The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [82]
“It’s not likely that a mere book’s going to survive all that.”
“True spoken. That’s my point.” Neb paused for a wry smile. “Dalla really needs that book, too.”
“Just so.” It occurred to Laz that retrieving the book would be a splendid way to improve Dallandra’s opinion of him. “Let me think on this. There must be some way to get it out safely.”
“Good luck.” Neb rose and smiled, a thin twitch of his mouth. “I’d best be getting back.”
“By all means,” Laz said. “My thanks for the information about the Boar dun.”
Seeing Neb leave made Laz sigh in genuine relief. Danger and twice danger! Laz thought. And I don’t have one cursed idea why I feel that way. Unless, of course, he’d known Neb back in that previous life when he’d betrayed his own kind to run after a false goddess and serve the enemies of his true people. If that were true, no wonder he felt shamed by Neb’s scorn. If. Everything, these days, seemed to depend upon some hidden truth, each bit of knowledge like one strand of a spider’s web, fragile with dew, hanging from the thinnest of twigs.
All that day Laz let his mind ramble around the problem of the dragon book. He was beginning to want another reason beside Sidro to leave the Ancients’ camp behind. Going after the book would provide a splendid, pride-saving excuse. Like Neb, however, Faharn doubted that anyone could rescue that mysterious volume.
“I did have one idea,” Laz told him. “Which also reminds me.You really have to work on learning the Lijik language. We’re going to be stuck among these people for the rest of our lives, most likely.”
“You’re right about that.” Faharn’s voice wavered, but when he spoke again, it sounded as strong as always. “So what was this idea?”
“Suppose we pretended to be sutlers. There’s always a crowd of them following the armies along. Whilst there, showing our wares, we could casually ask if they had any interesting trinkets or other items they’d want to sell. I’d wager that someone would bring out that book. Prince Dar would give us the coin to buy it, no doubt.”
“And what if someone’s there from Taenbalapan?” Faharn said. “And recognizes you?”
“Under all these scars? And with my dirty cheap clothes, and maimed hands, and the like, do I look like the First Son of a powerful mach-fala? I’ve not been in Taenbalapan in years and years. Neither of us have. I doubt if anyone would recognize us.”
“What about Bren?”
“Who?”
“That Deverry rider Pir captured. The one prowling around our horses last summer.”
“Oh. Him. What about him?”
Faharn sighed in sharp exasperation. “He may well still be at the Boar dun, that’s what.”
“I don’t understand. What’s he doing there?”
“Ye gods, Laz! Haven’t you ever wondered what became of him?”
“No, frankly. What did?”
“Your woman insisted we give him weapons and supplies and sent him off to the Boars to warn them about the army heading for Zakh Gral.”
“Her name is Sidro, and she’s not mine any longer.” Laz heard the snarl in his own voice and noticed Faharn flinch. “My apologies. It’s still a raw wound, I’m afraid, anything to do with Sidro. But let us return to this Bren.” He forced out a smile. “Why would he remember me?”
“Because you were going to kill him. There’s nothing like cold terror to fix a face in a man’s memory.”
“Oh.” Laz considered this. “You have a very good point. Very well, if Bren’s still with the Boars, then indeed, he could spoil our ruse entirely too easily.”
“I’m glad you can see that.”
“I may be reckless, but I’m not stupid. Wait! The book has guardian spirits attached to it. I wonder if I can make some sort of contact with them.”
“Now there’s an idea! You told me they could move the thing.”
“Not far, probably. But there’s that slave, and I think we can assume he’d be willing to entertain thoughts of escaping his masters. If the spirits could influence him—”
“Assuming we can get close enough to this wretched dun to do anything before the warlords find us there. Our heads could end up nailed to the wall.”
“You’re as