The Silver Mage

by Katharine Kerr

  “I need to hunt,” Rori told Kov. “Do you have food?”

  “A few bits of stale bread,” Kov said. “I might be able to catch a fish or two from this stream.”

  “If I find a deer, there’ll be plenty of meat for both of us. See if you can find some firewood. I doubt me if you’ll want to eat it raw.”

  Kov mugged sheer disgust and agreed.

  With summer blooming on the hills, deer proved easy to find. Toward evening Rori spotted a herd, come out to graze on a grassy hillside. Hovering at the edge was a young stag. The herd’s prime stag would lower his antlers and run a few steps toward the intruder, who would back off, only to sneak back when the elder returned to his meal. Rori waited until the young stag had retreated some distance from the herd, then plunged down and struck. One quick nip at the back of the neck, and the rival stag hung limp and dead in his claws. The herd scattered, bounding off in all directions. He ignored them and carried his prey back to Kov and their improvised camp.

  Kov had managed to scrape together enough wood to cook a few gobbets of venison on a pointed green stick. While they ate, he repeated the things he’d experienced since his kidnapping all over again, but in proper order this time.

  “You’re telling me, then,” Rori said, “that these otter folk have dweomer.”

  “Of a sort. Very much of a sort.”

  “All this cursed dweomer!” Rori paused for a long snarl that made Kov rise to a kneel, ready to run. “My apologies!” Rori said. “It just aches my heart, all these strange things I can’t understand.”

  “Mine, too.” Kov sat back down again. “The world was so much simpler when I thought dweomer only a folktale.”

  On the morrow, Rori’s heart found more to ache over when they came in sight of Haen Marn. Years before, when in human form he’d seen the island, it had appeared to him as an ordinary-looking hillock of dirt and rock rising out of a lake of ordinary-looking water. With his dragon’s sight, he now saw the truth.

  A huge vortex of astral force shimmered before him, a twisted, convoluted mass of glimmering silver-and-gold threads. At moments, the island appeared as he remembered it, but the image swiftly dissolved into the play of astral forces brought down and twined upon the physical plane. The entire construct glittered with strange blue lights and flashes of a pale purple unlike any natural color he’d ever seen, whether as a man or a dragon. Every now and then he heard sounds, too, a snatch of music once, a high-pitched whistling at other times. He understood only a little, not how it had been constructed but that it had been constructed, not why it was dangerous, but that it was extremely dangerous to such as him, a less than natural form.

  Rori swung wide around the vortex and saw on the lakeshore a clump of shimmering gray lines forming the boulder with the silver horn. He called out to Kov to hold on tightly, then swooped down and landed near it. The dwarven envoy slid down from his back.

  “There’s a silver horn on that rock,” Kov said.

  “It’ll summon a boat that will take you to the island,” Rori said. “I think I’ll just stay here rather than fly over. Could you do me a favor?”

  “But of course!”

  “Tell the lady of the isle, Angmar her name is, that I’m here. She may want to come over and speak with me.”

  The inhabitants of the island, however, had already seen them. Before Kov could even blow the summoning horn, the dragon boat set out from the pier to the sound of its brass gong, booming over the silent lake to frighten the water beasts away. Rori could discern Lon, still in charge of the rowers after all these years. His etheric-tinged sight told him something else, too, that only one of the rowers existed as a solid, real person. The others, like the island, had been woven and crimped together out of the flickering lines of silver and gold energies.

  As the boat came nearer, he could discern two women standing in the bow. One he recognized as Avain, grown tall and hugely stout, her hair puffed out from her beefy face like a dragon’s frill. The other was Angmar, slender and frail, her hair half-silver now, but Angmar nonetheless. The way his heart seemed to turn over in his chest told him what his decision was bound to be.

  “I wish she’d not see me like this,” Rori said.

  “Why not?” Kov said. “She’s known the truth for some months now, or so Mic told me. She lives in the midst of marvels, Rori. I think me she’ll understand.”

  “Perhaps so. But I feel shamed nonetheless.”

