“A most plausible tale indeed,” Morfew pronounced when Nolar finished reading my parchment. “How say you, Kasarian? Can you pose as merchant’s apprentice?”
During the reading, Kasarian had at first looked highly skeptical, but then his expression had grown more thoughtful and less doubtful. “I can try,” he said. “I have scant experience with trade,” he admitted frankly, “other than my periodic reviews of the steward’s accounts for Krevonel Castle, and my dealing in hounds.” Kasarian turned to me. “You will have to instruct me, Lady, regarding such matters, as well as assist me with the speech of the Dales.”
“An accomplished scholar, Irvil of Norsdale, came here some years ago to engage in kinship studies,” Ouen said. “His joints stiffened so during the winters that he found further travel too painful and asked to reside with us. He will gladly teach the spoken tongue of the Dales.”
“Before we embark—again—upon such strenuous activities,” Morfew observed plaintively, “can we not consider at least a brief respite for food? My aged stomach reminds me that the hour for supping has come . . . and gone.”
Jonja stood up. “We have chattered too long as it is,” she proclaimed. “Mereth requires rest after her ordeal. Out, all of you, and do not trouble her again until morning.”
I lifted my quill to write a protest, but Jonja plucked it from my grasp. “Out!” she commanded, and like a flock of singularly meek sheep, the whole troop, except for Nolar, filed out of the bedchamber.
“Before I retire to the chamber next door,” Nolar promised me, “I shall warm another cup of broth for you, and replenish your barley water, since Kasarian unaccountably drank your supply. Should you need me during the night, you can ring this little bell suspended on a cord from the bed-stead.”
Although my mind longed to weigh and assess the events just past, as well as the burgeoning prospects for the morrow, I found that I could scarcely keep my eyes open after I had drunk the second cup of broth. Nolar sensed my desire to keep Elsenar’s jewel close by me . . . but not where I might accidentally touch it bare-handed in my sleep. She dropped the chained pendant into a small leather bag she took from her herb satchel. My last vision from that momentous day was a fading glimpse of Nolar’s sleeve as she gently tucked the bag out of sight under my pillows.
27
Kasarian—events at Lormt
(20th and 21st days, Moon of the Knife/21st and 22nd Days, Month of the Ice Dragon)
When I listened to the reading of the message enspelled in the jewel, I had to bite back a cry of denial at the revelation that Mereth had been sired by Elsenar upon a Dales female named Veronda. Krevonel, the Foresire of my own Line, had been sired a thousand years previously by Elsenar. We had suspected earlier that Mereth had to possess some of Elsenar’s blood, however attenuated, because of her acceptance under the stricture of his postern spell. Her Line’s claim to the jewel also argued in favor of some kinship linkage . . . but by his ghastly magic, Elsenar was not just Mereth’s distant kin. He was her very sire! I had to accept the incredible; Mereth and I belonged to the same direct Line. That recognition took my breath away.
With an effort, I forced my attention back to the final words of Elsenar’s message. I had to admire his devious reasoning and foresight in bespelling Mereth to be mute, but he had not been able to control what subsequently befell his jewel. Alizon’s seizure of the stone during the Dales war had ironically thwarted Elsenar’s original plans for his timely release.
I did not express aloud my profound doubts that Elsenar could still be alive and capable of being rescued. I had to concede, however, that reason could not always be relied upon when magic reared its vile head.
When Morfew complained that we had talked well past the common hour for supping, the Wise Woman abruptly commanded us all to leave the bedchamber so that Mereth could rest.
I welcomed the interruption, for I needed time to plan and reflect. After stopping by Lormt’s dining hall, I withdrew to my chamber, carrying with me a loaf of bread, some deplorable gruel, and a flask of ale.
The problem of Elsenar burned in my mind. The opportunity appeared irresistibly tempting: if I could somehow contrive to free the ancient mage by restoring to him his jewel, then Elsenar should grant abundant rewards to me as his rescuer. On the other hand, the prospect of facing a living mage, especially one of such notorious reputation, was unspeakably horrid. What could I do to defend myself against the very monster present at Alizon’s dawning and personally responsible for the Original Betrayal? Instead of rewarding me for freeing him, Elsenar might blast me on the spot . . . or far worse, return to Alizon by his sorceries and seize total control of the land. How could a mortal man stand against such unnatural Power? And yet . . . taking risks had always been the Alizonian way, and potential gains had to be balanced against only possible threats that might never materialize.
Constrained by the cramped dimensions of my bedchamber, I managed sufficient exercise to verify that my swordsmanship had been unimpaired by my slight injuries. I then blew out the candles and lay down. Feeling somewhat weary from the day’s exertions, I slept dreamlessly. It was midmorning of the next day before the Wise Woman allowed us to gather again in Mereth’s bedchamber. Somewhat restored by her rest, Mereth appeared less haggard. She had already drawn a crude map to show us where lay the ruins beneath which she believed Elsenar had been trapped. She had also drafted letters for me to carry to certain Sulcar ship masters at Etsport, Estcarp’s chief port since the destruction of Gorm.
I was examining Mereth’s map when yet another of Lormt’s host of elderly males arrived at the door. Although his ruddy skin had lightened with age, as had his hair, he was evidently a Dalesman. Morfew hailed him as Irvil, the kinship scholar Ouen had named to us. It was a telling indication of the lack of proper organization at Lormt that Irvil had been totally unaware of Mereth’s presence within the citadel. He at once erupted in a spate of Dales speech which was far too rapid for me to comprehend more than a few scattered words.
Mereth seemed outwardly unaffected, but I noticed a tear spilled down her cheek. She scrubbed it away with her sleeve, and wrote a private greeting to her countryman on her slate.
After reading it, Irvil turned to me and said in Estcarpian, “I am told that you have urgent need to learn the speech of the Dales. I never thought to speak to an Alizonder . . . but Master Ouen requests that I talk with you.”
Irvil was easily old enough to be my sire’s sire, which meant he likely harbored ill feelings from the time of the war. I bowed to him, and touched my Line badge. “I would not impose upon you if the need were not urgent,” I said. “Both Alizon and Estcarp face a common threat which, if unchecked, would likely endanger your Dales. My proposed voyage to the Dales may assuage that threat. I thank you for your forbearance and assistance.” Irvil’s grim expression eased, as if my words had mollified him.
Mereth thrust her slate at him, and he read aloud, “‘We shall divide our time between instruction in both speech and trade, since Kasarian must master the rudiments of each.’ ”
Morfew smiled. “Pray do not entirely submerge your Alizonian accent, young man,” he advised me. “You must remember that the only Dales speech you would have learned as a pup would have come from your mother; until you escaped into Estcarp three years ago, you would have spoken chiefly Alizonian.”
Nolar rose and advanced toward me. “I claim an hour of your time to dye your hair. Shall we attempt the transformation this afternoon? I must consult with Master Pruett concerning the proportions for the herbal mixture. I will call for you when my preparations are complete.”