The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [69]
‘So he is, if you mean Evan.’
‘I do. Ebañy’s as close a name to his old one as Devaberiel could think up. It means ‘winter wind’, a bit harsh, mayhap, but he recognizes it as his name already.’
Morwen looked up and saw Nevyn, then waved to him and smiled. Nevyn strolled over to chat with her, but before he could say a word, a swarm of older boys came racing up to the two little ones. Most of them ran right by, but a lad with night-dark hair and pale yellow eyes gave the ball a good kick, sending it flying far away among the tents. Both little ones began to cry.
‘You!’ Morwen reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. ‘Bring that back!’
For someone so small, she was remarkably strong, a legacy of all those hard years of farm work. The lad choked on the neckline of his own tunic, and, gasping, stopped in his tracks. Morwen gave him a good shake, then let him go.
‘Bring the ball back,’ she said. ‘Look! You’ve made them cry.’
‘Huh!’ The boy wrinkled his nose at her. ‘So what? One of them’s a stinking Round-ear brat, and you’re ugly as a dead frog.’
Morwen hauled off and hit him so hard across the face that he staggered. He yelped and flung up both hands to defend himself as Morwen closed in, swinging again, smacking him even harder. Blood spurted from his nose and upper lip.
‘Morri, stop it!’ Nevyn made a grab at her, but she danced away from him. He caught a good look at her face and saw that her eyes had turned as blank as any berserker’s.
With a shriek the boy’s mother came running, yelling in Elvish, pointing at Morwen and gesturing to Aderyn, who yelled back, apparently trying to calm the mother down while Nevyn dealt with Morwen, though why he thought screaming at the top of his lungs would be calming was beyond Nevyn’s power to guess. He made another futile grab at Morwen just as the outraged mother stepped in between her and the weeping boy. She raised a hand to slap back, and she was easily a foot taller than Morwen.
In an odd sort of calm Morwen ducked the slap, then charged, striking up from below with a fist and hitting the Westfolk woman precisely on the point of her chin. The woman staggered once and dropped to the ground. Morwen stepped back and came to herself. She’d woken from the berserker fit, which drew its power, Nevyn knew, from deep memories of this soul’s earlier lives. She clasped both hands over her mouth and stared at the prostrate woman. Aderyn flung himself down on his knees next to the victim, who groaned and turned over onto her back.
‘She’ll be all right,’ Aderyn said in Deverrian. ‘But let’s not move her just yet.’
More shrieks, more screaming—the entire camp seemed to have come running to watch. Both little boys were weeping in terror. Fortunately, the mother of Evan’s playmate was right at hand. She scooped up her child, paused to hurl insults at the prostrate elven woman on the ground, then carried her son away. Nevyn started to fetch Evan, but Loddlaen came trotting over and picked the boy up.
‘Let me, Wise One,’ Loddlaen said. ‘I’ll get Morwen out of here.’
‘My thanks,’ Nevyn said. ‘I’d best stay and soothe the situation.’
‘Oh, don’t let it vex you.’ Loddlaen settled Evan on one hip. ‘Doubtless the bitch and her pup both deserved it.’ He grabbed Morwen’s arm with his free hand and strode off, leading her away.
Utterly speechless, Nevyn stood staring after them. From behind him he heard someone laughing. He turned to see Gwairyc, his hands on his hips, shaking his head in amusement.
‘Ye gods, our Morri’s not a lass to cross, is she, my lord?’ Gwairyc said. ‘Who would have thought that she had so much fire in her soul? Good for her!’
‘I’m not so sure how good it’s going to be,’ Nevyn said, ‘if it loses Morwen her place as Evan’s nursemaid.’
‘Oh, it won’t do that.’ Aderyn walked over to join them. ‘This sort of thing happens all the time among the Westfolk.’ He glanced back at the Westfolk woman, who was sitting up, still groggy, in the midst of friends. Some of them were grinning. ‘Morri