The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [10]
“No doubt,” Dallandra said. “And I’m glad it’s past.”
Carra shuddered, then began to tell her, in great detail, how much Elessi was nursing. Although she listened, Dallandra was thinking more about Carra’s fear. Had she died in childbed to end her last life, perhaps? Such a thing might well carry over as an irrational fear—not, of course, that Carra’s fear lacked basis. Human women did die in childbirth often enough. A reincarnating soul carried very little from life to life, but terror, like obsessive love, had a way of being remembered. As, of course, did a talent for the dweomer—she found herself wondering about the Raven Woman. It was possible that this mysterious shapechanger was remembering, dimly and imperfectly, magical training from her last life.
Later that night Dallandra learned more about her enemy. She was getting ready for bed when she heard a tap at her chamber door. Before she could call out a query, Evandar walked in, or more precisely, he walked through the shut and barred door and oozed into the room like a ghost. Dallandra yelped.
“I wish you wouldn’t do things like that!” she snapped. “You give me such a turn!”
“My apologies, my love. I did knock. I’m trying to learn the customs of this country.”
He took her into his arms and kissed her. His skin, the touch of his lips and hands, felt oddly cool and smooth, as if he were made of silk rather than flesh.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” Dallandra said. “I wish you could stay a while.”
“The dun’s too full of iron, weapons and nails both, or I’d spend the night with you. When all this trouble is done, my love, we’ll go back to my country, you and I.” He paused to kiss her. “And we’ll share our love again.”
“That will be splendid.” With a sigh she let go of him. “From now on, can’t we meet in the Gatelands? I’d rather spare you pain if I could.”
“My thanks, and the meadows of sleep will do us well enough for ordinary news. But something a bit more urgent brings me here tonight.” He paused for effect. “I’ve tracked down the Raven Woman. She’s sheltering in Cerr Cawnen.”
“Cerr Cawnen? Jahdo’s city?”
“The very one. I found her when I was hunting my brother.”
“Shaetano?”
“The very one, and still working mischief. He’s escaped me, but I think I know who let him out of the prison I made for him.”
“The Raven Woman.” Dallandra heard her own voice sag in sudden weariness.
“And once again, the very one, my love. Her name, by the by, is Raena. I did find that tidbit for you. Now, you told me that you think her little skilled in dweomer, and I agree. Her magic’s like one of those rain spouts that men make to carry water, and she’s naught but the barrel underneath.”
“And Shaetano’s willing to be the downpour, is he?”
“Just that. No doubt he’s flattered to be worshipped as if he were one of the gods. He’ll lend her power to make mischief, anyway, mischief being his own true calling. So I thought I’d tell you where I was bound. After all, you have good reason to hate him yourself.”
“Hate him? I don’t, truly.”
“What? Why not? After the way he treated you—stealing you away, binding you, holding you up to mockery in that wretched wooden cage—how can you not hate him?”
He asked in all seriousness, and she considered with the seriousness that he deserved in his answer.
“Well, he frightens me, and when I think of the things he did, I’m angry still, but it’s not the same as hate. Does he truly understand the evil he works, and why it’s an evil thing?”
“I’ve no idea, and I care even less. He’s crossed me and injured you, and that’s enough for me.”
“And so you’ll be hunting him? If you can find him and stop him, then Raena’s dweomer should dry up and quickly, too.”
“Good. Let us hope. I’ll find him, sooner or later, never you fear, but I do have a few other errands to run as well.” Evandar turned away and smiled, an oddly sly quirk of his mouth. “I have a scheme afoot, you see.”
“Oh ye gods, what now? Evandar, you know I love you, but those schemes of yours! They always get out of hand, they always hurt people, and I wish