The Shadow Isle (28 page)

“I’ll tell you later,” Enj said. “Mic, no doubt you’ll want to go down to the deep city to see your mother.”

“I certainly do!” Mic was grinning almost as hard as Vron. “This is a grand day indeed! Here, Wynni, come with us, although—” He hesitated, then turned to Douglas and spoke in the same strange language that Berwynna had used earlier.

Douglas glowered and spit out a few words in answer. Berwynna joined in, and for a few moments the three of them argued. Finally Douglas shrugged and wiped the scowl off his face.

“Wynni won’t go without him,” Mic said to Kov, “and really, I do understand why. It’s not like my mother’s her grandmother, after all.”

Berwynna stood on tiptoe to reach up and kiss Douglas on his dirty cheek. Kov managed a thin smile at this display of loyalty.

“Kov,” Enj said, “would you get Otho settled in a guest chamber? ” He gestured at the elderly man in the chair, who had dozed off. “He’s not very well.”

As much as Kov had been hoping to speak with Berwynna, he had too much respect for the aged to refuse. “Of course,” he said, “and then I’d best get back to Aethel’s caravan.” He glanced at Vron. “Cerr Cawnen’s very interested in hiring someone from your jewelers’ guild. You might want to go talk with him before he leaves.”

“I’ll do that,” Vron said, “after I help you get Otho settled in our compound.”

Vron squatted down by the carrying chair to speak to his aged brother. Kov lingered, watching as Berwynna followed Enj across the entrance hall to take a look at the envoy’s quarters. She moved so gracefully—
entrancing
! Kov thought. Someone cleared his throat entirely too loudly. Kov glanced up to see Douglas the Giant, arms crossed across his broad chest, glaring at him.

“Dougie?” Mic stepped forward and spoke in Deverrian. “Go join Berwynna. Go take a look at your chamber.”

“Good,” Dougie said in broken Deverrian. “I need wash, too.”

Kov turned away fast and from then on, concentrated on the tasks he had in hand.

Berwynna had never seen a room as heavily decorated as the foreign envoy’s quarters. The pierced carvings on the wooden shutters, folded back on either side of the one large window, shamed the moldy tapestries she’d noticed during her one visit to Dougie’s grandfather’s dun back in Alban, when Marnmara and her herbs had been called to treat a fever. The tall steel panels, set at intervals along the walls, far outshone anything else in that lordship’s possession. She spent a long time studying the engraved pictures upon them: hunting scenes and battles set off by borders of delicate patterns.

“This is a lovely chamber,” Berwynna said. “These pictures are beautiful.”

“So they are,” Dougie said. “But it’s better because you’re staying with me.”

“Well, it annoys me that everyone treats you like some kind of large dog.”

“Not half as much as it annoys me.” But he grinned at her.

“Wynni, please tell him I’m truly sorry,” Enj said. “It’s just the way that the Mountain Folk are. It has naught to do with him personally. ”

Berwynna translated, and Dougie smiled Enj’s way to show that he understood. Berwynna continued her slow circuit of the room. The bed would be just wide enough, she decided, for the two of them. It certainly looked comfortable with its finely woven blue blankets. On top of a carved chest lay a strange stone object in the shape of a tube tightly wound into a spiral. At first she thought it was a carving of a snail, though oddly flat and as big as both her hands laid side by side.

“Enj,” Berwynna said, “what is that?”

“I’m not sure,” Enj said. “The miners find them embedded in sea-rock when they’re splitting slates and then clean them up for trinkets.”

“I wondered because I saw part of one sticking out of the cliff. I thought maybe it was some sort of rune or magical mark.”

“Alas, naught so interesting,” Enj said, smiling. “The cliff’s made of sea-rock, so I’m not surprised you saw one there. Now, would you tell Dougie that there’s not a bathing tub in all of Lin Serr that’ll fit him. If he’d like, we can go down to the parkland for a swim. I could use a wash myself.”

Berwynna translated back and forth.

“That would do splendidly.” Dougie told her. “But will you mind my going?”

“Not at all. Mic promised that someone would bring me hot water up here.” She returned to speaking Dwarvish. “But one last question, brother of mine. Where are all the women?”

“Down in the deep city,” Enj said with a furtive glance Dougie’s way. “I’ll explain some other time.”

Dougie’s eyes narrowed; apparently he suspected that once again, he was being excluded. Berwynna patted him on the arm.

“There, there, my love,” she said in the Alban language, which Enj, of course, couldn’t understand. “I’ll tell you whatever they tell me, and they won’t have to know a thing about it.”

