The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [41]
“Somewhere west of Eldidd,” Salamander said. “I can’t tell exactly where, I’m afraid, because they’re out in open country.”
“Is there anything but open country west of Eldidd?” Gerran said.
“There’s not, and that, indeed, is the problem. Here, give me a while, and I may be able to tell you more.”
“Well and good, then, and my thanks.”
They walked back inside together, but Salamander left the lord at the table of honor and hurried upstairs to his wedge-shaped chamber high up in the broch. He barred the door, then sat down on the wide stone sill of the window. The sharp west wind drifted in, bringing with it the scent of the stables below. Salamander rummaged under his shirt, brought out a pomander, made of an apple dried with Bardek spices, and inhaled the scent.
From his perch he could see over the stables and the dun wall both to the meadows beyond, pale green with the first grass. The clouds had drifted a little farther toward zenith and grown larger as well. He focused on the white billows and thought of Dallandra. He saw the royal alar again, stopped in a swirl of riders and animals. Some of the men had dismounted and were strolling toward the various travois. Apparently they were going to set up the tents. In the vision Salamander realized that the western sky had already clouded over. Some distance from the alar ran a river. It looked to him like the Cantariel, but since it wound through flat meadowland as so many rivers did, out in the grasslands, he couldn’t be sure. Dallandra was standing at the riverbank and watching muddy water flow. He sent his mind out toward hers.
It took her some moments to respond. He could pick up her emotional state, a blend of annoyance and physical discomfort. Finally, she acknowledged him with a wordless sense of welcome and a wave of one hand.
“Are you ill?” Salamander thought to her. “Have you been hurt?”
He focused in on the image of her face. She looked pale, and dark smudges marred the skin under her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m merely pregnant, and I spent the day on horseback. It’s not a happy combination.”
“I can easily contact you later—”
“No, no, I’ve been meaning to speak with you. I need to ask you something. It’s about Nevyn. You knew him well, didn’t you?”
“I certainly did, ofttimes to my severe distress and humiliation. The old man had the horrid habit of always being right, especially when it came to my faults, flaws, mistakes, and general ill-doings.”
He could feel Dallandra’s amusement as clearly as he would have heard her laughter had they been together. “Was he stubborn?” she said.
“Very. Like the proverbial bull in a warm stable. Getting him outside on a winter’s day is a most formidable task. Is Neb giving you trouble?”
“Aha, you guessed! I’m worried, really. He seems to want to shed his current personality and just turn back into Nevyn. Yet when I try to speak with him about it, I can feel his mind close up.”
“This sounds dangerous.”
“It is. Once the child’s born, my attention’s bound to be divided. I should have apprenticed him to Grallezar, I suppose, and taken Branna on myself, but at the time it seemed a better match this way.”
“I thought you made the right decision then, and I still do.”
“Thank you. At times I have trouble remembering why I made it.” She paused, and he received the general impression of a jumble of thoughts. “It was because of the healing lore, I think. He seemed to want to learn that as well, and Grallezar has none.”
“Is there anything I can do to help? I can easily take him through some of the work.”
“If he’ll listen to you, and he’d blasted well better!” Her image smiled in relief. “If nothing else, you can keep an eye on him for me.”
“Gladly, and if he won’t listen to me, I’ll smack him a good one.” He flexed one arm. “We mountebanks and jugglers have strong muscles, you know.”
Dallandra laughed, and the sense of relief strengthened.
“I may hold you to that,” she said. “But how are you? You sound well.