The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [141]
“This does not look promising,” Laz said. “Desolate, even.”
“Just so,” Faharn said. “I’ll wager that the wretched Boars have joined up with the Horsekin by now.”
“And have taken the book with them.” Laz sighed in a flood of gloom.
The army crawled down the last hill, then spread out along a stream at its base to water their horses. Laz noticed that Prince Voran had dismounted. The cadvridoc stood off to one side with Garin and Brel Avro, while Bren knelt on the ground near the prince’s feet. Brel and Voran were arguing, while Garin hovered, apparently trying to get a word in and failing.
“What’s that all about, I wonder?” Faharn said.
Laz found out when Voran’s manservant came running to fetch him. His worst fear—there knelt Bren, but he could find no excuse strong enough to avoid answering the prince’s summons. As he followed the servant, he was calculating a few good lies. Bren glanced up, saw him, and went tense, studying his face. Although the prince never noticed, Brel Avro did, glancing back and forth between Bren and Laz both.
“Ah, there you are,” Voran said. “Tell me, scribe, how well do you know the north country?”
“This particular stretch of it, Your Highness?” Laz said. “Not at all.”
“I was afraid of that,” Brel Avro said.
Voran shot the dwarven warleader a glance that hovered on the edge of anger. “We’ve been having a discussion about how far we should ride,” Voran continued. “The avro here thinks we should turn back, and I—”
“And you are daft enough to leave your supply lines unguarded,” Brel broke in. “And yourself miles from any allies in a country we know naught about.”
“Brel, please!” Garin snapped.
“Please, what?” Brel said. “Hold my tongue and let a lot of good men die for naught?”
The prince and the avro glared at each other, Brel with his hands on his hips, Voran with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, as if he were subduing his sword hand by force of will.
“Er,” Laz said, “I don’t quite understand—”
“Here’s the situation.” Garin stepped forward and took charge. “Bren here tells us that the Boar planned on retreating to the north before founding a new dun. The prince wishes to go after him. The avro thinks the idea is sheer folly.”
“Ambuscades,” Brel muttered. “Ambuscades, starvation, long sieges without reinforcements.”
“I fully intend to send messengers back,” Voran said.
“And how long will it take for help to reach us?” Brel scowled at him. “You—”
“Your Highness, honored avro!” Garin stepped between them then turned to Laz. “We were hoping you could tell us somewhat about the lay of the land.”
“I do know that this plateau stretches for a good long way,” Laz said. “On the far side of it is Horsekin country, where doubtless this renegade clansman of yours has allies.”
“And south of that?” Brel stepped forward. “You’re a loremaster. You must know somewhat.”
“True spoken, Avro Brel,” Laz said. “Suppose we start from my old home, Braemel, which lies in the foothills of the Western Mountains, far far away. The Boars may even be heading there or to Taenbalapan. Now, If you go east from either town, you reach a flat plain, which I suspect runs for hundreds of miles, crossed by rivers. The plain we see before us is doubtless an extension of it.” Laz cleared his throat. He was enjoying playing the loremaster. “To the north is an area we call the Ghostlands, because it’s filled with barrows, the graves of heroes of days gone by. Some say it’s the haunt of evil spirits.”
Brel snorted in disgust.
“Some areas of the plain, those nearer the towns, are heavily forested,” Laz went on. “There are several large rivers, including one named the Galan Targ, which marks the border of the territory the Alshandra priestesses call theirs. But I fear me I can tell you no more than that.”
“I’d think you’d know plenty about the forest.” Bren rose to his feet. “Considering you’re an outlaw and an outcast and used to live in it.”
“Here!” Voran said. “What’s all this?”
“Of course I’m an outcast.” Laz stretched out his maimed hands. “Consider what the priestesses