Luthe fell silent, and Aerin could think of nothing to say. Agsded beat in her brain; a moment ago she had told Luthe she did not know the name, and yet now she was ready to swear that it had haunted all the shadows since before her birth; that her mother had whispered it to her in the womb; that the despair she had died of was the taste of it on her tongue. Agsded, who was to Maur what Maur had been to her first dragon; and the first dragon might have killed her—and Maur had killed her, for the time she lived now was not her own. Agsded, of her own blood; her mother’s brother.
She felt numb; even the new sensitivities that had awoken in her since her dive into the Lake of Dreams and Luthe’s teaching—all were numb, and she hung suspended in a great nothingness, imprisoned there by the name of Agsded.
After a pause Luthe said, as if talking to himself: “I did not think your kelar would so hide itself from you. Perhaps it was the hurt you did yourself and your Gift by eating the surka. Perhaps your mother was not able entirely to protect the child she carried from the death so close to her. I believed that you had to know at least something of the truth—I believed it until I saw you face Maur with little more than simple human courage and a foolhardy faith in the efficacy of a third-rate healer’s potion like kenet against the Black Dragon. And I knew then not only that I was wrong about you, but that I was too late to save you from the pain your simplicity would cause you; and I feared that without your kelar to draw upon, you would not survive that meeting. And I was terribly near right.
“I have been much occupied while you were growing up, and I do not mark the years as you do; and I have not watched over you as I should have. As I promised your mother I would. Again I am sorry. I have been often sorry, with you, and there is so little I can do about any of it.
“I believed that you would grow up knowing some destiny awaited you; I thought what ran in your veins could not help but tell you so much. I thought you would know the true dreams I sent you as such. I thought many things that were wrong.”
“The kelar may have tried to tell me,” Aerin said dully; “but the message did get a little confused somehow. Certainly I was left in no doubt that my destiny was different than Arlbeth’s daughter’s should have been, but that was a reading anyone could have done.”
Luthe looked at her, and saw her uncle’s name like a brand on her face. “If you wish,” he said lightly, “I shall go personally to your City and knock together the heads of Perlith and Galooney.”
Aerin tried to smile. “I shall remember that offer.”
“Please do. And remember also that I never leave my mountain any more, so believe how apologetic I must be feeling to make it in the first place.”
Aerin’s smile disappeared. “Am I truly just as my mother was?” she asked, as she had asked Teka long ago.
Luthe looked at her again, and again many things crowded into his mind that he might say. “You are very like her,” he said at last. “But you are to be preferred.”
Chapter 18
AFTER THIS, suddenly the winter was too short, despite the nightmares of a man with eyes brighter than a dragon’s, who wore a red cloak. The snow melted too soon, and too soon the first tight buds knuckled out from the trees, and the first vivid purple shoots parted the last year’s dry grass. There was a heavy rich smell in the air, and Aerin kept seeing things in the shadows just beyond the edge of sight, and hearing far high laughter she could not be sure she did not imagine. Sometimes when she saw or heard such somethings she would whip around to look at Luthe, who, as often as not, would be staring into the middle distance with a vague silly smile on his face.
“You aren’t really alone up here at all, are you?” she said, and was surprised to feel something she suspected was jealousy.
Luthe refocused his eyes to look at her gravely. “No. But my ... friends ... are very shy. Worse than I am.”
“I’ll be leaving soon anyway,” Aerin said. “They’ll come back to you soon enough.’’
Luthe did not answer immediately. “Yes. Soon enough,”
She got out Talat’s saddle and gear and cleaned everything, and oiled the leather; and upon request Luthe provided her with some heavy canvas and narrow bits of leather, and she rigged a plain breastplate, for Talat had insufficient wither to carry a saddle reliably straight. She also made a little leather pouch to carry the red dragon stone, which had been living under a corner of her mattress, and hung it around her neck on a thong. Then she spent hours currying Talat while the winter hair rose in clouds around them and Talat made hideous faces of ecstasy and gratification.
She came dripping into the grey hall at twilight one evening, having shed a great deal of white hair and dust in the bathhouse, and found Luthe pulling the wrappings off a sword. The cloth was black and brittle, as if with great age, but the scabbard gleamed silver-white and the great blue gem set in the hilt was bright as fire. “Oh,” breathed Aerin, coming up behind him.
He turned and smiled at her, and, holding the scabbard in a shred of ragged black cloth, offered her the hilt. She grasped it without hesitation, and the feel of it was as smooth as glass, and the grips seemed to mold to her hand. She pulled the blade free, and it flashed momentarily with a light that cut the farthest shadows of Luthe’s ever shadowed hall, and there seemed to be an echo of some great clap of sound that deafened both the red-haired woman and the tall blond man; yet neither heard anything. And then it was merely a sword, glinting faintly in the firelight, with a great blue gem set at the peak of the hilt.
“Yes, I rather thought she was for you,” Luthe said. “Goriolo said I would know when the time came. Funny I did not think of her sooner; there can be no better ally against Agsded.”
“What—who is she?” Aerin said, holding the tip upright so the firelight would run like water down the length of the blade. “She is Gonturan,” Luthe said. “I—er—found her, long ago, on my travels in the—er—East. Before I settled here. Although I think it probable that she called me; there was no good reason for me to have been possessed of a desire to go haring off on a long journey East. I have never been a traveler by nature.”
“Called you?” said Aerin, although she had no difficulty in believing that this particular sword could do anything—jump over the moon, turn herself into a juggernaut, speak riddles that might be prophecy. “It’s a long story,” said Luthe. Aerin took her eyes off the sword long enough to flash him an exasperated look.
“I’ll tell you all of it someday,” Luthe said, but his voice carried no conviction.
Aerin said quietly, “I leave at the next new moon.”
“Yes,” said Luthe, so softly she did not hear him but knew only that he must agree; and Gonturan slid like silk into her scabbard. They stood not looking at anything, and at last Aerin said lightly, “It is as well to have a sword; and I left mine in the City, for it is sworn to the king and the king’s business; although if Arlbeth knew of Agsded he must admit that Agsded is king’s business.”
Luthe said, “He would; but he would never admit that it was your business, even if he knew all the story. Arlbeth is a worthy man but, um, traditional. But Gonturan goes with you, and Gonturan is better than a platoon of Damarian cavalry.”
“And easier to feed,” said Aerin.
“North you must go,” said Luthe. “North and east, I think you will find the way.”
Talat stood still while Aerin tied the last bundles behind his saddle, but his ears spoke of his impatience. It’s been a pleasant sojourn, they said, and we would be happy to return someday; but it’s high time we were off now.
Aerin gave a final tug on a strap and then turned to Luthe. He stood next to one of the pillars before his hall. She stared fixedly at the open neck of his tunic so she need not see how the young spring sunlight danced in his hair; but she found herself watching a rapid little pulse beating in the hollow of his throat, and so she shifted her attention to his left shoulder. “Good-bye,” she said. “Thanks. Um.”