The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [45]
“And silver’s the metal of the moon!” Val threw both hands in the air and jigged a few dance steps.
Rori growled long and hard. “What by the pink arses of the gods are you two talking about?”
“Some omens, naught more.” Dallandra turned to him. “Where is this horn?”
“Enj has it, I think.”
“Enj?” Dallandra knew she’d heard the name before, but she failed to place it. “Who’s Enj?”
“Angmar’s son, born on Haen Marn. His father was one of the Mountain Folk, but Enj is a fair strange example of them, I’ll tell you. He lives most of the year in the wilderness, out under the sun, and only goes back to Lin Serr for the winter snows.”
“Very strange, then,” Valandario said.
“Well, only half of his mother’s blood came from the Mountain Folk,” Rori went on. “And he was raised above ground on the island. ”
“But he didn’t disappear along with the rest of them?”
“He wasn’t on the island at the time, Val. He was helping me find Arzosah.”
“I remember that bit,” Dallandra said. “Rori, can you bring Val that horn?”
“That depends on Enj. If he’ll part with it, I suppose I could fly hundreds of miles north and figure out a way to carry it and then fly all the way back again.”
“Well, by the Black Sun!” Val said. “It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.”
“Naught but scout for our mortal enemies.” The dragon raised his tail as if to slap the ground, then gently laid it back down. “Or have you forgotten the Horsekin?”
“They’re to the north, aren’t they?” Val said. “Why can’t you do both at once?”
The dragon raised his head and glared at her. Val set her hands on her hips and stared into his eyes until, with a sigh, Rori looked away. “Flames and fumes!” he said. “Living around dweomerfolk could drive a man daft and a dragon even dafter.”
“There, there.” Dallandra patted his massive jaw. “Don’t forget, we’re discussing this in hopes of turning you back into your true form.”
“Just so,” Valandario said. “Now, if you could fetch me that horn, and if I can heal it so it sounds the dweomer spell again, and if Dalla and I can figure out the correct workings, well, then, we might be able to summon the island.”
“Exactly.” Dalla said. “And if we actually manage to do all that, then let’s hope that the book does have the instructions for the dragon working in it. You never know with Evandar’s schemes.”
“True spoken.” The dragon heaved himself to his feet. “That’s the Guardians for you! But well and good then, I’m off to the Northlands. If Arzosah comes looking for me, you’d best not tell her where I’ve gone. I doubt me if she’ll take kindly to the idea of my turning back into a man.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Dallandra felt her stomach clench at the thought of Arzosah in a rage. “Um, we’ll ford that river when it’s time to cross. What else can we do?”
With a shrug of wing, the silver dragon waddled off, ridiculously clumsy in the grass. He waddled faster, bunched his muscles, and leaped into the air with a rush of wings like thunder booming, all grace, suddenly, and power, as he soared high and disappeared into the glare of the sun.
As he flew off, Rori was grumbling to himself about the arrogance of dweomerfolk, but soon enough the flying itself soothed him. He loved the feeling of soaring high above the earth, rising on the wind in splendid freedom, or swooping down only to spiral skyward again. At times, when he glided upon a favoring wind, it seemed to him that the world below was moving while he rested, master of the air.
If he returned to human form, he’d be giving up the power and the freedom of flight. That thought nagged him worse than his wound. And what would he get in return? Hands, he thought. It would be splendid to have hands again, and cooked food, and other such comforts. But those puny comforts could never compensate for the loss.
As he flew over the Melyn River, he considered turning back and telling Dallandra that the effort she would have to make was simply not worth it, that she and Valandario doubtless had more important work to do. What stopped him was the thought of Enj. If naught else,