The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [180]
Once Rori returned to his human form—or died in the attempt—the Northlands would need this watchtower again to guard against prowling Meradan. Perhaps he could man it, in the company of his dragon nephew and his sisters. Devar would need someone to help him come to terms with his mixed heritage of elven blood. I could live among dragons, Salamander thought. At last he could give himself over to the dweomer in the complete and committed way he’d always shunned before. The idea gave Salamander a sense of satisfaction, an intense sweetness of feeling, such as he’d not known since his marriage to Marka, all those years ago in Bardek.
All morning he thought over his idea. Toward noon Rori flew down to join him. When Salamander told him what he was planning, his brother’s oddly human eyes filled with tears. With a growl the silver wyrm shook his head and scattered them.
“This eases my heart,” Rori said in Deverrian. “The one thing that’s been troubling me about returning to human form is leaving Devar. He’s but a lad as a dragon’s life goes. He needs a father—or an uncle.”
“An uncle he shall have, then, assuming Dallandra approves my little scheme. Shall I ask her?”
“If it pleases you, ask away.”
When he let his mind reach out to Dallandra, she returned the contact so quickly that he knew she’d been waiting for him to reach her.
“How are you?” she said. “You were so bruised and exhausted looking that I’ve been worried, but I didn’t want to risk waking you if you were asleep.”
“I’m awake,” he said. “Also full of insight. O Princess of Powers Perilous, I have seen the rest of my life work’s stretch out in front of me like a road.”
“What?” Dallandra’s intense surprise translated itself to his mind as a wave of laughter. “Tell me!”
The tower, the dragons, his plans—Salamander sent their images and words to her in a jumble of excitement and delight. She listened calmly, and he could feel her caution as she thought over what he’d told her, thought it over for a very long time, or so it seemed to him, fearing as he did her disapproval.
“Can you really live alone like that?” Dallandra said at last. “You of all people?”
“Me of all people, indeed. I am sick to my heart of playing the fool, Dalla, of traveling through Deverry with my tricks and tales. And yet, I’ll never feel truly at home in the Westlands, either, nor will I ever be the bard my father wants me to be.”
“Very well, then.”
Salamander waited for her to voice nagging doubts and irritated sneers, but none came.
“You truly mean it, don’t you?” Salamander said. “You approve?”
“You know your own heart best.” Her image smiled at him. “But Valandario was your teacher. You owe it to her to sit down and talk this over.”
“Well and good, then. We can discuss this once we all return to the alar.”
“Assuming, of course, we all do.” Her face darkened. “Well, Dar’s nearly here. The future’s in the laps of the gods.”
The prince and his escort rode into Cerr Cawnen late on a damp afternoon. In the sky, gray clouds were scudding away, as if perhaps withdrawing from the royal presence. As the rain slacked off, the occasional shaft of sunlight broke through to dance upon the surface of the steaming lake. From their places on the catwalks, the town watch greeted the prince with a shout and a blare of signal horns. Dallandra, who had been waiting with Jahdo on the lakeshore, hurried down to the south gates of the city. When she looked back at Citadel, she could just make out Arzosah, as black as a raven, circling the lake once, then landing somewhere on the island out of sight—the ruins of the ancient temple, Dallandra assumed.
Daralanteriel led his men inside to the grassy commons, a ring between the town walls and the welter of buildings and crannogs at the lakeshore. When a