The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [97]
‘Naught of the sort! I—’
‘You can see it, can’t you? You just don’t want to admit it to yourself.’
Aderyn let his arms drop and hang limply by his sides, but his hands clenched into fists.
‘It aches my heart to be so blunt,’ Nevyn softened his voice.
‘Oh? And what about yourself, then? You think you see so clearly while I’m blind, do you? How wrong you are!’
Nevyn stared at him, utterly taken aback.
‘I mean Morwen.’ Aderyn brought out the name with a tight little smile. ‘That poor lass! Do you truly think you can teach her dweomer? I don’t care how many oaths you swore. She’s been scarred by her horrid childhood. Can’t you see it? She can no more control her rages than lightning can stop striking the earth. It means she’s been twisted inside by the ghastly way she was treated. Do you truly think she’s fit to learn dweomer?’
For the briefest of moments Nevyn considered swearing at him—how dare he insult his old master this way? But a cold sick feeling in his stomach stopped him. ‘You’re quite right,’ he said instead, ‘I hadn’t seen it before this moment, but you’re right.’
Aderyn’s smug smile vanished. He started to speak, choked it off, half-turned away, then turned back. ‘Well, I—’ Aderyn’s voice was barely audible. ‘You may be right about Loddlaen as well.’ His voice grew stronger. ‘At least in part.’
‘Just think about it, that’s all I ask. As for Morwen, well, there’s naught I can say to that.’ Nevyn had to pause and collect himself. A strange grief threatened to force tears.
‘She’ll stay here with little ebañy for some years at least,’ Aderyn said. ‘Mayhap I can help her lay aside the bitterness in her soul. She’s part of my alar now, and it’s the least I can do.’
‘My thanks. From time to time I’ll ride your way and see how she’s faring, if I may.’
‘Of course you may! Ye gods, there’s no reason for you to ever leave, for that matter.’
‘Of course there is.’
‘Your duty to Gwairyc?’
‘That too.’
Aderyn tried to smile, then let it fade. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘I—well, forgive me. Loddlaen’s the only thing I have left of Dalla.’
‘I know that. But he’s a man now, not a thing, any more than—’ Nevyn forced himself to go on. ‘—any more than Morwen is Brangwen.’
‘That’s true spoken.’
‘I brought the matter up out of concern for Loddlaen as much as for you. He’ll make a splendid herbman and healer, if only he’s free to study that body of lore.’
‘I suppose.’ Aderyn’s voice dropped in exhaustion. ‘Truly, perhaps so.’
Nevyn tucked the scroll box under one arm, then held out his hand. Aderyn clasped it in both of his for a long moment before he released it. It seemed that he would speak again, but he turned on his heel and walked away fast, heading for the camp, which glowed with the light of little cooking fires against the darkening sky.
For a little while Nevyn stayed out in the grass and watched the stars come out until the Snowy Road hung full and bright in the sky. Normally the sight soothed him, but that night it seemed ominous, as if the stars were sparks from a fire that might drop to earth and set the grasslands burning. Although he tried meditating upon the symbols that this feeling presented to his consciousness, he could find no concrete reason for it, not in vision nor in the vague hints that the Lords of Wyrd at times manage to give dweomermasters. Finally he decided that he was picking up traces of the past from the scroll, memories of ravaging Horsekin burning the Seven Cities of the Far West. When the wheel of stars showed that the night was approaching its zenith, he walked back to the tents.
At breakfast the next morning Nevyn told Gwairyc that they’d be leaving soon to return to Deverry.
‘That gladdens my heart, my lord,’ Gwairyc said, and he smiled in sheer delight. ‘Will we be going back to Eldidd?’
‘Most likely. Has being out here troubled you?’
‘To some extent.’ Gwairyc considered for a moment. ‘A man feels more comfortable, like, among his own kind, though if I could speak their