The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [175]
“We’ve gone far enough,” Werda said. “Lay him down.”
The pine boughs went first, laid out to make a bed of sorts for his naked body. Once they had him settled, Werda raised her hands high. The fur hood slid back from her face as she looked up to the sky through the branches.
“The gods do live in the trees and the mountains. The gods do live in the springs and the earth itself. All things be holy with the life of gods. Now does Demet’s body lie among holy things, though his soul has flown far away. Let us remember him always and speak his name, for if a man’s name should disappear, then have his kin lost him twice.” Werda clapped her hands together thrice, the sound loud in the frosty air. “So be it.”
As the procession turned to leave, Niffa stood knee-deep in snow and looked back. On his bed of boughs Demet lay as pale as the snow itself, a silver shadow among the dark shadows of the trees. It seemed to her that she could see little eyes among the dead ferns, hear little claws rustling in the drifts, ready to spring upon him as soon as the meddling humans left. She took one step toward him, her clothes dragging through the snow, then another; she heard voices behind her, but their words had turned alien and undecipherable. Someone caught her from behind. Even through her heavy cloak Niffa could feel her mother’s fingers pressing hard into her shoulder. Her mother’s voice sounded in her ear.
“That thing be not Demet no longer. Mourn him we all will, but it be needful for the Wild Ones to have their due. The man you loved is gone, lass, where they’ll never touch him.”
The pressure from her mother’s hand deepened, guiding her around to face her mother’s eyes, brimming tears. Niffa took her hand, then allowed Dera to lead her away.
The walk back in twice-broken snow, following the sledge, went easier. At the very end of the procession Niffa walked with Kiel, and her brother lent an arm for her to lean upon. Even so, she felt so exhausted that they lagged a fair bit behind.
“I do promise you this, little sister,” Kiel said at last. “Not a man among us will let this crime go without retribution. Me and the lads in the militia, I mean. We did talk all morning long about it, and Councillor Verrarc, too.”
“Verrarc?” Niffa turned her head and spat in the snow. “Oh, a fine one he is, to be finding out the truth of this!”
“What?” Kiel turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“In my heart of hearts I do know who killed my man, and it were that Raena creature. I saw her, plain as plain, in my faint. She were laughing over Demet’s body.”
“How can you see somewhat in a faint?”
“Well, I did! On the shore of the lake. Go asking your sergeant, if you’re not believing me.”
Kiel considered this for a long moment.
“The gods all know you’ve always been a fey one,” he said at last. “I do remember when you were but a baby, laughing and pointing at things none of the rest of us could see.”
For a few more paces he said nothing; then he sighed with a toss of his head.
“The sergeant did tell us all you did see things that night. Well and good. If it be Raena, then true spoken—Verrarc’s the worst hound in the pack to nose out this rat.”
Up ahead Lael turned back, calling out, waiting for them, forcing them to hurry and catch up.
That night Niffa came back home. The ferrets danced at her feet to welcome her, unmindful of her grief.
On the battle plain Evandar sat upon his golden stallion and called his brother’s name. This time Shaetano came to him, riding upon a black horse, dressed in black armor as well, though his helmet hung at the saddle peak. It seemed to Evandar that with every passing year his brother became more and more vulpine. Soft red hair grew all over his face now, though the eyes that looked out were elven, and the mouth an elven mouth. A roach of stiff red hair plumed on his head. His hands were covered in fur, and black nails tipped each finger.
“So,” Evandar said. “You came this time when I called.”
Shaetano snarled, exposing long white teeth.
“I hear