After they found a chamber for Otho near Vron’s own, Kov and Vron arranged for an elaborate dinner to be served in Berwynna and Dougie’s chamber. Kov shamelessly invited himself, and Otho insisted on joining them, but Vron bowed out.

“I’ll let you get acquainted with them all,” Vron said. “I want to go bargain with that caravan leader. I want to get some of those opals before they’re all sold.”

“Do that,” Kov said. “They’ve found a new vein of the fire opals, by the way. The city wants our help to mine it properly.”

Vron’s eyes gleamed, and he smiled. “Do they?” he said. “It’s too long a trip for me, but my son’s back now. I’m off to have a bit of a chat with Aethel. And then I’ll see what Mic thinks about it.”

For the dinner Kov put on his best shirt and took his envoy’s staff along, too, simply because it looked impressive, carved as it was with ancient runes. Servant boys brought extra chairs to the envoy’s quarters and set up a table; other boys loaded the table with food and flagons of ale so dark and strong that it was almost black. Fried bats, roasted root vegetables both red and white, served with butter, and brown loaves of warm bread—the cooks had outdone themselves, and everyone ate with little conversation till the platters shone, free of the last drip of gravy.

“Well, here we are,” Enj said at last. “You’ve finally seen your home country, Wynni, and a bit of its city.”

“It’s truly splendid,” Berwynna said. “I never knew places like this existed.” She turned to Dougie. “Is it more splendid than Din Edin?”

“A thousand times better,” Dougie said, “and it doesn’t stink.” When she translated the exchange, everyone laughed. Mic saluted him with his stoup of brown liquor.

“Tell me somewhat, Brother,” Berwynna went on. “Where’s the kingdom of Deverry from here? I’m wondering where my father might be.”

“Deverry’s due south,” Enj said, “but we’re not far from the lands of the Westfolk. He could be in either place.”

Otho made a rude noise. “Cursed Westfolk!” he announced. “Rori was half an elf before he turned into a blasted dragon, you know. Never did trust him. Goes to show what they’re like, getting turned into dragons.”

“Why don’t you like the Westfolk?” Berwynna asked.

Otho snorted for an answer.

“Don’t get him started.” Enj rolled his eyes skyward. “Which reminds me, Otho, my lad, the silver dragon told me a fascinating little tale. There are more Mountain Folk down in Deverry itself, not far from a place called Cwm Pecl. Have you ever heard of them?”

“I haven’t,” Otho said. “They must have come from the eastern cities.”

“Not according to the dragon,” Enj said. “He told me they looked much like our folk here.”

“Nonsense! All the Lin Rej refugees came here, those that lived, anyway.” Otho glanced at Berwynna. “Cursed elves wouldn’t shelter them when they begged for help.”

“And a good thing, too,” Kov put in. “They were at the gates of Tanbalapalim, you see. The Horsekin captured the city soon after and slaughtered everyone in it.”

Otho made a growling sound deep in his throat.

“An excellent point, Envoy,” Enj said, grinning. “If you ask me, this pack of Mountain Folk down in Deverry? They must be those Lost Ones, Otho, the same group you’ve been carrying on about for the last five hundred years or so.”

Otho’s mouth dropped open, and he sputtered with a drool of brown liquor. Berwynna grabbed a napkin and handed it to the old man, who wiped his beard with great dignity.

“Can’t trust a thing an elf tells you,” Otho said feebly.

“He’s not an elf but a dragon.” Mic joined in. “Go on, Enj. This is interesting.”

“Not much more to tell, alas. He swears that there’s a colony of our people in the hills near this Cwm Pecl place, and that the women there walk about in the sunlight just like the men, the way they did in Lin Rej all those years past.”

“Wormshit and maggot slime!” Otho’s color had turned a bright pink, a dangerous shade. “I don’t believe a word of it!”

“Otho, please!” Kov said. “There’s a lady present.”

The silence hung awkwardly over the table. Otho busied himself with wiping an imaginary speck off his beard.

“Uncle Mic, can you tell me,” Berwynna said at last, “just how deep does Lin Serr go? It looks absolutely huge from what I’ve seen.”

Good lass!
Kov thought.

“A mile or more,” Mic said, “and down near the lowest level you can feel the heat of the earth’s fires. That’s what keeps us warm in the winter, in fact.”

As the conversation continued on safe subjects, Otho’s color slowly returned to normal. Long before the meal was over, the old man had fallen asleep, nodding over his plate.

When the time came for everyone to leave, a pair of Mountain Folk appeared with the carrying chair to take Otho to his chamber. Mic and Kov went with them. Servant lads hurried in to clear away the remains of the food. When they left, Berwynna shut the door behind them with a grateful sigh.