  The boat came as close to shore as it dared. Avain jumped down into the rocky shallows and caught her mother as easily as a woman might catch a little child. As they splashed ashore, Lon called out orders. The dragon boat backed water, holding its place. Avain set her mother down on the shore, then rushed over to Rori. Her green, strangely lashless eyes were huge with excitement.

  “A dragon,” she said. “You be a dragon!”

  “I am at that,” Rori said.

  She clapped her hands and did a little jigging dance in front of him. He could see a bare faint shadow or mist in the sunlight, a dragon form hovering around her, but he had no idea what might have produced or caused it. Kov had arranged a polite if frozen smile as he watched Avain.

  Angmar walked up slowly and laid a hand on her daughter’s hip.

  “Avain?” Angmar said. “You go back now. You did promise Mama.”

  “Avain go back. Avain be a good girl. Avain did see the dragon.”

  Angmar turned to Kov, who bowed to her.

  “Will you take the hospitality of the island?” Angmar said softly. “I be eager to speak to my lord alone.”

  “Gladly, my lady,” Kov said. “I’d rather not intrude.”

  Kov waded out and threw his bundle up to Lon, then boarded, clambering over the side. Avain took a step away from her mother, looked back, still grinning in delight, then hurried to the shore and splashed back out to the dragon boat. She climbed aboard with Lon and Kov’s help. At a few crisp orders from Lon, the boat turned and glided away, leaving Rori and Angmar alone, facing each other.

  With a sigh, Rori settled onto his stomach, tucked his front legs into his chest, and lowered his head so they could see each other at her level. Gray mottled her pale hair, yet he could see her familiar strength when she smiled at him. Her beauty had always lain in her strength, her ability to endure and still smile.

  “Well, your eyes, they be the same,” Angmar said. “Larger, but human enough.”

  “They are, truly. My love, forgive me.”

  “Be this your own doing?”

  “It wasn’t, but I did naught to turn it aside.”

  She laid one hand on his jaw and stroked it. Her touch felt cool, comfortable in such a familiar way that he remembered her stroking his human face with the same gesture. Without hands, he could do nothing to caress her in return. A touch from his massive paw would likely have knocked her to the ground.

  “I did return before,” he said. “Once I’d captured the dragon I was sent to find, I returned, but the island was gone.”

  “Enj did tell me so. Rori, I do blame you for naught.”

  His eyes filled with tears. He shook his head to scatter them. “My thanks,” he managed to say. “A thousand thanks.”

  “Enj did tell me that the elven folk be trying to take the dweomer off you.”

  “They are, and truly, I think me they can succeed. It’s not without its dangers, but if they do, then I’ll return to Haen Marn for good this autumn, at the waning of the war.”

  Her smile broke through the mist of age. At that moment he could only think of her as young and beautiful, as lovely in her way as his daughter was in hers.

  “I’ll be an old man, no doubt,” he said.

  “And am I not an old woman? If we do get a few years of peace together, then I shall be content.”

  “So shall I.” He repeated the words, marveling at them. “So shall I.”

  At the pier, the dragon boat deposited Kov and Avain, then pulled away, ready to go fetch its mistress at her signal. Ko
v slung his bundle over his shoulder and followed the young giantess—as he thought of Avain—up the path toward the manse. She was chanting a little song in Dwarvish, “Avain saw the dragon, Avain saw the dragon,” so happily that he had to smile. His native language sounded so sweet that he suddenly realized how much he’d missed it, whether speaking Deverrian or trying to make sense of the Dwrgwn’s chattering tongue. I’ve been an exile, he thought, but I’m nearly home.

  Framed by the open door, a young woman, her raven-dark hair pinned up on her head, her slender frame draped in a blue-and-gray plaid, stood on the steps of the manse. For a brief moment Kov thought she was Berwynna, but when she walked down the path toward them, the difference in her carriage and manner showed him his mistake. Unlike Wynni’s confident stride, her walk was graceful, her smile shy instead of boyish. Her twin, he thought, Mara.

  “There’s a good girl,” Mara called out, also in Dwarvish. “Avain, will you come into the manse?”

  “Avain go to her tower,” Avain said. “Avain saw the dragon, Mara.”

  “I know, and I’m so glad you did. Can you find your tower door?”

