The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [47]
“They need somewhat of yours, though, the silver horn. They think that if they can heal it with dweomer, then it might help them summon the island.”
“I’ll give it over gladly in the hopes of seeing my mam and my home again. Will you carry it back?”
“I will, if you can fix up some sort of pouch that you can tie around my neck. That would be the safest way, I think.”
“I do have the pouch.” Enj paused, estimating the circumference of the dragon’s massive neck. “We’ll need a long fastening for it. I did kill a deer some weeks past, and I’ve been tanning the hide. ’Twill do to cut some strips for braiding, but the work will take some time.”
“We’ve waited forty years. We can wait a day or two more.”
They shared a laugh.
While Enj worked on cutting and braiding straps for the leather pouch, Rori flew off again to hunt. He returned two days later, bringing another dead deer with him—his dinner, though he had Enj butcher a haunch for himself. After Enj had put the haunch on a hook in a shady corner of the cabin to hang, and Rori had eaten the rest of the deer, Enj came back outside to join him.
“My thanks for the venison,” Enj remarked. “You were always a generous man, Rori.”
“A man, truly,” Rori said. “Once. Well, we’ll see what these dweomermasters can do. They have a plan, you see, to turn me back again, should I want.”
“Do you want?”
“I don’t know. At times I do, at times I don’t. Who knows if their plan will work, anyway? Dweomer’s like that. It always seems to be able to do what you don’t want, then fail on the things you do.”
“Bitter, bitter, eh? Still?”
The dragon growled under his breath, but Enj laughed, and the dragon eventually joined him.
“One thing I wonder about,” Rori said. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve not had the slightest trouble believing that dweomer exists and works in the world, yet other dwarven men I’ve met deny it. Deny it? They mock it.”
“That be so,” Enj said. “But I was born and raised on Haen Marn. They weren’t.”
“Of course. I should have thought of that. Although you know, I once met a band of Mountain Folk who had a dweomermaster of their own, and he was a man, not a woman. They lived a fair bit differently than your folk, though. Their women walked around in the sunlight just like the men.”
Enj nearly choked on the thought. For a moment he could only goggle at the dragon like a half-wit. “Worms and slimes,” he said feebly. “And where did this marvel lie?”
“Down in Deverry proper. There’s some hills there—I would have called them mountains once, but now I’ve seen true mountains—so, hills on the border twixt Cantrae and Cwm Pecl. And some of your folk live inside them and farm above.”
Enj’s thoughts began to sort themselves out at last. “Another band of Mountain Folk?” he said. “This be the most interesting bit of news I’ve had in years, Rori. Now, I did hear about one other group of our brethren in an old tale about the ancient days. They did survive the first Horsekin attacks and tried to shelter with the Westfolk, but the Westfolk turned them away, and they were all slain.”
“I’ve heard that tale, too,” the dragon said, “but what if they weren’t killed? What if they fled east—east and south, that would be?”
Enj suddenly laughed. “Makes sense, truly. If so, that be one up on the old men like Otho, eh? For centuries they’ve clung to that bitter tale, pouring vinegar in their wounds over it, and now, by all the gods! It might not even be true.”
“When you go back to Lin Serr this winter, tell your loremasters, will you?”
“I will. You may rest assured about that.”
Enj brought out the remains of the silver horn and tied the pouch securely around the dragon’s neck. With a last call of farewell, Rori launched himself and flew off to the west. Enj stood in the cabin door and watched the dragon disappear into the sunny sky. For the first time in over forty years, he felt honest hope.
"Mam?” Mara said. "Be you busy just now?” "Not truly, my sweet,” Angmar said. "Why?”
"I did wish to talk with you.”
Angmar nodded at the bench near her chair. Mara sat down, smoothing