The Black Raven

  At the thought he felt his consciousness rise and drift free of his body. Although the light turned bluish and dim, he could see his body slump and fall forward, spilling plates and cups alike. He could also see that he now occupied a strange silver flamelike shape, joined to that body by a mist of silver cord. Marka clasped her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream; Kwinto leapt to his feet. Evandar got up more slowly.

  “Follow the cord,” he said. “Follow the cord back.”

  With a rush of dizzy fall Salamander felt himself descend and slam back into the flesh so hard he groaned aloud. He lay on his back amid spilled food and stared at the peak of the tent’s roof, which seemed to be slowly turning.

  “This is terrible,” Evandar was saying. “What’s happened to him?”

  “He’s gone mad,” Marka said. “It’s been coming on for a long time, but now—it’s—it’s taken him over.”

  Salamander watched the roof spin and tried to think. He could hear Marka and Evandar talking, but their words made no sense. Was he mad, then? Were the marvels he’d been seeing signs of madness and naught more?

  “It’s the curse,” he whispered. “When Jill left us she cursed me. That much I can remember.”

  Evandar dropped to one knee next to him and caught his hand.

  “Try to remember. Why would Jill—”

  “I don’t know. Something about dweomer.”

  The tent spun to match the roof and dropped him into darkness.

  With Kwinto’s help Marka got Ebañy settled, then left the boy there to watch his father and followed Evandar out of the tent. Sun and air had never seemed so wholesome, nor a breeze so clean. Together they walked to the edge of the caravanserai and stood in the shade of the rustling trees. Far below them on its rocks the ocean boomed and hissed.

  “Good sir,” Marka said. “You seem to know a lot about all these strange things. Is Jill really working a curse against my husband?”

  “Hardly.” Evandar paused for a short bark of a laugh. “She’s dead.”

  Marka felt hot blood rush into her face. She could think of no apology that would matter.

  “I’m very sorry to see your husband in this state,” Evandar said after a moment. “I’ll have to do something about this.”

  “Can you help him? Oh, if you only could, I’d—well, I don’t know how we’d repay you, but we do have coin.”

  “Hush! No payment needed. I made his father a promise, and I intend to keep it. I can’t cure your husband, no. But I might know someone who can.”

  Marka wept in sheer relief.

  “But it’s not going to be such an easy thing,” Evandar went on. “This person is far away in your husband’s homeland. The kingdom of Deverry. Do you know about it?”

  “Well, a little. It’s supposed to be a horrible place where everyone’s a barbarian, and all the men carry swords and get drunk and chop each other to pieces.”

  “A slight exaggeration.” Evandar grinned at her. “Be that as it may, Deverry’s also a wretchedly long way away, across a mighty ocean and all that, and I’m not truly sure of how we’ll get there, or if she—the person I’m thinking of—can truly heal him once we do.”

  Hope sank and left her exhausted. She rubbed her face with both hands and tried to think.

  “My apologies,” Evandar said. “I wish I could offer you a certainty. Although, don’t lose heart! If the person I’m thinking of can’t help, there may be others.”

  “If anyone could do something—I’m just so frightened.”

  “No doubt. Well, I’ll be off then to see what I can find.”

  Evandar bowed to her, then turned and began to walk toward the cliff’s edge. He stopped and glanced back.

  “Take care of my horse, will you?” he called out. “I won’t be needing him.”

  He walked two paces more, then set one foot on the air as if it were as solid as a step, hauled himself up, and disappeared.

  PART ONE

  WINTER 1117

  Deverry

  Kings in their arrogance say, “We were born to rule any land we can conquer.” I say to you, “The universe holds lands beyond our imagining and peoples beyond our conquering.” Be ye always mindful that your sight is short and the universe, long.

  —The Secret Book of Cadwallon the Druid

  In Dun Cengarn, up in the far Northlands of Deverry, snow lay thick on field and thatch. The lazy sun stayed above the horizon a little longer each day, but still it seemed that the servants had barely cleared away the midday meal before the darkness closed in again. On these frozen days the life of the dun moved into the great hall. Servants, the noble-born, the men of the warband, the dogs—they all clustered at one or the other of the two enormous hearths. On the coldest days, when the wind howled around the towers of the dun and banged at the doors and gates, everyone stayed in bed as long as possible and crawled back into their blankets again as soon as they could.

