The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [142]
Bren stared at the hands, then at Laz’s face, and then at the hands again. “You weren’t marked like this when last I saw you,” he said.
“What?” Laz arranged a carefully puzzled expression. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Last summer, when I came to your hidey-hole in the woods.”
Laz gaped at him. “I don’t have the slightest idea of what you mean by that.”
“You tried to kill me,” Bren went on. “But the blessed priestess stopped you, and one of the men of your band gave me a horse and sword.”
“My band?”
“They were holed up in the woods with you.”
“Wait!” Laz mugged surprise again. “Do you mean to tell me you found my brother?”
Bren’s turn for surprise—he took a step back.
“I thought he’d been slain,” Laz continued. “A nasty sort, but my brother nonetheless, him and his thieving ways. Are you telling me you found a man who looks much like me hiding in the forest?”
“I did,” Bren said. “Ye gods, forgive me! This fellow was an outlaw, sure enough.”
“My heart feels torn in half.” Laz managed to squeeze out a few tears. “Your Highness, forgive my weakness!” He wiped the tears away on his sleeve and sniveled. “It gladdens my heart that my brother still lives, but sure enough, he’s a thief and an outlaw, robbing travelers on the roads, a shame and a reproach to my mach-fala, my clan, that is, in your way of speaking.”
“I see.” Voran appeared genuinely sympathetic. “Well, mayhap I shouldn’t admit this, but it’s a pity we don’t have him here. No doubt he knows the territory a fair bit better than any of us do.”
When Laz risked a glance at Brel, the dwarven warleader stuck his hands in his brigga pockets and arranged an utterly bland expression on his face, as if suppressing a grin. Fortunately, no one else seemed to have noticed the gesture.
“Well, one thing I do know,” Voran said. “After the hard push we made to get this far, the men need to rest. Brel Avro, we’ll discuss this further. You may go, good scribe. Doubtless you’re weary and hungry.”
“I am, Your Highness.” Laz made him a sweeping bow. “My thanks.”
The army spread out and made camp. While he ate his meager rations, Laz noticed that the various captains were walking through the area and speaking to their men, appointing sentries and discussing who would stand which watch. As the sun set, the men on watch left the camp and took up posts that ringed the army round.
“That farm over there,” Faharn said. “I wonder what the farm folk think of all this.”
“They’re doubtless terrified,” Laz said, “and probably with good reason. Armies have been known to strip farms of every scrap of food.”
That night, after the army had camped and set its sentry ring, Brel Avro strolled over to Laz’s campfire in the servants’ area. Laz, who’d been sitting on the ground with Faharn, rose to greet him.
“Just a question or two, scribe,” Brel said, grinning. “And I’ll promise you that I won’t be telling your answers to anyone else, unless you admit to being a Horsekin spy or suchlike.”
“Have no fear of that,” Laz said. “They and their wretched false goddess have taken everything I cherished away from me.”
“Is that why you turned outlaw in the forest?”
Laz considered lying. The admiration visible in Brel’s grin stopped him.
“It was,” Laz said instead. “I take it you saw through my ruse about my wicked, wicked brother.”
“Of course.” The grin grew broader. “But the prince swallowed it whole, and that’s what mattered.” Brel let the grin fade. “All I care about is you’re a cursed good scribe, just as Exalted Mother Grallezar said you were.”
“She doesn’t lie,” Laz said. “It’s frightening, in fact, how truthful she can be.”
“So I saw last summer. Now, I admire a man who can think on his feet, like, but be careful around the prince. He sees things a fair bit differently.”
“Apparently so. Are we really going to march out into unknown country looking for the Boars?”
“My men and I won’t, no matter what his high and mighty-ness decides, and you’re welcome to come