The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [84]
‘I wonder why the slimy little—I mean, I wonder why he left the scroll?’ Aderyn looked down at the box in his lap. ‘No doubt he never meant it to come to me.’
‘I’m sure he meant just that,’ Nevyn said. ‘From everything you’ve told me about him, I’d say he thinks in a very primitive way. A bride-price, or part of one, is my guess.’
Aderyn swore under his breath in Deverrian.
‘My apologies, Master Aderyn,’ Valandario said, ‘but I do not know those words you just used.’
‘Good,’ Aderyn said. ‘You don’t need to. Now, as for this scroll, we probably won’t know what Evandar intended until we open it. I don’t want to do it right in the middle of camp, just in case there’s some foul spell or suchlike on it.’
Nevyn sighed aloud. ‘Oh come now! Wouldn’t I have felt the resonances if it were some evil thing?’
‘Um, truly, you would.’ Aderyn had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘But you never know about the Guardians.’ He glanced at Valandario. ‘Nevyn and I will take a look at this first, some distance away from camp. Later we’ll tell you what we’ve found. I don’t care to take chances with your well-being.’
‘As you wish, Master Aderyn.’ Valandario stroked the gem with two loving fingers. ‘I shall have plenty of work to occupy me on the morrow as it is.’
After the evening meal, Nevyn decided to look in on Wffyn. As he walked across the strip of neutral ground twixt the merchant and his prospective customers, he could see the horses that Wffyn had already acquired in trade, a beautiful herd of some twenty head, mostly blacks and dapple greys, but here and there he saw a golden horse with a silvery mane and tail. Around their campfires the muleteers were laughing and joking with each other as they passed around a skin of elven mead.
Wffyn himself was sitting cross-legged on the grass and unloading some hammered steel knife blades from one of his canvas packs. He laid a scant selection of blades and other small bits of ironware out on a blanket big enough to hold three times as many. Firelight winked and danced on the polished metal.
‘Nevyn, and a good evening to you!’ Wffyn called out.
‘And the same to you,’ Nevyn said. ‘It looks like you’ve sold most of your wares.’
‘I have, and truly, I’ve done well enough, I suppose.’
‘You sound mournful.’
‘I am, but it’s my own fault for reaching too high. I’ve been trying to acquire a stud and a couple of brood mares, as I believe I told you some while past. No one would sell me anything but geldings. I tried offering gold, I tried gems, but naught did I get in return but scorn.’
‘Ah.’ Nevyn wasn’t in the least surprised. The Westfolk aren’t stupid! he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, ‘That’s a pity.’
‘True spoken, good sir! Well, soon we’ll be heading back to Pyrdon. Will you and your apprentice be coming with us?’
‘I doubt it. I’ve not seen Aderyn in many a year, and we still have much to talk about.’
‘What about little Morri? Is she going to settle here, do you think?’
‘Most definitely. She told me she’d never been so happy in her life.’
‘No doubt that’s true. The poor lass!’ Wffyn paused to look around him. ‘I wonder where Tirro’s got to.’
‘Gwairyc probably knows. I’ll ask him to send your wandering prentice back to you.’
For some days Morwen had been waiting for a chance to question Loddlaen about the dweomer. He seemed willing enough to discuss it, but every time they started a conversation, it came to an abrupt end. Either Ebañy would wake and demand her attention, or someone from the Westfolk camp would innocently interrupt, or Tirro would appear, all ears. Once, when Loddlaen had been telling her about dweomer gems, they’d caught Tirro hiding in the rocks above Loddlaen’s tent. Loddlaen had scolded him for it, too, but Tirro had grovelled and wept his way into forgiveness.
On the evening of the day that Javanateriel returned, she left Ebañy with his father, and she and Loddlaen retreated to his tent site, well out of earshot of the noisy camp. They’d just started talking when Tirro trotted up and sat