Your name was Tren, Dallandra went on. Another tale I heard has you killing a Gel daThae bard.
Laz winced again. Thats 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 dont know much else, because you were part of the Horsekin besiegers, and I was inside the city walls, so Dalla paused abruptly. Now, whos 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 daughters awake. The emphasis on the word our was unmistakable.
Youll forgive me, Laz, Dalla said, but Ive got to go. Well continue this discussion later. Id 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.
Shes deep in her mourning, but shes young, and shell recover, sooner or later. Evans 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, Ive heard women describe their step-mothers as dragons before, but this is the first time Ive 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 dont 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 daThae 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 hed heard about the fabled Ancients, but hed never met any until the previous evening. Somehow hed 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 hed ever seen, certainly more glamorous than Sidro. Delicate yet powerful, he thought, thats 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? Shed been hinting about something. That he knew.
Laz walked back to his camp, which had returned to what semblance of order it had, the shabby, rectangular tents set up randomly, the men lounging on the ground or wandering aimlessly through scattered gear and unopened pack saddles. Beyond the camp their ungroomed horses grazed at tether. One of the men, one of Faharns recent recruits, laying snoring on his blankets. Laz kicked him awake.
Ye gods! Laz snarled. Wheres Faharn? You lazy pack of dogs, this place looks like a farmyard, not a proper camp.
Indeed? Krask scrambled up to face him. Who do you think you are, a rakzan?
Laz raised one hand and summoned blue fire. It gathered around his fingers and blazed, bright even in the sunlight. Krask stepped back fast.
No, Laz said. Not a rakzan. Something much much worse.
He flung the illusionary flames straight at Krasks face. With a squall Krask ducked and went running. The other men watching burst out laughing. A few called insults after Krasks retreating back, but they got to their feet fast enough when Laz turned toward them.
Get this place in order, Laz said. Now!
They hurried off to follow his command. Grumbling to himself, Laz ducked into the tent he shared with Faharn and which, apparently, his second-in-command had already organized. Their bedrolls were spread out on either side; their spare clothing, saddles, and the like were neatly stacked at the foot of each. Faharn himself, however, was elsewhere. Laz sat down on his own blankets and considered the problem of Sidro in the light of what he now knew about his last life.
She was a half-breed, just as he was, an object of scorn among the pure-blooded Gel daThae and their human slaves both, no matter how powerful the half-breed mach-fala and how weak the slave. Had she too betrayed her own kind, whichever kind that may have been, back in that other life? We must have been together, he thought. We must have some connection. It occurred to him that Dallandra might know. She might have told me if that lout hadnt interrupted!
Although hed not meant to scry, his longing brought him Sidros image, so clear that he knew it to be true vision and not a memory. She was kneeling beside a stream in the company of Westfolk women, laughing together, chatting as they washed clothes, their arms up to their elbows in soap and white linen. It suited her, this slave work, or so he tried to tell himself, with her plain face, so different from the elegant Dallandras, with those round little eyes and scruffy dark hair. Shed done him a favour, he decided, by leaving him. What would I want with her, anyway? An ugly mutt without any true power for sorcery!
Still, something seemed to have got into his eyes, dust from the camp, maybe, or smoke. Although he managed to stop himself from sobbing aloud, the traitor tears spilled and ran.
Toward noon Berwynna finally overcame her weariness enough to leave the refuge of the tent she shared with Uncle Mic. She emptied their chamber-pot into the latrine ditch at the edge of the encampment, rinsed it downstream, then returned it to the tent. For a few moments she stood just outside the entrance and looked around her. Talking among themselves the strangely long-eared Westfolk passed by. Many of them looked her way, smiled or ducked their heads in acknowledgment, but she could understand none of their words, leaving her no choice but to smile in return, then stay where she was.
Eventually someone she recognized came up to her, Ebañy the gerthddyn. When he hailed her in Deverrian, she could have wept for the relief of hearing something she could understand.
Good morrow, Uncle Ebañy, Berwynna said. May I call you that?
By all means, though most people in Deverry call me Salamander.
I do like the fancy of calling you Uncle Salamander.
Then please do so. He made her a bow. My full name is Ebañy Salamonderiel tran Devaberiel, but Im your uncle, sure enough.
My fathers brother. Right?
Right again, though we had different mothers. But can I turn myself into a dragon? Alas, I cannot.
Mayhap that be just as well. No doubt one dragon be more than enough for a family.
Mayhap that be just as well. No doubt one dragon be more than enough for a family.
You have my heart-felt agreement on that. I can, however, turn myself into a magpie. The beginnings of a smile twitched at his mouth.
Be you teasing me? Berwynna crossed her arms over her chest.
Not in the least.
Ah, then you be like Laz and the raven. A mazrak.
Just so. Yet he looked disappointed, as if perhaps hed expected her to be shocked or amazed.
That be a wonderful thing, truly, Berwynna went on. Better than being stuck, like, in one shape or another, such as that sorcerer did to my da. Or be it so that a man can get himself trapped in some other form, all by himself, I do mean?
He can, indeed, and frankly, I worry about Laz. Sidros mentioned that he often flies for days at a time.
I ken not the truth of that, but I did see him fly every day, twice at times, when we were travelling.
Thats far too often. Huh, I should have a word with him about it, a warning, like.
Think you hell listen?
Alas, I do not. Now, speaking of dragons, did you know that you have a step-mother and a step-sister of that scaly tribe?
