The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [3]
“Are you sure you want to part with this?” Dallandra said.
“I be sure that I wish you to have it.” Richt smiled, a little shyly.
“Then you have my profound thanks.”
When Dallandra held out her hand, he passed the pendant over, then bobbed his head in respect and walked away. The more she studied the pendant, the happier she was that she’d accepted the gift. Rarely did she like jewelry enough to wear any of it, but this particular piece made her think of the moon and its magical tides. A bevy of sprites materialized in the air and hovered close to look at it. She could hear their little cries of delight, a sound much like the rustling of fine silks.
“Who gave you that?” a normal elven voice said.
Dallandra looked up to see Calonderiel watching her with his arms crossed over his chest.
“The caravan master,” she said. “In thanks for tending his wounded men. He told me it’s dwarven work.”
“Oh.” Cal relaxd with a smile. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Thus, it suits you.”
“Shall I put it on?”
“Please do.”
The pendant hung just below Dallandra’s collarbone. As it touched the magical nexus at that spot, she felt emanations.
“There’s dweomer on this piece,” she said to Cal. “I’m not sure what, though. I’ll have to show it to Val later.”
“Maybe you’d better show it to her now. Are you sure it’s safe to wear it?”
“Yes, actually. Cal, you sound so worried.”
“I keep thinking about the spell over Rori.” He paused, glancing away, biting his lower lip. “And how dangerous it’s going to be to lift. I’ve gotten suspicious of everything dweomer, I guess.”
“Reversing the spell may not be dangerous at all. We don’t know that.”
Cal did his best to smile. “If it turns out to be dangerous, then,” he said, “warn me.”
“I will, I promise. I’ve been thinking about what happened to Evandar. He wasn’t incarnate, don’t forget, which meant there was nothing truly solid about him. He could appear to have a body, but at root he was nothing but pure spirit, pure vital force. After he drained himself of most of that power, there was nothing left for him to fall back on, as it were.”
“Ah.” Cal paused, visibly thinking this through. “I do see what you mean. But I’ve heard you talk of the—what did you call that?—the rule of compensation or suchlike.”
“The law of compensation, yes. Any great pouring out of dweomer force is going to have an equal reaction of some kind. The problem is knowing what it will be.” Dallandra smiled briefly. “I may never be able to fly in my own bird form again. That’s my best guess.”
“You’re willing to do that?”
“Flying comes in handy, but it doesn’t mean a great deal to me anymore. I have you, I have our child, and the ground seems like a very pleasant place to be.”
He smiled so softly, so warmly, that she felt as if she’d worked some mighty act of magic.
“I do love you,” he said. “I’m terrified of losing you.”
“Don’t worry, and don’t forget, I’ll have a great deal of help—Val, Grallezar, Branna, and for all I know, the lass on Haen Marn knows enough to take part in whatever the ritual is.”
“That’s right! I tend to forget about them. It’s not like you’ll be fighting this battle by yourself.”
Dallandra smiled and said nothing more. At the very beginning of a ritual she always asked that any harm it might evoke would fall upon her alone, but that Cal didn’t need to know.
“I’m not just worrying for my own sake and for Dari’s,” Cal went on. “If you—” he hesitated briefly, “—went away, what would happen to the changelings?”
“There are other dweomerworkers. Look at Sidro. She’s amazingly patient with those poor little souls, much more than I can be.”
“True.” He suddenly smiled. “Oh, very well, I’m truly worried if I can forget things like that. I’ll do my best to stop, but I make no promises.”
Richt and his gift reminded Dallandra that she had an extremely unpleasant task ahead of her, telling her fellow dweomermaster in Cerr Cawnen about the fate of the caravan. As she went to her