The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [28]
Devaberiel called out with the ancient words of the ritual.
“We are here to remember.”
“To remember,” the crowd chanted, “to remember the West.”
“We are here to remember the cities,” Devaberiel continued, “Rinbaladelan of the Fair Towers, Tanbalapalim of the Wide River, Bravelmelim of the Rainbow Bridges, yea! all of the cities, and the towns, and the marvels of the Far West.” He paused, smiling at the assembly in front of him. “But while we mourn what we have lost, let us remember new marvels. Mandra rises amid fertile fields. Ranadar’s heir lives and walks among us.”
The listeners cheered, a sound like the roar of a high sea breaking on the graveled beach. Some clapped, some stood, all called out. When Devaberiel raised his arms again, the crowd quieted, but slowly.
“The cities of the Far West lie in ruins,” the bard went on, “but Mandra grows and prospers. I see what comes to us on the wings of destiny. Some day the West will be ours again.”
More cheers, more clapping, and despite all her careful self-control, despite her dweomer and her power, Valandario realized that she hovered on the edge of tears.
Since Devaberiel was the only bard in attendance, the ceremony that day was a short one. He retold the ancient tale of the Hordes, riding out of the north to destroy the elven civilization of the mountains, but he’d shortened the story, Val noticed. All of the adults among the listeners sat politely, attentively, making the ancient responses when the ritual demanded, yet it seemed to her that few truly mourned. The children fussed and fidgeted, unentranced by the telling.
Once Devaberiel had finished, however, and the music and the feasting got underway, everyone grew lively again. Valandario walked through the celebration, nodding and smiling, since it was impossible to hear what anyone said or for them to have heard her answer had she given one. At last she found Daralanteriel, standing in the midst of admirers. When he waved her over, the townsfolk all stepped back to allow the Wise One access to the prince.
“It went very well, I thought,” Val said.
“So did I,” Dar said. “Dev is a marvel in his own way.”
“Just so. Is Dalla still here?”
“No, Cal insisted on taking her back to the tents to rest. You look like you’re ready to leave, too.”
“I am. I need to pack if we’re leaving on the morrow.”
“And we are—early.” Dar sighed and looked away, perhaps considering that last summer of freedom. “It’s time we got on the road.”
Rather than risk them on the road, Valandario left the books in the care of Lara and Jin. The only exception was the book that had belonged to Laz, which Sidro wanted back. She packed up her personal possessions, putting them and the scrying cloths and gems into tent bags and leather sacks. Some of the alar’s young men were waiting to carry them over to the camp for her. They all trooped upstairs to collect them, while Lara and Val stood to one side to watch.
“Wise One, will you come back to us in the fall?” Lara said.
“If it’s not an imposition—”
“What?” Lara gave her a brilliant smile. “Not in the least! It’s an honor we’ve reveled in having.”
“In that case, I’ll come back, yes. And you have my thanks for your hospitality.”
Valandario followed her belongings out of town in an odd sort of procession. As they walked through the streets, every person they passed ran up to bid her farewell and to urge her to return. “I’ll come back,” she told them all, “and this time, I’ll stay.” If naught else, she told herself, I won’t have to watch Loddlaen grow up if I’m here.
Next to the north-running road, the alar was striking tents and loading them onto travois and packhorses. Children ran back and forth; dogs barked; adults yelled at each other and bickered. Out in the wild grass the men were rounding up the horses, and the sheep dogs were forming up the bleating flocks. It was all so familiar that Val had a moment of thinking she might