  “Avain knows her tower, Mara.”

  She skipped off, a lumbering gait that reminded Kov of a dragon waddling on the ground, and disappeared around the corner of the manse. Mara smiled with a brief shake of her head.

  “I’ll go up in a bit,” she remarked, “to make sure she’s safe and well. I gather, good sir, that you’re a friend of my father’s.”

  “I am that, my lady.”

  Kov bowed to her, and she curtsied in return with a shy bob of her head.

  “My name is Kov,” he said. “In Lin Serr, I serve as one of their envoys.”

  “Then it gladdens my heart to meet you.” She paused, looking across the lake. “I’d hoped to meet him as well.”

  “I don’t know why he stayed on the shore, but I think he feels too shamed to land here.”

  “That’s so sad!” Her voice carried genuine grief. “No one here holds aught to his shame.”

  “Mayhap your mother will be able to tell him so. I don’t mean to intrude upon you. I’ll camp across the water with the dragon, but I fear me I have to beg you for some food. Your father rescued me from captivity, you see, and I came away with naught but these clothes.”

  “No need to beg,” she said. “Come in and take the hospitality of our hall. Haen Marn welcomes everyone who finds it. A man from Lin Serr is always particularly welcome.”

  “My humble thanks.”

  Kov followed Mara into the manse and sat down with her at the long table. An aged servant bustled in, carrying plates. As well as bread, she brought fish, pot-roasted with wild mushrooms in the coals of the big hearth. The scent made Kov swallow hard to keep from drooling.

  “My thanks,” he said to the servant woman. “You’re very kind.”

  “Humph! You stink of wyrm, young man!”

  Before he could answer, she took herself off again. Mara hid a soft laugh behind one hand.

  “My apologies,” Kov said. “I cut a very poor figure at the moment.”

  “It’s of no matter,” Mara said. “Do eat before your meal grows cold.”

  After so many days of near-starving, Kov made himself eat slowly and sparingly. He had no desire to become sick in front of this beautiful woman. She asked him polite questions, mostly centering on how he knew her father, and why her father had brought him to the isle. As he talked, she listened, resting her delicate chin on one graceful hand, with deep attention.

  “Truly, Kov,” she said when he’d finished. “You’ve suffered so much! War with the Horsekin last summer, then taken by the Dwrgwn this! What splendid tales you have to tell, though I’ll wager that you’d just as soon have led a less interesting life.”

  “My thanks, my lady,” Kov said. “And you’re quite right about my longing for a little less excitement.”

  Distantly Kov heard the sound of the gong, approaching across the lake. He rose from his seat with a half-bow.

  “It’s doubtless time for me to leave you,” he said, “but a thousand thanks for your hospitality.”

  Mara walked with him down to the pier. When Kov shaded his eyes with one hand, he could see the glimmering white shape of the dragon, waiting across the lake. They arrived just as the boat was pulling up. With a shout, Lon tossed a hawser over one of the bollards. The rowers feathered oars and drew the ship up snug into her berth. With Lon’s help, Angmar climbed up onto the pier.

  “Envoy Kov,” she said, “you’re welcome to stay here rather than fly off with the dragon. He tells me that he needs must take urgent news back to the prince of the Westfolk, and he doubts that you want to go to their camp.”

  “I don’t, truly, but I’d not intrude—”

  “It would be no intrusion. A man from Lin Serr’s always welcome on the isle. Enj is off hunting on the shore, but he should return in a day or two, so you’d not lack for company.”

  “Then my thanks, my lady.” Kov bowed to her. “I’ll stay gladly.”

  Angmar turned back to the boat and called up the news to Lon. He smiled then began to strike the gong hard in a regular rhythm. The sound rippled across the lake. On the farther shore, the silver wyrm stood and seemed to bow. As Kov watched, Rori took flight. His wing beats drummed as Lon let the gong quiver into silence. The sound faded as he turned in a graceful arc and flew off to the west. Angmar watched him go in utter silence. At last, when not even Kov’s dwarven eyes could find the silver point in the sky, she sighed, but only once.

  “I’d best go tend Avain in her tower,” Angmar said. “Mara, if you’ll tend to our guest?”

