The Fire Dragon (57 page)

“And I'm glad to see you, Father. Here. This is one of your grandsons.”

“A fine-looking boy!”

When Devaberiel held out his arms, Zandro allowed himself to be picked up. Behind them Salamander heard something of a commotion. He turned to find the rest of the crew disembarking, calling out, and hurrying forward. Meranaldar and the captain both were staring at the young man. Meranaldar took one step toward him, then knelt with bowed head. Trembling, the captain did the same.

“What?” Salamander said to his father. “Who's that?”

“Daralanteriel tran Aladeldar,” Devaberiel said. “You don't recognize him, do you? He was only a child when you left.”

“So he was! But what are they doing?”

“I'm not sure.” Devaberiel glanced this way and that, saw Dallandra and called out to her. “What's the meaning of this, Wise One?”

Dallandra hurried over, her mouth tight-set in anger. For a moment she watched Meranaldar, staring up at a totally flustered Prince Dar, and once again the scribe was weeping.

“Curse Evandar anyway!” she snarled at last. “He might have warned me. Devaberiel, these men are descendants of our people, the ones who escaped from the sack of Rinbaladelan by boat. They eventually found their way to Bardek. They thought the lineages of the seven kings had all died out, and now here they are, faced with Ranadar's heir.”

Devaberiel tried to speak, then merely stared slack-mouthed.

“This is going to change everything,” Dallandra said. “Don't you see? For over a thousand years we've lived here, and they've lived there, and we each never knew the other existed. Now we're meeting.”

“I do see.” Devaberiel recovered his voice at last. “The Westlands border will never be the same.”

“Just so.” For a moment Dallandra stood silently, watching the ship's crew as they climbed onto the pier. “I don't suppose Evandar even realized what he was setting in motion, but even if he had, he probably would have done it
anyway, knowing him.” She tossed her head, as if shaking off a painful memory. “Well, there's no use in standing round here. Welcome home, Ebañy. We'll be sheltering tonight with your niece out at the dun.”

“My thanks,” Salamander said. “It's a strange enough welcome, but truly, it gladdens my heart to be home.”

Yet late that night, Salamander looked out of the window of his chamber high up in Cannobaen's broch. The moon laid a silver road upon the sea, a road that seemingly ran south to Bardek. He wept, thinking of his wife and family, so far away. Why had he left them? For a moment he hoped he was dreaming, but the scent of a real sea filled the room, and the stone of the windowsill felt rough against his fingers.

“Alaena,” he whispered. “Marka. Will I meet you again someday, my love, when we both have different faces, different names?”

All at once he felt so exhausted that he sat down on the straw-covered floor. He leaned against the cold stone wall and fell asleep, right where he was, to dream that he stood on a mountain peak and called out to a dragon, silver-skinned but touched here and there with blue.