The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [207]
‘She’s right. Stop! No licking, no clawing at it, or scratching, or biting it. If it gets dirt in it, come to me, and I’ll wash it out properly.’
He growled under his breath and seemed to be studying the horizon.
‘I can try numbing it down so it won’t hurt as much.’
‘It doesn’t hurt, precisely. It burns and itches. But that’s not the worst of it. It’s the way it reminds me.’
‘Of the transformation, you mean?’
‘That, too. Are you certain that Raena didn’t put an evil spell on that dagger?’
‘Quite certain. She lacked the power and the knowledge both. The only spell on the dagger was the one that the silver dagger’s smith put on it when he was forging it for Yraen.’ She hesitated, remembering. ‘You cried out that the wound burned when you got it.’
‘It did.’ He slipped into Deverrian, apparently without realizing it. ‘I’d been wounded before, and badly at that, but none of them burned. They gave me pain bad enough to make me stagger and heave, truly, but not pain that felt like a burning brand thrust into my side. The wound’s black as charcoal, too.’
‘It is that. I thought of gangrene, when first I saw it, but it’s not spread. If it were the true wound rot, you’d be dead.’
‘More’s the pity, then.’
‘Rori, if you truly want to die, for the sake of all the gods, find some decent way to kill yourself.’
‘Nah, nah, nah, it was only a jest, my lady. I do but jest to amuse both my ladies, you and my Lady Death. I’ll tell you what the trouble is. How, pray tell, should I die in a decent way, were I so minded? Who’s going to kill me? Who can?’ He slapped his tail hard on the ground. ‘Every fighting man who’s ever lived has wished at one time or another that he was invulnerable. Well, I’ve got my wish, and ye gods, it aches my heart! Should I dive into the sea or a fire mountain and die without a shred of glory or honour? That’s not a decent death. And so I keep on living, fighting for the high king as I always did, out here on the border.’ He sighed in a soft roar of sound. ‘It suits me, I suppose. It amuses me, at least.’
Dallandra found herself utterly speechless. He raised his head and looked at her.
‘Is there really a chance you can unwind Evandar’s dweomer?’ he said.
‘There is, but it’s a small one.’
‘That will do.’ He began speaking Elvish again. ‘Isn’t that girl done yet with her slimes and worms?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Ranadario said. ‘The leeches are all nice and fat and purple.’
‘Good,’ Dallandra said. ‘Rori, we’ve brought some herbal water. Let me just clean up after the leeches, and then you can go for today.’
After he’d flown off, Dallandra remembered his saying ‘that will do’. Do for what? she thought. Most likely, for a reason to keep living.
Arzosah returned late that day to give another report to the princes and the gwerbret. When she’d finished, Dallandra went out to show her the dragonbone whistle that once had lain on Alshandra’s altar. When she held it up, Arzosah hissed long and hard.
‘At last!’ the dragon said.
‘I take it you recognize it,’ Dallandra said.
‘Of course I do. It’s made of my other mate’s bones. I want to drop it into the melt of my fire mountain, so that at least a small part of him will have come home. Will you keep it for me until the war’s over?’
‘Gladly.’
‘My thanks. Speaking of mates, I saw Rori. The wound looks a thousand times better. You have my thanks for that, too.’
‘You’re most welcome. I think I can cure it completely.’
‘May all the gods of fire and steam be praised! If only he’d left that wretched Raena alone, but oh no, he had to have his revenge.’ The dragon heaved a massive sigh. ‘We both seem to have a penchant for unsuitable males, you with that disgusting Evandar first and now with the arrogant banadar person.’
‘Here! Don’t keep insulting—’
‘It’s obvious why, of course.’ The dragon went on as if she’d not heard. ‘We both like our privacy, and our time alone, and a suitable male would be underwing—well, under-foot in your case—all day long.’
Dallandra opened her mouth to argue but paused, struck by a sudden thought. ‘You’re right,’ she said