  “I will, Mam,” Mara said. “Lonna’s already fed him.”

  “Good, good.” At that, Angmar smiled, though briefly. “I’ll fetch Avain her dinner.”

  Kov bowed again, and she walked off, heading inside the manse. He turned to Mara. “Your servant’s right. I must stink of wyrm.”

  “Well, that most certainly is true!” Mara smiled wryly. “You may heat yourself a bath at our fire. We have only the one servant—Lonna, that is—and she really can’t haul water anymore.”

  “I can bathe in the lake. I can swim, you see.”

  “Truly?” She looked at him as if he were a great marvel. “Well, around the back of the manse there’s a little bench that marks a shallow cove. You can bathe safely there. The beasts don’t come right up to the shore.”

  “My thanks, I’ll do that. But when I’m done, I’ll heat myself some water to shave, if you have a razor here I could borrow?”

  “I do, one that my father left behind, all those years ago.”

  Besides the razor, Mara found him a clean shirt that had once belonged to Otho. Bathed, with his neck shaved and his beard neatly trimmed, in general, respectable again, Kov joined Mara at the table in the great hall.

  “You cut a much better figure now,” she pronounced.

  “My thanks,” Kov said. “A lovely woman like you deserves no less and a great deal more.”

  Smiling, she reached out with one hand, as if she were about to take his, then hurriedly drew it back with a blush. All of Kov’s weariness vanished at the gesture. There’s hope, he thought. Oh, by Gonn himself, maybe I can gain her favor! He felt like bursting into song.

  “I’m somehow sure that Haen Marn has somewhat to do with this,” Branna said. “In my meditations, I keep seeing a golden bird, a piece of jewelry, I mean, not a live bird. It’s flat with outstretched wings, a brooch, I think it is.”

  “And this does make you think of Haen Marn?” Grallezar said.

  “It does, but I can’t understand why.”

  Grallezar considered, sucking a thoughtful fang. They were sitting in the dweomermaster’s tent, early on a wet afternoon, with the rain drumming on the leather roof above them. Now and then a drop made its way through the smoke hole in the roof and splashed on the cooking stones set on the floor.

  “I feel like there’s knowledge trying to reac
h me,” Branna said, “a flood of it, like the rain outside, but all I get is the occasional drop or trickle.”

  “Meditating does seem that way often. Your dreams—see you the golden bird in them?”

  “Only once. In the dream I knelt by a stream and dropped the bird into it. In the Dawntime, my people gave gifts to the gods by putting things in streams and rivers. That’s what my father’s bard told us, anyway, when he was telling an ancient story.”

  “No doubt a bard would know such things,” Grallezar said. “But I think me there be more to it. This bird, it like to be your key to this lock. When next you sit to meditate, make you a picture in your mind of the bird. Hold it there and think the name of Haen Marn. Maybe somewhat else will rise around the image.”

  “I’ll do that. I’ll have time alone when Neb goes to tend the wounded.”

  “How be the man called Hound?”

  “His wound is healing clean.” Branna smiled in deep pride. “Neb was right about things living on wounds. Kill them, and the wound heals.”

  “Splendid! Now let us hope that he does find the truth of illnesses, too, and some way to kill those tiny enemies, if truly that be the cause of illness.”

  “He will. I have every faith in him. I know he will.”

  That evening the rain stopped. When Branna stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, she saw stars shining through long drifts of ragged clouds. As the wind blew, the stars would disappear under the scudding gray darkness, only to reemerge and shine as before when the clouds moved on. That’s what the knowledge is like, too, she thought. Bits of the old days shine through.

  As she was falling asleep that night, Branna tried to keep the golden bird in her thoughts, in hopes that she’d dream about it again. When she woke in the morning, however, she could remember little of her dreams except a confused image of weeping women, dressed in rags. That image was so strong that it stayed with her all morning. The more she meditated upon it, the more she felt the desire to help them. In her meditation, the golden bird seemed to speak and accuse her of somehow deserting them. It all seemed so important that Branna decided she’d best ask for help with untangling the images. She darted through rain to Grallezar’s tent, only to find Dallandra there as well. The two masters, however, told her to come in.