  At night, up in her tower room, Dallandra and Rhodry huddled together under all the blankets they owned between them. They slept in their clothes for the warmth, then stayed late abed as well.

  “You’re much nicer than a pair of dogs,” she remarked one morning. “Warmer, too.”

  “I’m glad I please my lady,” Rhodry said, yawning. “I was thinking much the same about you, actually. And no fleas.”

  She laughed and kissed him, then rested her head on his chest with the blanket drawn up around her ears.

  “Is it snowing out?” Rhodry said. “With the leather over the shutters, I can’t tell.”

  “How would I know? Dweomer doesn’t let you see through stone walls.”

  “That’s a cursed pity. I don’t care enough to get up and see. I—” He paused, listening. “Someone’s at the door.”

  Dalla poked her head out of the blankets. Sure enough, she could hear someone shuffling on the landing outside, with the occasional deep sigh, as if whoever it was feared to knock.

  “Who’s there?” she called out.

  “Jahdo, my lady.” The boy’s voice sounded of tears. “I were wondering if you or my lord should be needing somewhat.”

  “Come in, lad. I think me you’re the one who needs a bit of company.”

  Bundled up in a cloak, Jahdo opened the door and slipped in, ducking his head and rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand.

  “Sit down at the end of the bed,” Dallandra said. “There’s enough room to get most of you under the blankets.”

  Jahdo did as he was told, sitting crosswise with the cloak around his back and the blankets over his legs. Dalla could see the streaks of tears down his dirty face.

  “What’s so wrong?” she said.

  “I be bereft, my lady, a-missing my mam and da and my sister and my brother and all our weasels.” Jahdo paused for a moist gulp. “There be a longing on my heart for home.”

  “Well, I understand. I miss my homeland, too, and Evandar,” Dallandra said. “My heart aches for you, but soon with the spring, we’ll be riding west.”

  “So I do hope.”

  “Oh come now, lad,” Rhodry said. “I made you a promise, didn’t I?”

  “You did, but so did Jill, and then she—” His voice cracked. “And then she died.”

  “True spoken, but I’m too daft and mean and ugly to die.” Rhodry sat up, grinning. “At least when there’s no war to ride, and truly, my lady Death seems to be spurning my suit even then. When Arzosah flies back to Cerr Cawnen, we’ll be on our way. She knows the weather and the seasons better than any sage or bard.”

  Jahdo nodded, considering this. Privately Dallandra wondered if they’d ever see the dragon again. Wyrmkind was not known for its faithfulness.

  “It won’t be so long till spring,” she said to the boy. “We’re well past the shortest day.”

  “I know, my lady. And truly do I think I could wait with good heart but for my worrying about my kin. My mam, she be frail in the winter, and then my sister, she were to be married, and here I don’t even kn
ow which man they picked for her.” Jahdo paused and took a deep breath. “Uh, my lady, I did wonder somewhat, you see.”

  “Could I scry your family out, you mean?”

  “Just that.” He was looking at her with begging eyes.

  “Jahdo, I’m so sorry, but I can’t. I can only scry someone out if I’ve seen them in the flesh first.”

  “Oh.” He gulped back tears. “Why?”

  “It’s just the way dweomer works. I don’t truly know why. I’m sorry. It’s a hard thing to be missing your kin and have no way to get news of them.”

  “That be true, sure enough. At least Evandar comes and goes, and you do see him now and again.” Jahdo paused to wipe his eyes with the back of a grubby hand. “I did wake so cold this morning, and I did think on how warm it be at home.”

  “Oh come now!” Dallandra said with a laugh. “Cerr Cawnen’s a good bit farther north than we are. It must be even colder.”

  “Ah, you know not about the lake. Our lake, it be warm, my lady, even in winter. My da did tell me once that way down in the deeps of the lake lie springs, where water bubbles up from the fire mountain, and it be as hot as you’d heat for a bath, hotter even.”

  “Fire mountain?” Rhodry said. “Does your town lie near a fire mountain?”

  “Too near, some say. I mean, we sit not in its shadow, but it be close enough. One of our gods does live in it, you see. As long as we do honor him and bring him gifts, he’ll not harm us.”

