The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [118]
“Whether I be right or wrong,” she said, “You be Chief Speaker now. This matter of the Horsekin—”
“—does grow more grave daily.” Jahdo finished her thought. “I did call a council meeting this afternoon. The folk who do live in Penli, they do fear the Horsekin even more than we. They did send a man to us to petition for the right to flee inside our walls should the need arise.”
“It would be wise to grant it.”
“Of course, but the council needs must decide for themselves.” He paused for a sly smile. “With a bit of help from me, truly.”
Niffa learned that the council had followed her advice when Jahdo returned, bringing the Penli suppliant with him. Cleddrik, his name was, a tall skinny fellow with short black hair and a straggling mustache. He was, he informed them both, the son of a pig farmer, whose trade in salt pork had given his family a certain standing in his town.
“We be grateful that you did grant us shelter,” Cleddrik said. “There be some fifty families in Penli, and we have not the men nor the stone to build walls of our own.”
“There be a need on us to arrange some signal,” Jahdo said. “The Horsekin, they be most like to come down from the north and thus reach us first.”
Over the noon meal the two men continued talking while Niffa studied this stranger. Something about Cleddrik troubled her, yet he seemed sincere enough, especially when it came to his fear of the Horsekin.
“We did build a wooden palisade round our village.” Cleddrik’s voice shook on the words. “But how long might it take the Horsekin to burn that? And then, once it be done, they be amok among us and our women.”
“Dwell not upon it,” Jahdo said. “Our stone walls, they will keep you safe enough, the gods willing.”
“But be they willing?” Cleddrik’s voice abruptly turned calm. “What about this new goddess of theirs? She has great power of her own.”
“She be not a goddess.” Niffa leaned forward into the conversation. “And she does live no longer.”
Cleddrik turned his head to look at her with an utterly blank expression on his face, as if perhaps he’d not heard her.
“This be my sister,” Jahdo said. “She does walk the witch road.”
Cleddrik’s face lost some of its color. He pushed out a twitch of a smile and bobbed his head in her direction.
“And I will tell you yet again,” Niffa said, “Alshandra were but an illusion and a cheat. Fear her not.”
“If you do say so, mistress,” Cleddrik said, “then I shall do as you say.”
Yet he was staring at the table as he spoke rather than looking her way. Niffa said nothing more, but for the rest of the meal, she studied Cleddrik, who did his best to avoid her gaze the entire time. As soon as the meal was over, he mumbled excuses and fled the house.
Niffa went up to her little chamber at the top of the rambling house. Besides her narrow bed, it held a lectern, a high stool for reading at the lectern, and a comfortable cushioned window seat. From the window she could see all the way down Citadel, past the fine houses, past the public granary and the little annex where she’d been born and spent her childhood, past the steep paths and the retaining walls, down the strip of sandy beach and the coracles drawn up upon it, to Loc Vaed itself, where patches of pale mist floated above the greenish water.
She used the mist as a focus and reached out to Dallandra. The elven dweomermaster answered her immediately.
“Sour news,” Niffa said. “I do think Alshandra worship has reached the Rhiddaer.”
Dallandra listened gravely while Niffa told her of Cleddrik and his odd behavior. When she finished, Dallandra agreed with her.
“This sounds ominous, indeed,” Dalla said. “I told you, didn’t I, that we have a woman with us who used to be a priestess of Alshandra? She might well know more about Penli.”
“Splendid! Do ask her, and do let me know when you’ve done so.”
“I shall indeed. Stay on the alert would be my advice.”
“That be good advice always when the Horsekin be prowling around.”
After she broke the link with Niffa, Dallandra wandered through the alar’s camp, dodging children,