deep. If she’d not gone off with Evandar, how different things might have been!
‘It wasn’t till then,’ Val continued, ‘that they realized Alastyr lay behind the murder and the war both.’
‘Rori told me that Laz was once Alastyr.’
‘Exactly, and I actually saw him when he was only a lad, a nasty little bit of work named Tirro. He grew up to be a merchant, and it was his ship that carried –’ She paused briefly ‘– the crystal away, which is why no one could scry for it. They would have been out on the open sea by the time I tried to find them.’
She means the crystal and Loddlaen, Dallandra thought. Aloud, she said, ‘I’ll go speak with Laz, but there’s no reason you need to come along.’
‘Thank you. I was hoping you’d say that.’ She hesitated again, then glanced away as if she’d decided not to say some painful thing.
‘What is it, Val? You might as well say it.’
‘Why couldn’t Evandar have just told you about the book on Haen Marn?’ Val’s words floated on a bitter tide. ‘Why all this secrecy and glittering crystals and the like? If that wretched crystal hadn’t existed, Loddlaen wouldn’t have coveted it. Yes, I know that sounds stupid, but he wanted it enough to kill for it. Why all the –’ She stopped, breathing hard. ‘My apologies.’
Dallandra could think of a dozen reasons why, but faced with Val’s undying grief, she found them shallow, stupid, pointless – rationalizations, not reasons. She sighed and said the simple truth, ‘I don’t know why, Val. I truly don’t.’
‘Oh.’ Val paused for a long cold moment. ‘Yes, I suppose you don’t.’ She got up and left the tent.
Dallandra followed her, but she left Val her privacy, and instead went looking for Grallezar. The royal alar spread out along a sizeable stream, tents on one bank, horse herds and sheep flocks on the other. Against the rich green of the grass, the freshly painted designs on the tents gleamed in the summer sun as if the dull leather had been beaded and bejewelled. Children and puppies chased each other among the tents, followed by swarms of Wildfolk, crystalline sprites in the air, warty grey and green gnomes on the ground. Now and then this crazed parade ran into an adult who, nearly toppled, yelled imprecations upon them all as they raced on past.
Dallandra found her fellow dweomermaster standing on the edge of the camp well away from the children’s chaos. She was talking with a Gel da’Thae man who wore a filthy grey shirt and trousers, the remnants of a regimental uniform, Dallandra assumed. Indeed, Grallezar introduced him as Drav, an officer in one of Braemel’s old cavalry troops.
‘He does want to take his men away from Laz and join us,’ Grallezar said. ‘I did tell him that only the prince could decide such a thing.’
‘That’s very true,’ Dallandra said. ‘How many men are there?’
‘But four, and one of them wounded. Two others did die in the rescuing of that caravan.’
‘I can’t see, then, why Dar wouldn’t agree. By all means, take Drav to him. I think Cal’s over there, too. Could you ask Drav if Laz is going to come tell us about that crystal?’
The two Gel da’Thae conferred briefly. Drav 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,