  Dallandra had grave doubts, but she saw no use in worrying the lad when there was naught to be done about it.

  “So,” she said instead. “Your town stands on the shores of this warm lake?”

  “On them and in them, my lady. You’ll see, or so I do hope. But truly, I might not shiver so badly now if my kin were here with me. Rori, and what of your kin? Never have I heard you speak of them, not once.”

  “Probably you never will,” Rhodry said. “I’ve no idea if they ride above the earth or under it, and I care even less.”

  Jahdo stared openmouthed.

  “A silver dagger can’t afford a warm heart,” Rhodry went on. “Think on Yraen, as much a friend as I’ve ever had, and ye gods, I don’t even know where he lies buried, do I? You learn, lad, after a while and all, to keep your heart shut as tight as a miser’s moneybox.”

  “Mayhap so,” Jahdo said. “But never could I be a silver dagger.”

  “Good,” Rhodry said, smiling. “You’re a lucky man, then. Although, truly, there’s one kinsman I do wonder over, just at times, and that’s my brother Salamander, as his name goes in this country.” He glanced at Dallandra. “Did you ever meet him? In our father’s country he’s called Ebañy Salomanderiel tran Devaberiel.”

  “I’ve not,” Dallandra said. “Although Jill told me a lot about him. He seemed to irritate her beyond belief.”

  “He takes some people that way. What’s so wrong, Jahdo? You look like you’ve just heard one of Evandar’s riddles.”

  “That be the longest name that ever I’ve heard in my life,” Jahdo said. “How do you remember such?”

  “Practice.” Rhodry suddenly laughed. “Let’s get up, shall we? I’m hungry enough to eat a wolf, pelt and all.”

  “So am I,” Dallandra said. “And speaking of Evandar, I dreamt about him last night, and I have an errand to run.”

  Since the presence of iron caused him agony, and the dun held an enormous amount of the stuff, Evandar had taken to finding Dallandra in the Gatelands of Sleep. They would then arrange a meeting somewhere free of the demon metal, as he called it. In the brief afternoon, when the air felt not warm but certainly less cold, Dalla wrapped herself in a heavy cloak and trudged through Cengarn to the market hill. At its crest the open commons lay thick with snow, crusted black with soot and ash from household fires. A group of children ran and played, their young voices sharp as the wind as they dug under the crust to find clean snow. Dallandra suppressed the urge to make a few snowballs herself and slogged across to a small copse of trees, where in the streaky shade of bare branches Evandar waited, wrapped in his blue cloak.

  “There you are, my love,” he said.

  “I am indeed,” Dallandra said. “Now what’s this urgent matter?”

  “Rhodry’s brother. Ebañy, as his name goes in Bardek.”

  “How very odd! We were just speaking of him, Rhodry and I.”

  “Not odd at all. You were feeling his approach, my love, through the mists of the future.”

  “His approach?”

  “That’s what I’ve come to ask you about. You see, he’s gone quite mad, and I don’t have the slightest idea of what to do about it.”

  “Ah. And I suppose you think I do.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Dalla considered for a long moment.

  “Perhaps,” she said at last. “I’m remembering some of the things Jill told me about him. He had a great talent for dweomer, or so she said. He studied it for many years, but then he just walked away from it.”

  “Will that drive someone mad?”

  “Indeed it will. You can’t just stop your studies once you’ve reached a certain point.”

  “Imph.” Evandar rubbed his chin with one hand. “This world of yours, my love. Everything here seems so—so wretchedly irrevocable.”

  “Not exactly.” Dallandra paused for a laugh. “He could have left the dweomer, certainly, if he’d wished. But he needed to go back to his teacher and have her help him. How to explain this—let me think—well, I can’t, really, but there are rituals that seal things off properly, that stop certain processes which studying dweomer starts in motion.”

  Evandar blinked rapidly several times.

  “Oh well,” Dallandra went on. “It doesn’t particularly matter. I suppose you want me to try to cure Ebañy for you.”

  “Not so much for me, but for his own self and his father. You see, I promised Devaberiel that I’d bring his son home. And so I went looking for him in Bardek, and I found him quite deranged. His wife’s frantic about it.”

  “He has a wife, then.”

