The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [150]
‘No, I’m not.’ Sidro stayed on her tree stump, on the far side of the table from the bed. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
‘Ah.’ Laz sat up. ‘You’re vexed with me.’
‘How perceptive you are.’
With a sigh he got up and joined her at the table. ‘What have I done now?’ he said.
‘Going off without telling me. Flying when the dragon’s nearby. Landing on that Lijik rakzan’s wall. How reckless are you, Laz? Or were you lying about the dragon?’
‘I was most assuredly not lying about the dragon, or dragons to be precise. The mated pair are both out here in the Northlands, though fortunately the little ones seem to have stayed at home in their nest or whatever it is dragons have. I flew over the forest so I could duck into the trees if I saw them.’
‘What good would the trees—’
‘Sisi, the wyrms are huge, at least thirty feet long, I’d say. How are they going to fly into a forest? They couldn’t wedge themselves between the trees. Besides, the forest reeks of animal smells. Dragon noses are keen, but nothing like ours. They’d have a hard time smelling out a single person. An army of Gel da’ Thae, yes. One me, no.’
‘Very well. I suppose you’re right.’
‘Of course I am. What else is vexing your soul?’
‘I want to know where you got the white crystal pyramid.’
‘I found it in the ruins of Rinbaladelan.’
‘Do you really think I’ll believe that? Laz, I am so tired of your lying to me.’
‘No, it’s true. Rinbaladelan, Sisi. I’ve been there.’
Before she could answer, they heard shouting outside, the deep voices of Horsekin men, and a high-pitched scream that sounded as if it might come from a human throat. Someone pounded on the cabin door.
‘Laz, get out here!’ Pir called out. ‘A thief’s been prowling around our horses.’
With her thoughts full of dragons, Sidro felt her heart flutter in her chest, but when she followed Laz out, she saw a young Lijik man kneeling on the ground between two of the spearmen. Pir stood nearby, his horse-mane of hair glittering with charms in the bright sun. The Lijik man’s clothes were filthy and torn, his hair so matted with dirt and leaves that its colour was impossible to discern, his face smeared with mud and discoloured with bruises. He trembled as he looked this way and that, but when he saw Sidro he broke into a grin.
‘Priestess,’ he whispered in Deverrian. ‘Blessed Sidro.’
She’d heard his voice before, Sidro realized. She stepped forward and peered into his face. His eyes were pale blue and again, familiar.
‘You do come from Lord Honelg’s dun,’ she said in the same language. ‘Be you one of his riders?’
‘I was. My name’s Bren. I’m the last left alive. My lord had given me leave to visit my father, you see, so I was out of the dun when the siege began.’
‘Siege? What—’
‘The gwerbret found out we worshipped our goddess. He called us traitors. Holy one, he took our dun. Everyone’s dead but me.’
Sidro could find the air neither to speak nor breathe for a long moment. She laid a shaking hand over her heart to steady both.
‘Worse news yet,’ Bren continued. ‘He’s marching on Zakh Gral. It was the gerthddyn that told him. They’ve gathered an army.’
Behind her Laz squawked raven-like in cold rage. He pushed past her, drawing his knife. With a yell, Bren tried to draw his own knife and stand up in the same motion, but Pir stopped him with a well-placed kick to his chest that sprawled him in the dirt. Bren moaned and coughed, scrambled to his knees, then reached out to her with both arms.
‘Holy one! Don’t let them kill me! I’ve got more to tell you.’
Knife held low but wicked in his fist, Laz strode forward, his gaze fixed on Bren’s face. Sidro stepped in front of him and grabbed his right arm. She had the sudden definite sensation that someone