LITMIR.BIZ

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rolled his dark eyes and swung one hand through the air, a gesture that Grallezar had often used when dismissing someone as a fool.

      ‘He tells me,’ Grallezar said in her dialect of Deverrian, ‘that Laz be in a fair foul mood over Sidro. He does walk around swearing and kicking at things that be in his way. So he knows not what Laz might or might not do.’

      ‘I see. Thank him for the information, will you? Then we can go talk with Dar.’

      By then the royal alar had grown used to travelling with individuals of the race they’d always called Meradan, demons, now that they knew that these ‘demons’ were real flesh and blood, not some faceless horde but individuals who were capable of changing their minds and their allegiances. The prince was glad enough to have more highly trained warriors in his warband, even if these were Gel da’Thae.

      ‘Besides,’ Dar told Dallandra in Elvish, ‘they understand the Horsekin, and they despise them even more than we do.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Drav has some solid information about their forces.’

      Drav returned to his former camp to collect his men, but not long after he sent a messenger. Grallezar brought him and his news to Dallandra: Laz and those of his men who were unwounded were striking camp and planning on riding out.

      ‘What?’ Dalla snapped. ‘He’s leaving his wounded behind?’

      The messenger spoke; Grallezar translated, telling her that the wounded men had asked to change their loyalties and stay with the alar. They would ride under Drav’s orders, or so they’d sworn on the names of the old Gel da’Thae gods.

      ‘Good riddance to the rest of them,’ Grallezar said, ‘or truly, it would be good riddance if we needed not to know what Laz knows.’

      ‘But we do need to,’ Dalla said. ‘I’ll go talk with him.’

      ‘Might that not be dangerous?’

      ‘It might, but I doubt it, not with his band so badly outnumbered, and Drav and his men right there.’ Dallandra considered briefly. ‘On the other hand, you might collect a few archers and come – oh say, about half-way to his camp.’

      Grallezar grinned with a flash of needle-sharp teeth.

      In the midst of a welter of half-struck tents and bedrolls, Laz’s remaining men hurried back and forth, saddling horses and gathering gear. Dallandra found Laz standing by his saddled and bridled horse, a stocky chestnut that bore a Gel da’Thae cavalry brand. The bright sun picked out the pink scars on his face and those cutting into his short brown hair. He’s got a face like a knife edge, Dallandra thought, all sharp angles and bone and that beaky nose. He looks half-starved, too. His smile did nothing to soften the impression.

      ‘Welcome,’ Laz called out. He spoke surprisingly good Deverrian. ‘Or perhaps I should say farewell. Alas, fair lady, I feel the need to take leave of you and yours, before the rest of my men decide they’d rather join you than stay with me.’

      ‘Well, I can understand that,’ Dallandra said. ‘It’s too bad, though. I was going to offer to trade you dweomer lore in return for some information.’

      ‘Oh?’ Laz glanced away, entirely too casually. ‘What kind of lore?’

      ‘What are you most interested in?’

      ‘At the moment, the burning questions in my mind concern those wretched crystals.’ He looked at her again. ‘Who, by the way, was Evandar?’

      ‘I can tell you a great deal about Evandar. The black crystal, it’s largely a mystery to me, though I do know somewhat that might interest you.’ She paused to glance around them, saw some of his men standing nearby, and dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘You owned it in a former life. In fact, I know somewhat about two of your former lives.’ She raised her voice to a normal level. ‘It won’t make pleasant hearing, though, so no doubt you’re wise to leave now.’

      Laz’s eyes went wide, and he whistled under his breath. He gaped at her, as well and truly hooked as a caught trout, gaping at the end of a fisherman’s line. His horse stamped and tossed its head at the sudden slacking of its reins. At last Laz sighed and turned away to speak to his men in the Gel da’Thae language. Some of them shrugged, some of them raised eyebrows, others glanced skyward in disgust, but they all stopped work on striking the camp and began, instead, to restore it.

      ‘We need to find a place to talk,’ Laz said to Dallandra. ‘We can meet between the camps.’

      ‘Very well. You’re welcome in our camp, for that matter. The Westfolk will never eavesdrop on a Wise One.’

      ‘I will not set foot over there.’ Laz’s voice turned hard. ‘I see no reason to let Pir gloat over me.’

      ‘Oh come now, you know Pir better than I do! Would he truly gloat?’

      ‘I never thought he’d steal my woman, either.’ Laz hesitated, then shrugged. ‘That’s unfair of me. No one stole her. She’s not a horse.’ Laz seemed to be choking back either tears or anger, but he arranged a brittle smile.

      He’s trying, Dallandra thought. Desperately trying to be fair, to do the right thing. She regretted her slip, mentioning that she had information about two of his past lives. Discussing Lord Tren was doubtless safe enough, but Alastyr? She found herself loath to speak of dark dweomer. What if it awakened Laz’s memories and, worse yet, his desire to use it? Worst of all, what if he already remembered and was hoping to get more information? Sidro had often warned her that Laz lied as cheerfully as most men jest.

      ‘Well, it was her right to choose.’ His voice sounded as tight as a drawn bowstring. ‘Alas. Let me hand my horse over to Faharn, and then we shall go to neutral ground and talk.’ Laz shaded his eyes and looked in the direction of Grallezar and the archers. ‘Ah, I see you prudently stationed a few guards out there.’

      ‘I’ll dismiss them.’

      He grinned again, bowed, and led his horse away.

      Laz handed his horse over to Faharn, then gave his apprentice a few quick instructions about setting up the camp. By the time he returned to Dallandra, the archers had gone back to the Westfolk tents. Dalla had picked out a spot midway between their two camps and trampled down the grass in a small circle. When they sat down, he felt oddly private despite the blue sky above them, as if they sat in a tiny chamber curtained all round with fine green lace.

      ‘Would you tell me what you know about the dragon book?’ Dallandra began.

      ‘The dragon book?’ Laz said. ‘Ah, there was a dragon on the cover, indeed. I held it in my hands and turned the pages, but I can’t truly read your beautiful language, so I have no idea of what was written in it.’

      ‘Berwynna told me that you thought the text had somewhat to do with dragons.’

      ‘Somewhat. For one thing, there was the image on the cover.’

      ‘I wanted to ask you about that. You have a book that’s decorated with the reverse colours but the same outline of a dragon. Did you buy that in a marketplace?’

      ‘I didn’t. My sisters had it made specially for me as a coming of age present. I saved it for years until I had somewhat important to write in it. You look surprised.’

      ‘I am. I suppose Evandar might have scried it somehow. He did see bits and pieces of future events, and if he saw you and the book, he might well have decided to make one much like it.’

      ‘I truly want to learn more about this fellow.’

      ‘I’ll tell you, fear not! But about the book –’

      ‘Well, beyond the cover, I could pick out a word here and there, and “drahkonnen” was one of them.’ Laz paused to summon his memories. He could see the pages of the book clearly in his mind. ‘Odd, now that I think of it! That word seemed to recur in the same place on every page. Indeed, about half-way down and to the right of the line, and on every page

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