[Lanen Kaelar 03] - Redeeming the Lost (55 page)

I was not prepared, however, for the sheer joy
of flight. I had flown a few times near Castle Gundar, mostly short hops, and
the great Celebration of the Three Branches—but that was a dance, not flight
for the sake of it. This—this was freedom, this was life and all, and it filled
me with unalloyed delight. I did not dare to bespeak Lanen, lest she feel my
joy and gain a terrible understanding of what I had missed.

I felt she had enough terrible understanding
to be getting on with.

In the meanwhile, I took intense pleasure from
the feel of the wind bearing me up, the strengthening sun of spring on my face,
the sheer power of these immense wings, and a new land below me full of promise
and the unknown. I sang my joy to the Winds, and heard Lanen’s mindvoice
echoing the song.

We had spoken together several times in the
kindly darkness of evening, up on Sblkrar’s HiD (it is called that to this
day). There was a truce just then between my lady wife and me. We lived as we
had said we would, one breath at a time, but so often still those breaths were
bought with heart’s pain.

It did not help matters that Lanen was even
more passionate in her nature than usual. Vilkas had told me that this was
normal for a woman carrying a child, but it widened the gap between us even
more, for I found myself inclining in the other direction. The body shapes the
mind in many ways. At rest, my heart now beat at a tenth the pace of Lanen’s,
and I took far deeper and far fewer breaths. How could my mind not be affected
by this incredible change?

I do not say that my love was lessened, for it
was not and never has been—but the expression of it was changed perforce, and
that threatened to tear my heart in two. Lanen was the same, I know she was. I
heard her thoughts while she slept, saw her dreams, knew her fears. From dreams
of winged and clawed monsters she would wake with racing heart, calling out to
me in fear, and the only answer I could make was to speak to her mind to mind,
say her name gendy, reassure her that all was well and that she had only been
dreaming, bespeak her until her heartbeat slowed. She had had to wake the
maidservants at Castle Gundar to bring her a warm cup of chelan. I knew not
what we could do when we reached Beskin.

Beskin should have been three days’ flight,
but it took us full five days to find it. Maran, the only one of us who knew
where it was, did die best she could, but as she reminded me, nothing looks the
same from the air. She was quite right. Finally she laughed and said perhaps we
should try walking for a few hours, in the hope of finding someone to ask our
way from. After four days had passed, that is precisely what we did, though I
decided to keep a little distance away lest I terrify any poor souls diat
should happen upon us. The great forest of the Trollingwood stretched trackless
away to our left, but I needed more precise directions than “just keep going
until you’re near the mountains, then turn back a little.”

In the end, Maran wandered into a litde town
and came back shamefaced. We were much too far south and west, it seemed. I
gathered up my charges and rose up aloft, bearing north and east. I took
pleasure in the smell of the trees rising to meet me, in having so vast a land
to fly over. Our old island took less than three hours’ flying, end to end.
There was so much to see here!

Lanen and I began to consider, simply as an
exercise, the possibility of some kind of harness that I might wear, whereby
she might in future accompany me in more comfort. We whiled away quite a few
idle hours on possible designs.

In the midaftemoon of the fifth day, Lanen
bespoke me to say that Maran had recognised a great stone house not far from
Beskin. We came to land at the edge of a large field. The cattle
galloped away, which suited me well. Maran led
us—swiftly by her standards, at a snail’s pace by mine—along the road for a few
miles, and up. Beskin lies in a cosy valley, protected by half a ring of hills
at its back, looking out over rich farmland, and behind the bare hills around
Beskin lies an arm of the Trollingwood, the vast northern forest that sprawls
over most of the width of Kolmar. Maran assured the others that the
Trollingwood was just far enough away for the villagers of Beskin to be safe
from marauding wolves and bears. Most of the time.

