The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [205]
“She still has it,” Dallandra told Branna. “And I’m exhausted.”
“You need to sleep.” Branna stifled a yawn. “And so do I. You take that big bed. I’m the apprentice, so I’ll take the trundle.”
When Laz woke, just after dawn on the next morning, he dressed and left his chamber, then hesitated at the head of the stairs to look down into the great hall. He saw no sign of Branna, but Dallandra was standing at the wall near the main hearth and studying the carvings. He trotted down the stairs and strolled over to join her.
“These are fascinating.” Dallandra traced a group of marks with one fingertip. “They must be the sigils of Aethyr that you told me about.”
“There’s another group next to the other hearth,” Laz said. “When we stand here we face north, most of the time, at least, though you never know with this island.”
“Does it move often?”
“It twitches.” Laz paused for a grin. “Never very far, but it does stir in its sleep like a dreaming dog. Anyway, if we were looking at that other group of identical sigils, we’d face south. I think the two groups define an axis.”
“You’re doubtless right. Branna and I have a theory about these carvings, that somehow or other they contain the information we need to control the construct. I think we may be able to convince the island to move itself to the Westlands.”
“Truly?” Laz whistled under his breath in amazement. “That’s very impressive.”
“My thanks, but it’s only a guess.”
“When the island came here from Alban, these groups of sigils glowed lavender.” Laz frowned, searching his memory. “And another group, these here—” he laid his fingertip on a set of asymmetric loops and spirals, “—glowed turquoise, but with curiously unpleasant orange-red flecks in them.”
“Ye gods! I’ve never seen marks like that before.”
“That’s a pity. I was hoping you had and could explain them.”
Dallandra shook her head and glared at three little circles, each sprouting four pairs of thin wavy lines, as if they’d personally insulted her.
“I have no idea if we can make the dweomer work,” she said at last. “But be that as it may, I told Rori to wait till I send word before he and Arzosah fly all this way to Haen Marn.”
“Ah.” Good, Laz thought, that gives me time to figure out how I can avoid him. “I take it that the other dweomermasters in your alar won’t be coming here until you know.”
“Just so. Why?”
“I was wondering if Sidro would come with them.”
“She won’t.” Dallandra hesitated for an ominous moment.
“I suppose she doesn’t want to see me.”
Dallandra said nothing.
“Here!” Laz felt a stab of worry. “She’s not ill, is she?”
“Not truly. Ah, well, you might as well know. She’s with child.”
“Pir’s child?” The words seem to stick in his mouth like phlegm. He had to force them out.
“It is.” She hesitated again then patted him on the arm. “I’m sorry.”
Laz turned on his heel and strode out of the great hall. She’ll never come back to me now, he was thinking, never! The word tolled in his mind like a bell. He made his way through the underbrush down to the lakeshore, where the little bench stood under the willow tree, only to see Kov and Mara sitting there, holding hands and smiling at each other. With a snarl, Laz trotted back to the manse.
He banged through the door into the great hall. Dallandra had left. Cats scattered at his approach. He ran to the stairway and rushed up with the word “never” still ringing in his mind. Sisi was gone, she’d left him once and for all, she was carrying another man’s child. He hurried into his chamber and slammed the door behind him, then leaned against it while he panted for breath.
“I can’t stay here,” he whispered. “They’ll have to read the wretched book without me. Cursed if I’ll help them!” He paused on a wave of self-pity. “Not that they even asked me to.”
Faharn was dead, Sidro gone forever, Dallandra profoundly uninterested—what was left to him? The charity of some Deverry lord? Life among the Westfolk? A line of cold sweat ran down his back. He was maimed, lost, alone—nothing left to him but pleading for shelter somewhere