The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [17]
“Well and good, then.” She hesitated briefly. “Oft have you told me you wished to make some repayment for my healing.”
“I do, truly, if there’s aught of mine that you’d want.”
“You know dweomer, don’t you? Teach me some.”
“I could do that, certainly. But you must have knowledge of your own.”
Marnmara shook her head. “I have bits and shreds of such knowledge only. It comes to me in dreams or now and again in memory. I do feel—nay, I do know in my heart that if I did know the first steps of the dweomer way, then I might walk far. But I know them not.”
“Well and good, then. I can certainly teach you those.”
In the lantern light her smile turned soft, flickering, it seemed, like the candle flame itself. Although he’d always thought of her as beautiful, that night the thought carried a sexual interest that had escaped him when he’d been weak and in constant pain. He realized that he had started emitting the betraying scent of his interest, too, but he could take comfort in knowing that she’d not understand it, if indeed she could smell it at all.
Perhaps the look in his eyes had told her enough.
“Tirn,” she said, “there’s somewhat you need to know about me. I wear this body the way you wear a shirt. Don’t be taken in by it.”
She patted him on the shoulder with the same affection with which she’d pat one of her cats, then walked away, disappearing into the manse.
And what, by the gods, does she mean by that?
As he followed her inside, Laz felt both sad and profoundly weary in a way he’d never experienced before. At last he identified the sensation. He wanted to go home.
PART 1
THE WESTLANDS SPRING, 1160
Some say that the ancient mages of the Seven Cities, those long-dead fortresses of beauty and magic, left a record of their secret work not in words or images but in stones and earth. Yet I, for one, call such a foolish tale because I see not how it may be possible, no, not in the least.
—The Pseudo-Iamblichos Scroll
"THE CRUX OF THE PROBLEM,” Valandario said, "is Laz. We want the pair of crystals. As far as we know, he still has them. Finding them means finding him.”
“You’re right, of course,” Dallandra said. “I wish I knew whether or not he’s worth the effort of finding.”
“Sidro says he is.”
“Sidro loves him or thinks she does. She’s not a reliable advocate. From everything she’s told me about him, I certainly don’t understand how she could care so much about him.”
Valandario managed to shield her thought just in time. You’re a fine one to talk about her, Dalla, running off with that awful Evandar the way you did! They were communicating through the fire, Valandario in her chamber in Mandra, Dallandra in her tent some miles east.
“So you’re convinced he’s still alive,” Valandario said.
“Not I.” Dallandra’s image, floating above the bed of coals in the brazier, paused for a wry smile. “My guess would be that he’s dwelling on the spirit plane, waiting to be reborn. It’s Vek who’s convinced he’s still alive.”
“Vek? Oh, yes, that Horsekin boy prophet.”
“A Gel da’Thae boy prophet. There really is a difference.”
“Very well, if you say so. Now, consider the vision Ebañy saw in the crystal, Evandar standing on Haen Marn. Do you think that means the crystal’s linked to the island?”
“It might, but you can’t trust Evandar’s riddles to be logical. It certainly indicates that the book he was holding is linked to Haen Marn. But the crystal—I can’t say either way.”
“Blast! I was afraid of that. Can we definitely say that wherever Haen Marn may be, it’s not the physical plane?”
“Again, maybe. It’s surrounded by water, after all. Maybe it’s enough water to make scrying impossible.”
“If it’s surrounded by water, how could Evandar even reach it? The play of forces in the water veil should have torn him apart.”
“That’s a very good question. He probably couldn’t, and the view of Haen Marn that Salamander saw is just an image of the place. Probably. I don’t really know.”
“In short, we can’t say anything useful about the wretched island at all, and I’m starting to think the beastly thing should just