“Tired?” Dougie said. “I am, and confused as well.”

“So am I.” Berwynna managed a smile. “The city’s overwhelming, and the way the people live—I still don’t understand it all.”

“Particularly your clan.” Dougie frowned at the wall. “Now, Mic is your mother’s brother. Right?”

“A half brother. His father is my mother’s father, and my grandfather. ”

“But his mother, she’s not your grandmother?”

“She’s not. My mother’s mother is dead.”

“So your grandfather had two wives? One after the other, I assume.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call them wives, not like back in Alban. And I think it was more or less at the same time.”

Dougie sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Heathen, then, these people,” he said. “The poor women!”

“Heathen, truly, but don’t waste your sympathy on the women. They choose the men they want, Enj told me.” Berwynna grinned at him. “Like I chose you.”

“Then there’s somewhat to be said for being heathen.” Dougie returned the smile. “Not that we could be telling Father Colm that, if ever we return to Alban.”

Berwynna took off her outer dress and placed it folded onto the chest by the window. She perched on the sill with her back to the long drop down and began to comb her hair. The crowded events of the day were finally settling in her mind, at least enough for her to begin to think them through.

“You know, I’m worried about Otho,” Berwynna said. “He’s not well.”

“He hasn’t been well in three years, lass,” Dougie said. “But truly, I didn’t like the look of him tonight either.”

“Mic’s mother is somewhat of a healer, and Mic told me she’d look in on Otho tonight. I hope she’s as good with her herbs as Mara is.”

“Or good enough, anyway. Your sister’s a fair marvel, and I doubt me if anyone can match her.”

“True spoken.” For the first time it occurred to Berwynna to wonder if she missed her sister.
Mayhap,
she thought,
but I don’t miss waiting upon her hand and foot!

The morning justified their foreboding. With the rising sun someone knocked hard on the door. Dougie got out of bed, wrapped his plaid around him for modesty, and opened the door. Berwynna sat up just as a grave-faced Mic walked into the chamber.

“I’ve got ill news indeed,” Mic said. “I’m afraid Otho’s gone to the ancestors.”

Berwynna’s eyes filled with tears, and she found that she couldn’t speak.

“That’s a shame,” Dougie said. “How did it happen?”

“In his sleep.” Mic flung himself into a chair. “I suppose that it’s the best way to go, if you’re going. We found him in his bed this morning. His heart must have given out, or so my mother thinks.”

Berwynna wiped her tears away on the edge of a blanket. “He always told me,” she said, “that he wanted to die back here in Dwarveholt. At least he got his wish.”

“So he did, and he’ll be laid to rest here, too. My mother will preside. ” Mic turned to Dougie. “Wynni can go to the funeral, but it’s going to be down in the deep city, so I’m afraid they won’t let you come with her. I’m truly sorry, Dougie.”

“Don’t trouble your heart over it.” Dougie paused for a yawn. “Funerals are a grim duty, and I shan’t mind missing one.”

“Well and good, then,” Mic said. “Wynni, I’ll stand outside while you get dressed. We bury our dead quickly, and so they’re waiting for us.”

Once she’d dressed, Berwynna joined Mic out in the circular entrance hall. He led her across to the mouth of one of the tunnels, where Vron was standing, carrying a big basket of what looked at first glance like cabbage.

“For the light.” Vron hefted the basket. “It’s a kind of fungus.”

“I see,” Berwynna said. “I’m so sorry you’ve lost your brother. I shall miss him.”

“You may be the only soul in Lin Serr who does,” Vron said, but his wry smile took any sting out of the words.

As soon as they left the dim sunlight in the entrance hall, Berwynna noticed that the fungus in the basket glowed with a pale blue light, just enough to light their way through a short tunnel with polished stone walls. At the head of a flight of stairs, Vron paused.

“It’s a long way down,” he said. “I hope you’ve got strong legs.”

“The way down won’t bother me,” Berwynna said. “The way up may be another thing.”

“Well, we’ll see. If naught else, Mic and I can carry you.” They went down, and down, narrow stair after narrow stair, set steeply into the rock. The blue gleam from the basket of light reached only a short way into the darkness, a cold silent dark that grew deeper and colder with every flight of stone steps down. It was the only light Berwynna saw, even when they reached a landing. From these resting places side tunnels curved away into shadow. She could just make out doors set into their walls, but she never saw anyone go in or come out of them. After some five flights of stairs she stopped counting. The entire world seemed to have funneled into Lin Serr, and its only direction was down.