The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [12]
Tirn blushed again, then spoke hurriedly. “I’m an outlaw among them, you see, and I’ll swear to the truth of that. They’d kill me if they ever got hold of me.”
“Now, that I do believe,” Angmar said, “because of the fear in your voice.”
Her mother and old Lonna had told Berwynna tales of the Horsekin, vicious killers who worshiped an evil demon named Alshandra. Now here was one of them, sitting next to her, a very ordinary man by the look of him, and badly injured to boot.
“Do you believe in Alshandra, then?” Berwynna said to him.
“I don’t,” Tirn said, “and that’s why I’m an outlaw.”
“I see.” Angmar rose and began to collect the mending in a basket. “Well and good, then.”
Berwynna followed her mother out of the great hall and up the stairs to Angmar’s room. She’d been planning on badgering Angmar about Dougie, but her mother’s mood had turned so grim that she thought better of the plan. Alone, they spoke in Dwarvish.
“Mama, do you trust Tirn?” Berwynna asked instead.
“I don’t,” Angmar said. “There’s somewhat more than a bit shifty about him beyond his Horsekin blood. I do believe him about being an outlaw, mind. I wonder, in fact, if his own kind gave him those burns and scars, a-torturing him somehow.”
“Ych!”
“Truly, they’re a cruel lot, the Horsekin. But be that as it may, Tirn knows lore that Marnmara needs if she’s to get us home again.”
“Will we ever really go home,” Berwynna said, “wherever that is?”
“I have my hopes. It may not mean much to you, but I long to see your father again.”
“Well, of course. I wish I knew him, too. My father. It has such a distant ring to it, doesn’t it? Even though you’ve told me about him, it’s not the same as knowing him.”
“It’s not.” Angmar allowed herself a long sigh. “I’ve tried to think of myself as a widow and stop longing for him, but deep in my heart I’m sure he’s still alive back home, if we could only get there. And I miss my homeland, too, the Dwarveholt.”
“Mam, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to slight what you treasure, but the land means naught to me. This is the only home I’ve ever had.”
“I do understand that. But I have hopes that someday you’ll have better and find a better man, too.”
This last was too much to bear. “Please, please, tell me why I mayn’t marry Dougie?” Berwynna said. “I love him ever so much.”
“I know, but ye gods, it would ache my heart to go home but leave you here with your Dougie. You’re young, child. There will be other men—”
“I don’t want any of them.”
“Dougie’s the only handsome lad you’ve ever known.” Angmar managed a smile. “First love is the love that stings, or so they always say. But answer me this. Suppose you did marry your lad and go to live with him, and then we all disappeared without you. How would that feel?”
Berwynna felt the blood drain from her face. The thought of losing her family—
“I see it doesn’t sit well with you,” Angmar said. “Well, it could happen, were you to go live on Alban land. Haen Marn goes where it wills when it wills, and it doesn’t bother with giving fair warning. ”
“Then how come you let Marnmara go over to the mainland to heal the folk and suchlike?”
“Because the island’s not going to go anywhere without her. That I know as surely as I know my own name.”
Berwynna bit back the bitter words that threatened to break free of her mouth. It’s always Mara, isn’t it? she thought. She’s the important one, never me.
Laz had told the truth when he’d told Angmar that he couldn’t read the Westfolk language. He regretted it bitterly, too, thanks to that book of spells. So much dweomer so near—but the book might as well lie on a table in Deverry for all the good it would do him. Wildfolk hunkered down on the table around the book, slender green gnomes, each with a cap made of rose petals. Now and then one of them would stretch out a timid finger and touch the edges of the page. When Marnmara threatened to swat them, they disappeared. For some while Laz watched Marnmara turn pages, her stare