The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [130]
“Eventually.” Rori hesitated, but he knew that he had to make the trip to Angmar before his courage deserted him. “I hope you’ve got a fancy to see Haen Marn, because that’s where we’re going first.”
“I’m sure it’s the most beautiful place on earth, and all because it’s not a Dwrgi hold. Never has a man been so glad to see a wyrm as I am, I’ll wager.”
“No doubt.” Rori gestured with his head toward the river. “You, on the other hand, need a bit of a wash, and I need your help. Can you brush the moss from those stones so I can read the letters?”
“I can. I wondered about them myself, when first I saw them.”
Kov laid aside his bundle and took off his boots, then waded into the shallows, clothes and all. While he washed, Kov paused often to tell Rori about the Dwrgwn and the fortress, though the story came out in jumbled bits and pieces. Once he was reasonably clean, Kov seemed calmer, but still his hands shook as he brushed the moss off the inscribed pillar. He hunkered down and studied the letters, an act which finally soothed his troubled mind.
“Now this is fascinating,” Kov said. “It says that this bridge was built by someone named Brennos and the council of something called vergobretes. Isn’t that your King Bran?”
“It is, and the vergobretes became gwerbretion.” Rori lay down on his stomach and rested his massive head on the ground, the only way that he could get his eyes close enough to the pillar to read the words that showed his ancestors had marched across this river over a thousand years before. “Here, Envoy, there’s a thing that’s bothered me for years. When I went to Lin Serr, I saw upon the doors the tale of the destruction of Lin Rej. One of the pictures clearly showed that the people of Bel were to blame for stirring up the Meradan in the first place.”
“That, alas, is indeed the case.”
“But the Westfolk didn’t know that when first I joined them. Salamander had puzzled it out, but no one else. How did your people discover the truth?”
“Let me think.” Kov fell silent, but his lips moved as if he were running through memory chains of lore. “A long, long time ago, there was a healer named Vela. She’d heard the truth from a woman of the Deverrians who was a healer, too.” He frowned, considering. “Now, this all happened so long ago that the tale’s not very complete. I think that this healer told Vela as she, the Deverrian I mean, lay dying. Her name’s not been remembered, you see.”
Could it have been Hwilli? Rori thought. Her memory glimmered deep in his dragon mind, like a gold coin fallen into a stream and seen through running water. She considered herself one of us by the end. Kov was continuing to talk about the Great Migration of men and dwarves both.
“So this bridge,” the envoy finished up, “has great significance as to the rightful lords of this stretch of countryside. It gives your king a claim on this stretch of country, not that the Horsekin will just give it over or suchlike.”
“True spoken. I doubt me if the High King has the men to take it or hold it. It’s not of much use to us.”
“Not now, but who knows what the future will bring?”
“You have a point. Who knows what the gods will give us? But for now, I see you’ve got a good length of rope. You’ll have to find some way to tie yourself onto my back, because we’d best be on our way before the Horsekin or the Dwrgwn come after you.”
Once Kov had wedged himself between two of the spikes at Rori’s shoulder blades, and tied himself down to boot, Rori launched himself into the air. He was expecting Kov to scream, but the dwarf merely clutched the fleshy spike in front of him a little tighter. During their long day’s flight, Kov never complained once, a relief after the way Mic had moaned and screeched during the journey to the Red Wolf dun.
By sunset they reached the Dwrvawr and passed over the wattle and daub huts of the northern Dwrgi village. Kov yelled