The Shadow Isle. Katharine Kerr
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Anyway, the People drove him out again. The ruin would be an interesting reminder in itself.’
‘Splendid! We’ll do that. I’ll just go tell the mayor.’
Some hours before sunset, the townsfolk and the alar, minus a few herdsmen who’d volunteered to watch over the herds and flocks, gathered at the ruined dun. Over the past few years, the People in Mandra had pulled down much of the outer wall to use the stone for their town, but the tower still stood inside the fragment of arc left. Brambles, ivy, weeds grew thick inside what had once been the ward. The wooden doors and outbuildings had long since rotted away, as had the floors inside the broch tower itself, or so Calonderiel told her.
‘We had a couple of stiff fights at this dun,’ the banadar said. ‘The first one was when we cleaned out the rats that had infested it.’
‘I take it you mean the Deverry lord and his men,’ Val said.
‘Just that.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘And then – not long ago, really, maybe ninety summers ago or suchlike – another Deverry lord had the gall to try to kill Aderyn here. That was because of –’ He stopped in mid-sentence.
‘Loddlaen. I know. I heard the tale from Aderyn.’
‘Um, well, my apologies anyway. Here, I’d better go help the mayor.’
Wrapped in embarrassment like a cloak, Calonderiel hurried off. Valandario watched him go and thought about Aderyn, dead for so many years now. He’d had the courage to kill his own son, something that made her shake her head in wonder. And now that son was about to be reborn – no! she told herself. Not Loddlaen. Someone new, and a girl child at that!
A few big blocks of stone stood at one edge of the remains of wall. Devaberiel climbed onto the highest of them. When he raised his arms into the air, the murmuring crown quieted. Mothers collared children and made them sit down in a little chorus of ‘hush, now, hush’. Devaberiel called out with the ancient words of the ritual.
‘We are here to remember.’
‘To remember,’ the crowd chanted, ‘to remember the West.’
‘We are here to remember the cities,’ Devaberiel continued, ‘Rinbaladelan of the Fair Towers, Tanbalapalim of the Wide River, Bravelmelim of the Rainbow Bridges, yea! all of the cities, and the towns, and the marvels of the Far West.’ He paused, smiling at the assembly in front of him. ‘But while we mourn what we have lost, let us remember new marvels. Mandra rises amid fertile fields. Ranadar’s heir lives and walks among us.’
The listeners cheered, a sound like the roar of a high sea breaking on the gravelled beach. Some clapped, some stood, all called out. When Devaberiel raised his arms again, the crowd quieted, but slowly.
‘The cities of the Far West lie in ruins,’ the bard went on, ‘but Mandra grows and prospers. I see what comes to us on the wings of destiny. Some day the West will be ours again.’
More cheers, more clapping, and despite all her careful self-control, despite her dweomer and her power, Valandario realized that she hovered on the edge of tears.
Since Devaberiel was the only bard in attendance, the ceremony that day was a short one. He retold the ancient tale of the Hordes, riding out of the north to destroy the elven civilization of the mountains, but he’d shortened the story, Val noticed. All of the adults among the listeners sat politely, attentively, making the ancient responses when the ritual demanded, yet it seemed to her that few truly mourned. The children fussed and fidgeted, un-entranced by the telling.
Once Devaberiel had finished, however, and the music and the feasting got underway, everyone grew lively again. Valandario walked through the celebration, nodding and smiling, since it was impossible to hear what anyone said or for them to have heard her answer had she given one. At last she found Daralanteriel, standing in the midst of admirers. When he waved her over, the townsfolk all stepped back to allow the Wise One access to the Prince.
‘It went very well, I thought,’ Val said.
‘So did I,’ Dar said. ‘Dev is a marvel in his own way.’
‘Just so. Is Dalla still here?’
‘No, Cal insisted on taking her back to the tents to rest. You look like you’re ready to leave, too.’
‘I am. I need to pack if we’re leaving on the morrow.’
‘And we are – early.’ Dar sighed and looked away, perhaps considering that last summer of freedom. ‘It’s time we got on the road.’
Rather than risk them on the road, Valandario left the books in the care of Lara and Jin. The only exception was the book that had belonged to Laz, which Sidro wanted back. She packed up her personal possessions, putting them and the scrying cloths and gems into tent bags and leather sacks. Some of the alar’s young men were waiting to carry them over to the camp for her. They all trooped upstairs to collect them, while Lara and Val stood to one side to watch.
‘Wise One, will you come back to us in the fall?’ Lara said.
‘If it’s not an imposition –’
‘What?’ Lara gave her a brilliant smile. ‘Not in the least! It’s an honour we’ve revelled in having.’
‘In that case, I’ll come back, yes. And you have my thanks for your hospitality.’
Valandario followed her belongings out of town in an odd sort of procession. As they walked through the streets, every person they passed ran up to bid her farewell and to urge her to return. ‘I’ll come back,’ she told them all, ‘and this time, I’ll stay.’ If naught else, she told herself, I won’t have to watch Loddlaen grow up if I’m here.
Next to the north-running road, the alar was striking tents and loading them onto travois and pack horses. Children ran back and forth; dogs barked; adults yelled at each other and bickered. Out in the wild grass the men were rounding up the horses, and the sheepdogs were forming up the bleating flocks. It was all so familiar that Val had a moment of thinking she might miss it; then she reminded herself of the smoky dung fires, the black flies, and down near the coast, the mosquitoes.
As she made her way through the crowd, Valandario came across Neb, kneeling beside a travois and tying down some sacks of gear. He worked slowly, methodically, with an odd set to his shoulders, as if perhaps his neck or arms pained him. His yellow gnome stood nearby, hands on its hips, and watched with a frown. Val stopped beside him.
‘Neb,’ she said in Deverrian, ‘are you all right?’
He looked up at her, but for a moment he didn’t recognize her – she could see the lack in his ice-blue eyes, cold, narrowing, suddenly affronted. The yellow gnome reached over and pinched him. Neb laughed and shook his head in self-mockery.
‘My apologies, Wise One,’ Neb said, ‘I was thinking somewhat through.’
‘Well and good, then, but you know, you need to close down your dweomer practices when it’s time to do mundane things.’
‘I do know that!’ he snapped at her, then once again covered it with a smile. ‘But you speak true, of course. Actually, I was only thinking about herblore, what plants will help wounds heal cleanly and the like.’
‘Oh, well, then, that shouldn’t harm you. But do try to strike a balance, Neb, between this world and the ones beyond.’
‘I’ll try harder to do just that.’ But his tone of voice implied that he had no intention of following her advice.
As Valandario walked on, she was thinking that she was glad he was Dallandra’s apprentice, not hers.
Branna had already noticed the problem that Valandario had seen in Neb’s eyes. Even as the alar travelled north, the two apprentices kept up the practices their teachers had set them. Every morning and evening, they found time for their work while the camp packed up from the night’s stop or set back up again in the sunset light. When it rained, the