I walked with the three of them to the door of
Maran’s house. The village seemed deserted, but Maran laughed and told me that
everyone was hiding. “We’ll have the chance to sort it out later, Akor, never
fear,” she said. She seemed curiously pleased to be invading the village at the
feet of a terrible marauding dragon. That’s what they’ll think you are, at
least,” said Maran, her grey eyes alight. “I think I’ll let you talk them out
of it.”

Her home was built on two levels with several
rooms in each. I found Gedri buildings astounding and stared into each window
in turn, but the little stone courtyard around the smithy was far too small for
me. I could only stand there coiled about myself, with my wings tight furled
and my tail firmly tucked out of the way. ft would be like trying to live in a
tiny cage.

Lanen, realising for the first time that I
must dwell entirely apart from her, turned stricken eyes up to me. “Akor, what—damn,
I thought you’d be nearby at least—” Her eyes filled with tears, which she
dashed impatiendy away. Her raging emotions, over which she had no control,
made her furious.

“Do not be concerned, my heart,” I replied. “We
are but new-come here. There will be plenty of time for change.” I grinned. “And
possibly for building. Lady Maran, have you thought of a place nearby where I
might rest, or shall I seek shelter in the Trollingwood?”

Maran met my gaze and replied, sadly, “For
now, Akor, I fear it must be the Trollingwood. I have ploughed my brains for
days, and I can think of nowhere large enough for you to stay. Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” I replied,
doing my best to keep the sorrow from my voice. “I will see what may be done.
You are certain that none claim land in the Trollingwood?”

“Certain sure,” said Maran, grinning. “It’s
said to be far too dangerous in there.”

“How clear-sighted of people, to know in
advance that I was coming to dwell therein,” I said lightly. I leaned down and
came within Lanen’s reach. “I am ever here, dearling,” I said in true-speech as
she laid her hand gently upon my faceplate. “No more than a thought away. And
if it may be done, perhaps we will make the smithy courtyard more worthy of the
Kantri.” Aloud I added, “If you all will meet me at the edge of the wood
tomorrow at dawn, I will guide you to whatever chambers I have been able to
find.”

By the next morning, I was pleased to show
them my new dwelling. It was but a short distance from the eaves of the wood. I
had found a cave nearly large enough to fit into, and there was a good clear
stream not far away. With some effort on my part, it would be a comfortable
enough place to dwell. I also asked Maran, who said that no other owned the
land round about her house, and I was welcome to enlarge her courtyard to my
heart’s content if I would do the work of laying the stone floors and building
walls.

I took it as a challenge.

It was the oddest feeling I have ever known,
walking into Be-skin. I had never been there before, but—how shall I explain
it? It began with the scent of the Trollingwood, whose western edge lay near my
old home in Ilsa. I knew that smell and it was the same here, only wilder
somehow. The air was fresh and sharp with the scents of pine and balsam, the
ground was rich, the hills felt like old friends. I walked into Beskin and felt
that I had come home, to a place I had never seen. It was very strange, but
oddly reassuring.

Maran’s house was huge. Her grandfather had
built il with Ills sons, and there was room and to spare for all of us. The
rooms were sparsely furnished, the furniture well made and lovely in its
simplicity. One of Maran’s brothers, Harald—Goddess, how odd, to have uncles
and aunts!—Uncle Harald is a woodworker, and made all the furnishings in the
house himself.

Maran gave me a room to myself on the upper
floor, a large airy room looking to the hills, with plenty of space for the
children when they came. She slept across the hall, near enough for a hail but
far enough for privacy. Vilkas had the third bedroom on that floor to himself.

Maran and I settled in quickly enough, but
Vilkas was like a butterfly that could not light upon a single bloom. After a
few days, when he was certain that I was well enough and would keep, he went
off on his own into the country round, a travelling Healer. During our first
three months there, as spring gave way gradually to summer, he would disappear
for weeks at a time, turning up suddenly of a morning with a scrip full of
silver, looking a little more weather-beaten each time and a little more at
peace with himself. He would give me relaxing herbs, examine me closely, make
sure the babes were thriving, exhort me to eat more meat, and disappear again.

