The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [62]
Fortunately Enj considered her a gift, as well. He was more than glad to answer her questions, explaining who the Westfolk were, and the Horsekin, recounting the story of how her father had been turned into a dragon in the far-off city of Cerr Cawnen in order to save his life after a traitorous woman had wounded him to the point of death. Tirn talked as well, telling her of the recent wars between his civilized folk and the wild Horsekin of the far north.
Berwynna did her best to divert some of this flood of information Dougie’s way, translating when she could, explaining strange names when she couldn’t. He listened, but his stunned eyes and slack mouth revealed a shock almost as great as her mother’s. Finally he roused himself sufficiently to ask a question, which she translated for him.
“This sorcerer who turned my father into a dragon?” Berwynna asked Enj. “Was his name Evandar?”
“It was indeed,” Enj said. “Fancy our Albanwr knowing that!”
At the news Dougie groaned and buried his face in both huge hands. “I might have known,” he said to her. “Truly, I might have known.”
Not long after Angmar and Marnmara came downstairs. Angmar looked much restored, but Berwynna was pleased to notice that Marnmara’s usual composure had disappeared. Lady of the Isle or not, she kicked a chair out of her way as she passed it, yelled at her cats to get off the table where they were lounging, and strode out of the great hall without looking anyone’s way. Tirn got up and followed her out with the cats trailing after. What’s this? Berwynna thought. Don’t tell me she’s got an admirer in that poor beggar of a man! Huh! Serve her right!
Angmar sat down in her usual chair at the head of the table and smiled at everyone. “Do forgive me my fit,” she said in Deverrian. “It were but the surprise.”
“No doubt, Mam,” Enj said. “I doubt me if anyone here holds it to your shame.”
“My thanks. Well, tonight we shall have a feast,” Angmar went on, “to celebrate our homecoming, like. Wynni, if you’d lend your aid to Lonna, there be that haunch of beef hanging in the kitchen hut that a farmer did give our Marnmara. It be the last Alban beef we shall taste, so let us roast it now.” Her smile suddenly darkened, and she spoke to Dougie in his own language. “I do apologize again, lad, for not forestalling you in time. My heart aches for your mother.”
“Mine, too,” Dougie said. “No doubt she’ll know what happened to me when she hears that the island’s gone.”
“It will be a bitter hearing.” Angmar considered for a moment. “Maybe one of the Westfolk sorcerers can find a way for you to return home.”
“Should I want to go.” Dougie laid his hand over Berwynna’s. “My mother has other sons and daughters.”
“I know, but it be perilous here for you.” Angmar hesitated, then shrugged. “Marnmara can perhaps explain it.” She glanced Berwynna’s way. “You’d best set that beef to roasting soon.”
Berwynna choked back an angry reply and got up. She curtsied to her mother, then stalked out of the great hall.
Once Berwynna got the beef salted and roasting over the hearth fire in the great hall, the boatmen came in to turn the spit, spelling each other at regular intervals. Berwynna and Lonna went back to the kitchen hut. They made a salad of herbs and greens to go with the beef, then brought out the day’s bread. Lonna had started the dough in Alban, and now they were baking it in the home country— the thought made Berwynna a bit dizzy as she considered it.
“Lonna,” she said, “what do folk call this country?”
“The Roof of the World,” the old woman answered. “We be high in the mountains, lass. Now, I know not who owns the land, like. No one, I’d say. But if anyone does, then it belongs to Dwarveholt and the city of Lin Serr.”
“A city? Is it as big as Din Edin?”
“Bigger, no doubt. Oh, it be a fine place, all made of stone. Mayhap one day you’ll see it.” Lonna paused to wipe her hands on her apron. “Anything might happen now, since we be home.”
Once the loaves were baking in the stone oven, Berwynna left