The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [177]
“If you can trust what he said, one of the Westfolk he was and with their chatter, too.”
“Oh, and why would he lie about somewhat such as that? Not my Rori!”
Lonna ostentatiously started to spit on the floor and just as ostentatiously stopped herself.
“If I’m right,” Angmar went on, “she’ll remember soon. That’s what she told me when she lay dying, that I’d know the true Lady of Haen Marn easily and she’d know me early, once she’d learned to speak a little and could walk outside.”
“Very well, then. And what of the other?”
“Oh, she must be some ordinary soul, born in the normal way of things.” All at once Angmar laughed. “If any child of Haen Marn could be called an ordinary soul.”
Lonna allowed herself a few of the creaky grunting sounds that did her for laughter. With another sigh she got up, stretching her back with a yawn.
“And speaking of which, I’d best be tending Avain up in her tower. The poor mite! She’s not understood, of course, but she’ll be worrying.”
“You’re exhausted, Lonna. Send young Mic.”
The old woman considered for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a fair strange thing, how our mooncalf has taken to the boy, but he can handle her almost as well as we can, truly. I’ll have him take her porridge and tell her that you’ve come through splendidly. The babies—will she care about them?”
“I’ve no idea. One never does with my poor Avain.” Angmar hesitated as a thought struck her. “Wait a moment. Here’s a name for the other one, and it’s a good-omened word in our Dwarven tongue: Berwinna. For her father was Rhodry from Aberwyn, and Berwin’s the North Star. She’ll need something to guide her, since we’re all exiles here.”
“I like it.” Lonna smiled briefly. “But which one is which?”
“I’ve not the slightest idea.” Angmar studied the babies, sound asleep against the warmth of her body. “But we’ll need to call them something. I’ll think on it.” All at once she yawned. “I can’t eat now. I’ve got to sleep.”
With a nod Lonna started for the door, then turned.
“I’ll let the men know how you fare, too.”
“Do that.”
Angmar was asleep before the door closed after her.
“I’m not leaving this blasted island again!” Otho snarled. “And that’s that.”
“All right, then,” Mic sighed. “I’ll go alone, or see if one of the boatmen will come with me.”
“I don’t want you going, either. What if this cursed bit of rock decides to go haring off somewhere else and leaves you behind?”
“Someone’s got to go, Uncle! Here we are in this country, wherever it may be, and we’ve got to eat, don’t we? I’m just glad we’ve got those jewels to set up business with. You and Garin both have taught me a fair bit about driving bargains, and so I’ll have to see what I can do.”
Otho crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. Mic was stirring porridge in the big iron kettle that hung from a hook in the hearth. He used both hands to hold the long wooden spoon and scraped round the sides and bottom, turning the hot mush into the cool.
“Not done yet?” Otho snapped.
“Soon. You might call in the boatmen.”
Otho stomped out, leaving the door open to a warm spring morning. No matter what his uncle thought of his plans, soon, or so Mic was thinking, he’d be able to leave the island and explore the countryside around the lake. Maybe, just maybe, they’d find some clues as to where the dweomer had brought them. It was Mic’s ruling hope that they were close enough to Dwarveholt that he could walk home, no matter how long the walk might be. He glanced up and saw Lady Angmar’s maidservant.
“There you are,” old Lonna said. “My lady wants you to take Avain her breakfast.”
“As soon as I can turn this over to one of the boatmen I will. How does Angmar fare?”
“Well, and both her daughters with her.”
“Daughters?” Mic felt his face crease in a grin. “How splendid! And twins, is it? Let’s hope that’s a good omen.”
“Huh! If they live the summer, mayhap it will be.”
“True enough.” Mic wiped the smile away. “Well, I’ll pray that they’re healthy.”
With a long sigh Lonna