The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [158]
The people cheered him again as they cast off their cloaks. A bard struck up a tune on his harp; others appeared and joined in. With a laugh the Night Princess called to her women.
“Dancing! We shall have dancing.”
They caught the men by the hands and dragged them off, laughing and singing, to the dance. Only Menw stayed with Evandar as they whirled off across the sunny meadows.
“My lord?” Menw said. “Could your brother be responsible for this winter?”
“I don’t know, but that’s a good thought,” Evandar said. “I think me I’ll ask him. Page! Our horses!”
The boy appeared leading horses, a golden stallion for Evandar, a black gelding for Menw. They mounted and set off upriver. The water narrowed and ran faster as the land rose, dropping the river to a canyon floor below them. The light turned suddenly pale, a greenish light that thickened to mist at the far edge of the view. At a fast trot they plunged into a forest. Even though the ancient trees stood gnarled and grasping, and the bracken grew thick among thorn and vine, the horses never stumbled nor slowed, and not a single twig dared reach out and snag their clothes. In the eerie light they could just see huge stones set among the trees, and ruins that hinted of dead fortresses and lost kings. Some of this forest was Evandar’s doing, but some was not, and the farther they rode the less it belonged to them.
At the very edge of Evandar’s domain stood a tree, half of which grew green with summer leaves whilst the other half blazed with neverending fire. They slowed their horses to a walk and went round it cautiously. At this beacon the roads ran into some peculiar junctions indeed.
“Did I tell you about the man named Domnall Breich?” Evandar said.
“You did, my lord.”
“I wonder how he fares? Time runs so differently in his country that I’ve no idea if he’s a day older or twenty years.”
“Does it matter?”
“No. In the omens only his son matters, but I wish Domnall well nonetheless.”
At the very edge of this empire of images lay a barren plain. Beyond the horizon, it seemed, a great fire always raged, sending up huge plumes of smoke that turned the sun copper-colored and the light harsh and dry. Nothing lived there, not so much as a blade of grass. Nothing broke the silence but a rumble of thunder rolling in from the endless smoke. Menw shifted uneasily in his saddle and looked around him.
“No sign of him, my lord,” Menw said.
“He’ll come when I call him. I know his true name. Shaetano!” Evandar tipped his head back and called as loudly as he could. “I summon you! Shaetano!”
His words seemed to rage as loudly as the thunder and his voice carry as far. They waited while their horses danced under them and tossed their heads.
“Shaetano!” Evandar tried again. “I call you to the battle plain!”
Once more they waited while distant lightning flashed and thunder rolled, but still Shaetano never appeared.
“I begin to remember something,” Evandar said. “I knew Alshandra’s name, too, but she evaded me quite nicely, once she had worshippers among the Horsekin.”
“I don’t understand, my lord,” Menw said.
“Neither do I, not in the least. I’m merely stating it as what elven sages would call a fact. Alshandra must have drawn power from her worshippers and used it to have a life in their world apart from our country. Why shouldn’t Shaetano be doing the same?”
Menw started to speak, then merely stared at him in confusion. Before I met Dallandra, Evandar thought, I wouldn’t have been able to link these two events so neatly, either.
“Why don’t you return to the others?” Evandar said aloud. “Join in the feasting. I’ll go on after Shaetano alone.”
“My thanks, my lord! When will you return?”
“I don’t know. As soon as possible, though I’ve got more than a few errands to run. Shaetano may be the worst of my troubles, but he’s not the only one, more’s the pity.” Evandar dismounted, then threw his reins up to Menw. “Take my horse back, too. I’ll not be needing him.”
Often