The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [58]
In a swirl of talk and laughter, the crowd began to clear out. As Devaberiel made his way back to Nevyn’s table, the villagers pressed coins into his hands, which he took with murmurs of thanks and good-natured smiles. The innkeep brought a tankard of dark ale to the table and waved aside a proffered coin.
‘Not needed,’ the innkeep said. ‘Ah, it’s been a long time since we’ve heard you sing!’
Devaberiel smiled pleasantly but said nothing. This was the last time he’d sing here, Nevyn supposed, without his son to draw him. Some of the villagers began calling for ale, and the innkeep bustled away. Devaberiel took a good long swallow from his tankard, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
‘So, good Nevyn,’ Devaberiel said. ‘Our wise one is looking forward to seeing you again.’
‘And I feel the same about him,’ Nevyn said. ‘It’s a bit of good luck that we could travel together.’
‘It is at that. You know, Aderyn told me that he travelled all over with you when he was but a little lad. Would it be an imposition to ask your help after I’ve claimed my son?’ Dev’s smile faded. ‘The poor lad! I don’t have the slightest notion of how to care for him, either on this journey or at all.’
Nevyn suddenly saw the obvious.
‘Well, you know, he has a nursemaid already.’ Nevyn kept his voice casual by force of will. ‘The thought of losing him has been aching her heart.’
‘Of course! Poor little Morri! Do you think she might be willing to come with him?’
‘I certainly can’t see why she’d want to stay on her brother’s farm.’
‘Now that’s most assuredly true spoken! It’ll be a good thing for both her and Evan if she comes along, then.’ Devaberiel stifled a yawn. ‘If you’ll excuse me, good sir, I’ve got to get some sleep—and strength, just in case my son’s mother turns nasty on the morrow.’
Early on the morrow morning, Wffyn began to organize his caravan for departure. Devaberiel’s two friends would leave with the merchant, while Nevyn, the bard himself, and Gwairyc rode out to the farm to collect little Evan. They would catch up to the caravan on the road, since men on horseback could travel faster than a line of burdened mules led by muleteers on foot.
The news of the bard’s arrival had apparently reached the farm ahead of them. When they dismounted at the gate, they saw Morwen and Evan waiting for them on the little wooden bench. Evan was wearing a clean, unpatched pair of grey brigga and an embroidered shirt—his best clothes, no doubt, for the occasion. When Gwairyc reached over the gate to open it, Morwen stood up. She took Evan’s hand in one of hers, and in the other picked up a small sack that seemed to be full of clothing. As they strolled over Nevyn could see that her eyes were red and puffy, though she put on a brave smile. At the sight of the horses and the tall strangers, Evan let out a wail. He stopped walking and began pulling on her hand as if to drag her back.
‘Now, come along, Evan,’ Morri said. ‘You remember your da, don’t you?’
‘Don’t.’ Evan pulled his hand free and dodged behind her skirts.
Devaberiel motioned to the others to stay back, then knelt on one knee near the boy. ‘You’ve not seen me in a while,’ he said softly. ‘But I’m your father, lad. You’re going to come home with me today.’
Evan threw his arms around Morwen’s legs and clutched. When Devaberiel held out his hand, Evan shook his head in a vigorous no.
‘Don’t you want to come visit your brother and sister?’ Dev said. ‘We’re going to ride on the pretty horses. We’ll go a long way.’
Evan stared at him for a moment, glanced at the horses, then back to him—and burst into tears. Apparently he’d understood enough to know he disliked what he’d heard.
‘My apologies,’ Morwen stammered. ‘You’ll be thinking I did a bad enough job at raising him.’
‘What?’ Devaberiel got up, then turned to her. ‘Not at all. I want to hire you as his nursemaid, in fact. He’ll need someone better than me to care for him. Would your kinsfolk let