The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [51]
“Rori saw Horsekin prowling around—”
“I heard you tell Dar. Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything stupid.” Val paused for a grin. “Not that stupid, anyway.”
“Good. I’ll be glad to help with the horn if you need me, but you’re the gem master. I’m assuming that silver objects count as gems, anyway.”
“I think they might. The poor thing! It’s certainly been ill-treated somehow. I wonder if this damage is part of the dweomer that sent the island away, or if Alshandra got hold of it. I feel like I’m holding an ill child or suchlike.” Val paused to wipe a tear from her eye. When she laid the damp finger onto the metal, a fleck of tarnish disappeared with a hiss. Val flinched and nearly dropped the horn.
“They might count as gems?” Dallandra said. “The question’s been answered, in my opinion. This one most assuredly does.”
“Well, I’ve seen enough sorrow in my life to work myself up into a fit of weeping,” Val said. “If nothing else, I can clean it off.”
All that night the silver dragon slept upon a spread of old blankets. In the morning, when Dallandra went out to say farewell, she found Pir gathering up the thick wool cloths. They most definitely stank of wyrm.
“You’re not going to keep those in your tent, are you?” Dalla said. “I pity poor Sidro if you are.”
“I’ll be wrapping them in somewhat else,” Pir said. “But it will do us no good if they wash clean in the rain.”
“What will you do with them?”
“Put one on the ground, then calm the horses whilst they have the smell of it in their nostrils.” He turned to the dragon. “My thanks, Rori.”
“You’re welcome,” the dragon said. “I’ll be back to report to Prince Dar, and I can renew the scent then.”
“Very well, then,” Dallandra said. “Maybe we’ll have some good news for you by the time you return.”
Rori stayed silent, looking off at the distant horizon.
“Is something wrong?” Dallandra said.
“Naught, naught. It’s just that at moments I wonder if I do want to be a man again. Wouldn’t it be deserting my post?”
“Your what?”
“Because of the Horsekin.” Rori swung his head around to look at her. “I can do a fair bit more damage in this form than I could as a single rider, if I’d even be fit enough to fight, that is. Ye gods, I’ll be an old man!”
“That’s certainly true. But why do you think it’s your duty to go on fighting? It’s not like there isn’t a willing army between us and the Horsekin.”
“That’s true, too. Oh, I don’t know, Dalla! Here, we can talk more later.” Rori turned away and waddled off.
“We should talk more now.” Dallandra ran after him. “Do you want to be transformed or not? You’re asking us to do a huge working—”
“I know.” He hesitated, but only for a brief moment. “There’s the matter of my son, you see.” With a rustle as loud as a storm he began spreading his wings, an enormous stretch of skin and bone that shoved her back and away.
“Your son?” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “What? Rori, wait!”
He bunched his muscles and sprang into the air. The rush of air from his wingbeats knocked her over into the grass—a lot of very soft grass, fortunately. He’d flown off, heading north, by the time that Pir had helped Dallandra pick herself up.
“You bastard!” She shouted it after the dragon.
“Here now!” Pir said. “It be a hard choice for a soul like that to make.”
“Oh, I know!” Dallandra said. “But he’s still a bastard.”
Dallandra returned to camp to find Calonderiel pacing back and forth in front of their tent. A pair of purple gnomes swaggered just behind him, mimicking his every move. When he saw her, he stopped and crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl. The gnomes did the same.
“What is it?” Dallandra said.
“Rori tells me you’re going to try to turn him back.”
“If he wants us to, yes.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“What? Why not? Because of the Horsekin?”
“Naught of the sort! Don’t you remember what happened to Evandar? Working that transformation killed him. I don’t want you dead from working it backward or whatever it is you dweomerfolk do with spells.”
Astounded, Dallandra could only stare at him. His scowl deepened. With