looked away slack-mouthed for a moment, then regained control of his voice. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I don’t know why I’m so surprised. It would take someone that powerful to work the dweomers we’re discussing.’
‘Indeed. And I have no idea how to unwork it, as it were.’
‘You said you knew him well?’
‘I did. He was my lover, in fact, for some while.’
Laz felt himself staring at her like a half-wit. A hundred questions crowded into his mind, most indelicate at best and outright indecent at worst. A beautiful woman like this, and a man who wasn’t really a man, but some alien creature in man-like form – the idea touched him with sexual warmth. He could smell the change in his scent, but fortunately she seemed oblivious to it.
‘Working the transformation killed him – well, I don’t know if killed is the right word,’ Dallandra went on. ‘It drained him of the powers that were keeping him from incarnating. That would be a better way of putting it.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘I’m not sure I do, either.’ Dallandra smiled at him. ‘He had no physical body, only an etheric form that he’d ensouled. To be born, he had to remove that form, but he’d woven it so well, and he had so much power at his disposal, that it refused to unwind, as it were. Turning Rhodry into a dragon left him absolutely helpless, all that power spent, his own form destroyed. He could go on at last to cross the white river.’
‘I see.’ Laz turned his mind firmly back to questions of dweomer. ‘Speaking of incarnations, you mentioned having somewhat to tell me about mine.’
‘I certainly do, thanks to Rori. It turns out that dragons have a certain amount of instinctive dweomer. He remembers you quite clearly from the days when he was human, and in dragon form, he can recognize you.’
‘I’d suspected as much, but I’m glad to have the suspicion confirmed. What does he remember that’s so distressing? Distressing to me, I mean.’
‘Do you remember aught about your last life?’
‘Only a bit, that last battle in front of Cengarn, where Alshandra – well, died, or whatever it is Guardians do when they cease to exist. It’s all cloudy, but I think I was a Horsekin officer.’
‘You were there, certainly, but you were a Deverry lord with an isolated demesne just north of Cengarn. You’d gone over to the Horsekin side. They probably treated you like one of their officers.’
Laz winced. ‘Oh splendid! A traitor to my kind, was I? No wonder I’ve ended up a half-breed in this life! You’re quite right. That does distress me.’
‘Well, Rhodry thought it was your devotion to Alshandra that drove you to it.’
‘Worse and worse!’ He forced out a difficult smile. ‘Mayhap it’s just as well that Sidro left me. She’d gloat if she knew that.’
Dallandra nodded, and her expression turned sympathetic.
‘I have a vague memory of dying in battle,’ Laz went on, ‘so I suppose I got what I deserved.’
‘Your last fight was with Rhodry Aberwyn, a silver dagger. Um, here’s the odd part. Rhodry’s the man whom Evandar turned into the dragon.’
‘He killed me?’ Laz tossed his head back and laughed aloud. ‘No wonder he remembered me, eh? And wanted to do it again.’
It was Dallandra’s turn for the puzzled stare. The Ancients, Laz decided, weren’t as morbid as Deverry men and Gel da’Thae if she couldn’t see the humour in the situation.
‘Your name was Tren,’ Dallandra went on. ‘Another tale I heard has you killing a Gel da’Thae bard.’
Laz winced again. ‘That’s a heinous thing among my people,’ he said. ‘And among the Deverry folk, too, I think.’
‘One of the worst crimes under their laws, truly. I don’t know much else, because you were part of the Horsekin besiegers, and I was inside the city walls, so –’ Dalla paused abruptly. ‘Now, who’s that?’
Someone was calling her name as he came walking through the rustling long grass. Dallandra rose to her feet, and Laz followed, glancing around him. A man of the Westfolk was striding toward them; he paused, waved to Dallandra, and hurried over with the long grass rustling around him. Tall, slender, pale-haired and impossibly handsome like all the Westfolk men, he had cat-slit eyes of a deep purple, narrowing as he looked Laz over. Ah, Laz thought, the lover or husband, no doubt!
‘This is Calonderiel,’ Dallandra said, ‘our banadar, that is, our warleader.’
‘How do you do?’ Laz made him a small bow.
‘Well, my thanks.’ Calonderiel held out his hand to Dallandra. ‘Our daughter’s awake.’ The emphasis on the word “our” was unmistakable.
‘You’ll forgive me, Laz,’ Dalla said, ‘but I’ve got to go. We’ll continue this discussion later. I’d like to know what you think of Haen Marn, among other things.’
‘Therein is a tale and half, indeed. One quick thing, though,’ Laz said. ‘Little Wynni, is she well? As well as she can be, I mean.’
‘She’s deep in her mourning, but she’s young, and she’ll recover, sooner or later. Evan’s doing his best to cheer her a bit.’
‘He told me,’ Calonderiel put in, ‘that he was going to take her to meet her step-mother today.’
‘Step-mother?’ Laz hesitated, thinking, then grinned. ‘The black dragon, you mean?’
‘Just that.’
‘Well, I’ve heard women describe their step-mothers as dragons before, but this is the first time I’ve ever known it to be true.’
Calonderiel laughed, but Dallandra spun around to look back at the elven camp.
‘That could be dangerous,’ she said, then took off running, ploughing through the tall grass.
‘What?’ Laz said.
‘I don’t know.’ Calonderiel shrugged, then turned and trotted after Dallandra.
Laz set his hands on his hips and stood watching them go, cursing silently to himself in a mixture of Gel da’Thae and Deverrian. Warleader, is he? Doubtless he could slit my throat without half-thinking about it, and no one would say him nay.
All his life he’d heard about the fabled Ancients, but he’d never met any until the previous evening. Somehow he’d not expected them all to look so strange and yet so handsome at the same time. Despite her peculiar eyes and ears, Dallandra struck him as more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen, certainly more glamorous than Sidro. Delicate yet powerful, he thought, that’s Dalla. And dangerous – the scent of dangerous knowledge hung about her like a perfume, or so he decided to think of it, the best perfume of all. What was that powerful opal, and who was this Nevyn? She’d been hinting about something. That he knew.
Laz
