The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [100]
Vron’s eyes gleamed, and he smiled. “Do they?” he said. “It’s too long a trip for me, but my son’s back now. I’m off to have a bit of a chat with Aethel. And then I’ll see what Mic thinks about it.”
For the dinner Kov put on his best shirt and took his envoy’s staff along, too, simply because it looked impressive, carved as it was with ancient runes. Servant boys brought extra chairs to the envoy’s quarters and set up a table; other boys loaded the table with food and flagons of ale so dark and strong that it was almost black. Fried bats, roasted root vegetables both red and white, served with butter, and brown loaves of warm bread—the cooks had outdone themselves, and everyone ate with little conversation till the platters shone, free of the last drip of gravy.
“Well, here we are,” Enj said at last. “You’ve finally seen your home country, Wynni, and a bit of its city.”
“It’s truly splendid,” Berwynna said. “I never knew places like this existed.” She turned to Dougie. “Is it more splendid than Din Edin?”
“A thousand times better,” Dougie said, “and it doesn’t stink.” When she translated the exchange, everyone laughed. Mic saluted him with his stoup of brown liquor.
“Tell me somewhat, Brother,” Berwynna went on. “Where’s the kingdom of Deverry from here? I’m wondering where my father might be.”
“Deverry’s due south,” Enj said, “but we’re not far from the lands of the Westfolk. He could be in either place.”
Otho made a rude noise. “Cursed Westfolk!” he announced. “Rori was half an elf before he turned into a blasted dragon, you know. Never did trust him. Goes to show what they’re like, getting turned into dragons.”
“Why don’t you like the Westfolk?” Berwynna asked.
Otho snorted for an answer.
“Don’t get him started.” Enj rolled his eyes skyward. “Which reminds me, Otho, my lad, the silver dragon told me a fascinating little tale. There are more Mountain Folk down in Deverry itself, not far from a place called Cwm Pecl. Have you ever heard of them?”
“I haven’t,” Otho said. “They must have come from the eastern cities.”
“Not according to the dragon,” Enj said. “He told me they looked much like our folk here.”
“Nonsense! All the Lin Rej refugees came here, those that lived, anyway.” Otho glanced at Berwynna. “Cursed elves wouldn’t shelter them when they begged for help.”
“And a good thing, too,” Kov put in. “They were at the gates of Tanbalapalim, you see. The Horsekin captured the city soon after and slaughtered everyone in it.”
Otho made a growling sound deep in his throat.
“An excellent point, Envoy,” Enj said, grinning. “If you ask me, this pack of Mountain Folk down in Deverry? They must be those Lost Ones, Otho, the same group you’ve been carrying on about for the last five hundred years or so.”
Otho’s mouth dropped open, and he sputtered with a drool of brown liquor. Berwynna grabbed a napkin and handed it to the old man, who wiped his beard with great dignity.
“Can’t trust a thing an elf tells you,” Otho said feebly.
“He’s not an elf but a dragon.” Mic joined in. “Go on, Enj. This is interesting.”
“Not much more to tell, alas. He swears that there’s a colony of our people in the hills near this Cwm Pecl place, and that the women there walk about in the sunlight just like the men, the way they did in Lin Rej all those years past.”
“Wormshit and maggot slime!” Otho’s color had turned a bright pink, a dangerous shade. “I don’t believe a word of it!”
“Otho, please!” Kov said. “There’s a lady present.”
The silence hung awkwardly over the table. Otho busied himself with wiping an imaginary speck off his beard.
“Uncle Mic, can you tell me,” Berwynna said at last, “just how deep does Lin Serr go? It looks absolutely huge from what I’ve seen.”
Good lass! Kov thought.
“A mile or more,” Mic said, “and down near the lowest level you can feel the heat of the earth’s fires. That’s what keeps us warm in the winter, in fact.”
As the conversation continued on safe subjects, Otho’s color slowly returned to normal. Long before the meal was over, the old man had fallen asleep, nodding