The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [103]
‘Neither did I. I feel like a fool! I never realized that Loddlaen was teaching her dweomer lore.’
‘No doubt he made sure you didn’t know. But I’ve been thinking. She was an ugly little mutt, but I liked Morri. I didn’t much realize that I did, mind, and just as a friend, of course, but I wish I’d seen that she was in danger. It gripes my soul, somehow, that she was finally happy, and then it all got snatched away from her. Ah well. Too late now.’
‘So it is.’
But not too late for you, my friend! Nevyn realized that Gwairyc had just given him the signal he’d been waiting for. For the first time in their journeying together—most likely for the first time in his life—he was voicing a genuine concern for and a regret over the welfare of another human being. Gwairyc no longer stood on the edge of that crumbling cliff of isolation that might have plunged him into a sea of evil far below. Somehow or other, Nevyn had managed to drag him back to solid ground. Soon it would be time to free him from his king’s rash vow.
Nevyn waited until they’d ridden back to Eldidd to have his final talk with Gwairyc. They travelled south till they reached the sea, just west of Wmmglaedd, then followed the Eldidd coast. By the time they’d worked their way to Abernaudd, near the Deverry border, the days had grown short, and frost nipped the nights.
They took shelter in an inn that catered to sailors and merchants. Although the port was half-deserted at this time of year, they did find a crew that would be returning to Cerrmor from their last trading run of the season. Nevyn took it as an omen. That evening, while they ate hunks of mutton and turnips fried in the mutton grease, they sat at a table close to the fire for its warmth. Gwairyc apparently had been thinking about the weather.
‘Where will we be wintering, my lord?’ Gwairyc said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘I’m going back to Cannobaen,’ Nevyn said, ‘but you’re not. Return to your king, lad. I’ll give you a letter that tells him I’ve released you. I’ll give you half of our coin, as well. That should be enough to pay your passage to Cerrmor on that merchantman in the harbour and then get you back up the Belaver to Dun Deverry.’
Gwairyc dropped his table dagger in surprise. He broke into a broad grin and began to stammer his thanks.
‘No thanks needed,’ Nevyn said. ‘It’s time, is all. Just try to remember what you’ve learned from me, and I don’t mean only the herbcraft.’
‘I will do that, my lord,’ Gwairyc said. ‘Ye gods, it’ll be good to see my men again! Huh, I wonder how many of the Falcons lived through the summer? Well, I’ll pray it’s all of them, and I’ll be finding out soon enough. Although, truly, it would be good to see you now and again. Do you think you’ll ever come back to Dun Deverry?’
‘I doubt it,’ Nevyn said. ‘I think I’ll stay in Eldidd for the last few years left to me. I’ve got friends here as well as among the Westfolk, you see.’
‘Oh, here, my lord! You’re in such good health that I wager you’ll live to be a hundred.’
‘Well, you know, you might be right at that.’ Nevyn managed to keep from laughing. ‘And I’ll hope the same for you.’
And yet, as common sense would predict, Gwairyc’s life ended far short of that hundred years. The Cerrgonney wars dragged on and on, and many a good man died in battle, as Gwairyc did some five years after his trip to the Westlands, when a squad of Boarsmen cut him off from the main body of the king’s riders. Before the end came, practically everyone at court had remarked that he was a changed man, more courteous and far more pleasant company. Still, the only person at court who honestly mourned him was King Casyl himself.
Thanks to the link he’d forged between them, Nevyn knew what had happened the moment that Gwairyc died. He felt a stab of grief, and one that lingered. May he have better in his next life! Nevyn would think whenever Gwairyc came to mind. He wondered, as well, if he and Gwairyc would meet again. Only the Lords of Wyrd would know the answer to that question—not that they