—she’d known the dragon in her last life, but not in dragon form, and apparently he was something very strange indeed, a man who had become another creature without working dweomer to do so. The image that presented itself to her mind was of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, the end result of some natural process.
“Very well,” Branna said. “You know best.”
“I just wish we had more time. We’re leaving at dawn on the morrow.”
“We’ll be leaving for home as soon as we can, too.”
“I heard that they’ll be mustering the full army at your dun.”
“Well, near it, I should say. We’d never fit everyone into our ward.” Branna felt suddenly uneasy. “If we get home safely, anyway. Should I stay on guard for mazrakir?”
“Did you see that raven while we were gone?”
“I didn’t, and I’m glad of it, too.”
“No doubt.” Dallandra