I didnt! Ye gods, here I did think that dragons be only the fancies of priests and story-tellers, and now I do find that my own clan be full of them.
Priests?
Father Colm, the priest we did know back in Alban, did tell me once an old tale, that a dragon did eat a bishop that be somewhat like a head priest, you see but she did eat a bishop some miles to the south of where we did dwell. But I believed him not.
I have the horrid feeling that this Colm might have been right. With a slight frown Salamander considered something for a moment, then shrugged the problem away. Ah well, the dragons are sleeping the morning away in the sun, but when they wake, Ill introduce you. In the meantime, Wynni, come with me, and lets meet some of the ordinary folk.
Ordinary was not a word that Berwynna would have applied to the Westfolk. With their cat-slit eyes and long, furled ears, they fitted Father Colms descriptions of devils, yet she saw them doing the same daily things that the people of her old world did: cooking food, mending clothes, tending their children. They greeted her pleasantly, and some even spoke the language she now knew as Deverrian. Several woman told her how sorry they were that shed lost her betrothed. Not devils at all, she thought. Most likely Father Colm never actually knew any of them.
One odd thing, though, did give her pause. Now and then she saw a person talking to what appeared to be empty air. Once a woman carrying a jug of water tripped, spilling the lot. After she picked herself up, she set her hands on her hips and swore at nothing, or at least, at a spot on the ground that seemed to contain nothing. Another person, a young man, suddenly burst out of a tent and chased something. Berwynna got a glimpse of an arrow travelling through the air, but close to the ground and oddly slowly. With what sounded like mighty oaths, the man caught up, snatched it from the air, and aimed a kick at an empty spot near where hed claimed the arrow.
Uncle Salamander? she said, pointing. What does he talk to?
Hmm? Just one of the Wildfolk.
Oh, now you be teasing me.
You dont see the Wildfolk? Salamander spoke in a perfectly serious tone. I would have thought you could.
Wynni hesitated on the edge of annoyance. With a smile he patted her on the arm.
Dont let it trouble your heart, Salamander said. Ah, theres Branna. Let me introduce you.
Branna turned out to be a human lass, blonde, pretty, and about Wynnis own age a relief, she realized, after all the strange-looking folk shed seen and met. She also spoke the language that Wynni had come to think of as Deverrian, another relief.
Dalla told me that youd lost your man, Branna said. My heart aches for you.
My thanks. Wynni managed to keep her voice steady. Ill be missing him always.
Well, now, Salamander said. I have hopes that in a while youll
Oh, please dont try to make light of it, Branna interrupted him. It sounds so condescending.
Salamander winced and muttered an apology. Wynni decided that she liked Branna immensely, even though it surprised her to see her uncle defer to one so young.
Branna accompanied them as they continued their stroll through the camp. As they walked between a pair of tents, they came face-to-face with a small child, perhaps four years old, who held a small green snake in both hands. The child ignored them, and Branna and Salamander turned to go back the way theyd come. Wynni lingered, watching the child, who had eyes as green as the snake and slit the same vertical way. She was assuming that the snake was a pet, but the little lad calmly pinched its head between thumb and forefinger of one hand, then twisted the creatures body so sharply with the other that it broke the snakes neck and killed it. Wynni yelped and stepped back as the child bit into the snakes body. Blood ran down his chin as he spat out bits of green skin.
Salamander touched Wynnis arm from behind. Come back this way, he said. Thats one of our changelings, and he wont move for you.
A changeling, Wynni assumed, must be the same thing as a halfwit. She followed Salamander out of the narrow passage, but she glanced back to see the child still eating the snake raw.
My apologies, she said. He just took me by surprise.
No doubt, Branna said. We never know what theyll do.
When they reached the last tent, Berwynna looked out into the open country and saw dragons lounging in the grass. She stopped with a little gasp and stared at them, the enormous black dragon, her glimmering scales touched here and there with copper and a coppery green, and the smaller wyrm, her scales the dark green of pine needles, glinting with gold along her jaw and underbelly.
They be so beautiful, Berwynna said. How I wish my sister Avain were here to see them! She does love all things dragonish so deeply.
Well, if the gods allow, Salamander said, mayhap one day she will. Now, the black dragon is Arzosah, your fathers second, well, wife I suppose she is. The smaller is Medea, a step-sister.
As the three of them started toward the dragons, Wynni heard Dallandra calling from behind them, though she couldnt understand her words. She glanced back to see the dweomermaster running after them, waving her arms.
She wants us to stop, Branna said.
The three of them waited for Dallandra to catch up.
Let me go ahead, Dalla told them. I want to make sure that Arzosahs in a good mood. One never knows with dragons, and shes very jealous of your mother, Wynni.
Dallandra strode off through the grass to join the dragons. Arzosah lifted her massive head, and Medea sat up, curling her long green and gold tail around her front paws like a giant cat. Although they were too far away for Berwynna to hear their conversation, she could see the results. At first Arzosah listened carefully, then suddenly threw back her head and roared. Dallandra set her hands on her hips and yelled right back.
Oh joy, Salamander said. Its a good thing Dalla did go ahead, it seems.
While the black dragon and the dweomermaster argued, the green and gold dragon waddled toward Berwynna and Salamander. Although Father Colm had always said that dragons were the absolute peak and zenith of evil, Berwynna had lost her faith in the priests sayings, but she had to admit that her heart began to beat faster and harder. Salamander went tense, then stepped in front of Berwynna, but the dragon ducked her head and let out a quiet rumbling sound, a dragonish equivalent of a smile.