‘Do any of us actually like deer liver?’ Nortel asked rhetori-cally, earning a scowl from Rapskal.
The red-scaled Elderling’s knife moved surely, disjointing the deer’s hindquarter. ‘Venom drift. Have we spoken of this before? Your Elderling garb will protect you if it’s only a mist, but as soon as you possibly can, you should change clothing and discard the contaminated clothing. But it will only protect the parts of you that are covered, so if you see mist, cover your face and hands.’
He looked around sternly. He had freed a deer haunch from the carcass and had severed the shank free from it. ‘If it’s more than mist, if it’s a spray, then nothing can save you.’ A look of knowing, of terrible weariness came over his face, ageing him far beyond his years. ‘If it’s thick and coming your way, blow all your breath out, and breathe deep when it hits. Suck it in and you’ll die fast. You won’t even have time to scream.’
‘Sweet Sa,’ Reyn breathed out, horrified. Nortel’s eyes were huge. Kase had gone so pale that the orange of his scales stood out on his face like errant flower petals.
‘Does that happen?’ Sylve asked. Her voice was steady but small.
‘Sometimes,’ Rapskal replied. ‘I’ve seen it.’ His gaze was distant. He began to carve slabs of flesh off the haunch. Kase came with an armful of toasting sticks cut from a nearby bush. Without a word he passed them to keepers who matter-of-factly began to claim shares of the meat. Reyn took his in turn, and followed the group to the cook-fire.
For a time, the conversation was of ordinary things. Who had salt? Did anyone want to eat the liver? Wondering what the ones who had remained in Kelsingra were doing and thinking. Reyn spoke of missing Malta and hoping that Phron did not grow too much while he was gone. Kase teased Sylve about being away from Harrikin. She blushed but freely admitted missing him. Sedric stared quietly at the fire.
Rapskal looked thoughtful. ‘Amarinda,’ he said at last, and smiled sadly.
Jerd folded her legs, dropping down to sit beside him. She sighed. ‘You’ve seen many things in the stone, haven’t you, Tellator?’
He looked at her consideringly. ‘I lived many things,’ he replied. ‘And other things I know from the stone ancestors I chose for myself. If one is to be a warrior, then one chooses the accounts of warriors, to read them from the stone and to use their experience again. And so I am Tellator, but I am also the ones that Tellator incorporated into himself.’
Jerd was nodding slowly. Her eyes were travelling over his face in a way that made Reyn uncomfortable. Sylve spoke sharply. ‘And Amarinda? Did she also choose a stone ancestry for herself?’
Rapskal’s eyes travelled from Jerd to Sylve. He measured her and her reaction. Something in him went still before he replied diffidently, ‘She chose other talents for herself. Some things, as you know now, were not stored in the stone. Those she learned from her masters, and in time became a master herself. But some things she chose to learn from stone.
‘Body skills are much easier to learn that way. Tumbling and juggling and sculpting, for example, are easier to master if one knows how the body feels as it performs those manoeuvres. The flexibility and muscle, of course, must be gained from practice. They are much easier to achieve if one remembers the experience of having done it before. One feels confidence that it can be done. Swordsmanship, for instance.’
‘And other physical skills?’ Jerd asked him with a knowing smile. He grinned back at her. ‘There are some topics that a man can never know too much about. Or a woman.’
Jerd shivered. She glanced at Sylve, and then asked him, ‘Could any woman be Amarinda? If I went to her memory-stones, could not I learn her days with Tellator? And her nights?’
He looked at her consideringly. ‘You might,’ he admitted. He started to say something more, then paused as if he had forgotten it. A line divided his brows and for a moment he looked tragically young to Reyn. As if he might next crumple forward and weep like a child.
Sylve spoke for him. ‘You might learn all of Amarinda there is to know, but you still would not be Thymara.’
Jerd faced Sylve squarely, fists on her hips. She was a full head taller than Sylve and for one horrified instant, Reyn thought she was going to hit her. Her voice was low and venomous. ‘I wouldn’t want to be Thymara! Who would? She doesn’t know what she wants. She just likes tormenting people.’ She swung her gaze to Rapskal. ‘She wants to keep both you and Tats for herself, with no regards for your feelings.’
Rapskal dragged in a breath. His voice was a bit ragged. ‘Well. One thing Thymara does know is what she doesn’t want. Or who.’
