The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [221]
Although Dallandra had been expecting to recognize her, she’d not thought that Sidro would know her in return. Sidro, however, looked at her closely, then flung up a hand as if warding a blow and stepped back, only to blush and stammer.
‘My apologies,’ Sidro said. ‘For a moment I did think I did know you, and it were not a good thing. But truly, we’ve never met.’
‘Oh, it’s quite all right.’ Dallandra smiled at her. ‘This summer’s been hard on us all. I can understand why things seem strange.’
‘True spoken, Wise One.’ Sidro returned the smile. ‘The Westfolk here, they do tell me to call you Wise One. Be that correct?’
‘It is. Do you want me to call you priestess?’
‘Never again!’ Sidro shook her head in emphasis. ‘I did worship a spirit and think her a god. Never again will I be cozened so.’
‘I can understand that, too. May I speak with Pir?’
‘He be out among the horses, but I shall fetch him if—’
‘Don’t trouble yourself. There’ll be time later.’
Towards sunset, Meranaldar joined Dallandra as she made the rounds of the wounded men in her care. She’d had her assistants set up her tent near theirs on the edge of the Westfolk encampment. Most of those still alive would recover to various degrees, including the young Deverry rider, Tarro. When Dallandra squatted down by his bed of blankets, his sister helped him off with his shirt, then knelt at his head like a guard. Someone must have given Penna some soap, because she’d washed her brown dress and her hair both. Her short hair in particular gleamed, as thick and soft as fur upon her narrow skull, growing low on her forehead above her bushy eyebrows.
Tarro, Dallandra realized, shared the same thick hair and eyebrows. Although he was too young to raise a full beard and moustache, clumps of brown hair plumed at the corners of his upper lip. More to the point, though, he looked only a quarter of the way to dead, a definite improvement over half. While she changed the bandages around his shoulder, Dallandra was relieved to see that the flap of skin had avoided morbidity. In fact, it was already beginning to form scar tissue, incredibly soon for such a terrible wound.
‘You’re recovering,’ Dallandra told him. ‘Good.’
‘It’s because of Penna,’ Tarro said. ‘She’s been tending me like a baby, and truly, I need it.’
‘I won’t let him die.’ Penna spoke with calm certainty. ‘I told him so, and I won’t.’
‘Well, there’s no sign of infection,’ Dallandra said to her, ‘so you’ve done a good job so far. Tarro, what will you do, now that you can’t ride in a warband?’
‘Lord Gerran’s offered me the post of gatekeeper in his new dun—when he gets one built, anyway. He said he won’t let us starve in the meantime.’
‘Excellent!’ Meranaldar put in. ‘This means that, ultimately, you’ll be vassals of Prince Daralanteriel. Did you know that? Lord Gerran will swear to Tieryn Cadryc, and Cadryc will now be allied with the Westfolk as a direct vassal of the prince.’
‘Whatever the lords decide,’ Tarro said. He started to shrug, then winced in pain. The blood drained from his face. Penna leaned forward and placed her hands on his temples. His colour returned to normal so quickly that Dallandra gave Penna a good looking over. The lass stared back, calm but unsmiling, her luminous dark eyes utterly unreadable.
‘Try not to do that again,’ Dallandra said to Tarro, ‘at least for the next fortnight or so. You’ll get used to your loss eventually, lad.’
‘I hope so,’ Tarro said. ‘Wise One, I can still feel the arm. It prickles, like, and sometimes it hurts, but when I go to rub it, it’s gone, of course.’
‘I’m afraid that’s normal. In time, the sensation will fade away’ Dallandra glanced at Penna with a smile as casual as she could make it. ‘Can you still see its shadow?’
‘The blue glowing