  “And children. A lot of children, actually. I didn’t get a chance to count them.”

  “Well, you can’t just snatch him away from his family.”

  “Here’s a great marvel. I realized that all on my own.” Evandar smiled and leaned over to kiss her. “So I thought I’d bring them all over.”

  “Over where?” Dallandra grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to arm’s length. “And when? There’s not enough food in the dun for everyone who’s already in it. You’ll have to wait until the first harvest—early summer, that will be.”

  “Well, then, you see? It’s a grand thing that I thought to consult with you first. Especially since there’s also the little matter of his travelling show.”

  “Travelling show?”

  “His eldest son juggles. His eldest daughter and her brother walk the slack wire.” Evandar held up one hand and began counting things off on his fingers. “Then he’s got friends who are jugglers and acrobats. Rather a lot of those, actually. Some lasses rescued from slavery who dance with scarves. Servants. Horse handlers, and of course, the horses and wagons. And then—”

  “That’s quite enough.”

  “And then,” Evandar went inexorably on, “the elephant.”

  Dallandra goggled at him.

  “An elephant, my love,” Evandar said, grinning, “is an enormous beast. Not quite so big as a dragon, but large enough. It has a thick grey hide, a pair of huge ears, and then a long nose that acts like a hand. It picks things up.”

  “I don’t care about its nose. You can’t bring it here.”

  “I did come to that conclusion.” He went on grinning. “So where, my love, shall I bring it and all the rest of them?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. Let me think on it.” Dallandra paused for a sigh that came out more like a growl. “I’m beginning to understand why the very mention of Salamander made Jill furious.”

&
nbsp; “Indeed? Here, Salamander claims that Jill cursed him when they parted, but frankly, I can’t believe it of her.”

  “No more can I. How very very odd! I’ll ask Rhodry what he thinks.”

  “Do that, if you’d be so kind.” Evandar frowned down at the filthy snow. “And now I’d best be off again. I’ve a great many concerns these days, and they seem to have got themselves all tangled in my mind.”

  From Cengarn Evandar took to the mothers of all roads. It seemed to him that he walked on the north wind like a long grey path in the sky. When he travelled between worlds, he heard now and again scattered words and snatches of conversations, and at other times he saw visions in brief glimpses, as if he looked through windows into the future, a vast shadowed room. Today, however, the omens shunned him. The silence irked; he found himself pausing to listen, but all he ever heard was the whistle and churn of the air, and all he saw were clouds.

  When he left the north wind’s road, he found himself at the edge of the forest that marked the border of his own true country. Instead of crossing it, he turned to his right and found a path that led into a scatter of boulders. As he strode along, the air grew colder; suddenly the sky turned grey, and snow fell in a scatter of flakes. It seemed that he was walking downhill; below him in the sunset light Loc Vaed gleamed, a green jewel set in snow. Evandar took another step and found himself standing on Citadel’s peak among the wind-twisted trees, the highest point of Cerr Cawnen, a city of circles. In the middle stood the rocky peak of Citadel island. Around it stretched the blue-green lake, fed by hot springs and thus free of ice even in the dead of winter. At the edge of the lake on crannogs and shore stood the tangled houses of the city proper, while around them ran a huge circle of stone walls, where the town militia guarded shut gates. Just the summer before, Cerr Cawnen had received a warning that the savage Horsekin tribes of the far north were on the move, and such warnings were best attended to.

  In fact, even though the town drowsed in blessed ignorance, a human being lived among them who spied for the Horsekin. Some twenty feet below Evandar’s perch, on the east side of Citadel’s peak, a tunnel mouth gaped among tumbled chunks of stone and broken masonry. It led to an ancient temple, cracked and half-buried by an earthquake a long while previous. Evandar started to go down, but he saw the spy-Raena, her name was—climbing up the path from the town below. He stepped back into the trees to avoid her. Even though she was young and pretty in a fleshy sort of way, she walked bent over like an old woman as she struggled up the slope in her long cloak. When at the tunnel mouth she paused to pull her dark hair back from her face, Evandar could see the livid marks like bruises under her eyes and the pallor of her skin. Quite possibly Shaetano was using her as wood to fuel his fires even as she thought she was using him to serve her Horsekin masters.