I managed to sit about the house resting, as
ordered, for all of a week. The next morning I was up before Maran, making the
porridge and starting the bread. She scowled at me for not following Vilkas’s
orders for exacdy three breaths, then she grinned at me. “Bored, are you?” she
asked.

“Put me to work,” I begged. “Quick, before I
get too big to do anything at all.”

She laughed and led me to the forge, where she
provided me with an ancient, scarred leather apron and a thick leather jerkin.
I started like the rawest apprentice, working the bellows, but over the days
and weeks she taught me how to stoke the fire, the smell and look and sound of
iron when it is ready for the hammer, and one memorable day she handed me her
second-best hammer and let me get on with trying to shape metal.

I have never known anything like it. I’d never
done the like before, but I had watched Maran close for some time by then, and
the movements just seemed—natural. The hammer seemed to fit my hand, the iron
turned sweetly for me. My mothers eyes gleamed with pride. “By the Goddess, my
girl, you’ve the making of a fine smith in you!” she declared.

“Oh, is that what they are?” I said, looking
down at my bulge in surprise. She had a grand laugh, my mother, one that
started at her toes and took her over entire when she was really amused.
Impossible to resist.

When I came near to the start of the seventh month
of my pregnancy, however, Vilkas returned and declared that his wandering was
over for now.

“I’ve almost two months yet before anything
exciting is due to happen, surely?” I said, panting a little. I was finding it
harder to breathe, and Maran had banned me from the forge the week before, for
her own safety as well as mine.

“You never know with twins,” replied Vilkas,
trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.

“And how many twins have you delivered, O
Great Dragon Mage?” I asked, teasing.

“Only one set, and that was at Verfaren,” he
replied, suddenly serious. “Lanen, now that you mention it, I would like your
permission to bring in a colleague to assist me. Her experience with midwifery
is much greater than mine.” He grinned a little ruefully. “She is also less
likely to terrify an expectant mother, though I’d hope you would be used to me
by now.”

I took advantage of my state to surprise young
Vilkas and hugged him tight. “You dear idiot,” I said, releasing him. “I’m
married to the largest dragon in all the world, and you think I’d be afraid of
you?”

He laughed rather well, all in all. “Still, I
would like to call her in for the birth,” he said, “and perhaps a few weeks
before. Twins can come early.” He looked about him. “If your mother wouldn’t
mind, I expect she’d appreciate a place to stay as well.”

I laughed. “What’s one more in this barn? Do
what you need to, Vil. I trust you,” I said.

I should have known, really. Idai arrived a
week later, bearing Aral and Will and followed closely by Salera. Vil had gone
to Akor, asked him to bespeak Idai and beg her to find Aral. There was a grand
reunion, and the house was full.

I was quietly delighted that Will had come
with Aral as a matter of course. They had progressed so far as to occasionally
hold hands publicly. It was clear to all the rest of us that it only a matter
of time. Aral was more contented than I had seen her, and Will stood at least a
handspan taller, bless his good soul.

When the new arrivals sought their beds, I
stepped out into the long twilight of the northern summer to walk Akor back to
his chambers. He had been labouring on Maran’s courtyard, but it was slow work,
and not kind to the clumsy hands that attempted it. As we passed the latest
disaster of a stone wall I smiled. “Perhaps we can find a stonemason who will
trade his skill for raw lifting power,” I suggested. It made Akor hiss with
amusement, and for that I was grateful.

I was becoming grateful for anything that
helped us to be together. We had begun to live disparate fives, and it worried
me. When we were apart, we bespoke one another and we were knit as close as
ever. Our souls have ever been the two halves of one whole. In truespeech we
shared heart, mind, and spirit, and all was very well. It was only when we were
in one another’s presence that we could not ignore the eternal distance between
us. Now and ever, Kantri and Gedri, between whom there could be only a meeting
of the minds—except in our babes.