The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [155]
When she returned her focus to the white crystal, she realized that she could no longer see Rocca or the shrine. A silver whorl, flickering like a candle flame in a draught, blocked her view. Across from her, Laz lay so still, slumped half across the table, that she feared him dead, but he moaned under his breath and his lips moved to form a few silent words. In a moment he blinked, grinned at her, and sat up, stretching his back as if it pained him.
‘Now look into it,’ he whispered.
Sidro could see Rocca again, her eyes wide with fear as she rose and saluted the altar. She seemed to be calling out, then turned and rushed away out of the smoky view.
‘She saw something, certainly,’ Sidro said. ‘She’s badly frightened.’
‘Let’s hope it’s what I wanted her to see. I sent an image of the Lijik army at the ford.’
‘You what? You know what this army looks like?’
‘Of course. I’ve been flying over it for weeks now.’
‘So that’s where you’ve been going when you fly, and that’s why you haven’t wanted to tell me.’
‘Yes. They’re heading north for the ford.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Sisi, dearest, how else are they going to cross the river?’ Laz started to get up, staggered, and sat down again. ‘Ye gods, I’m soaked with sweat, and curse it all! I’ve drooled all over my sleeve.’
‘Shall I bring you some water?’
‘Please.’ His voice cracked and croaked on the word.
Sidro got up and fetched the bucket of clean water she kept on the windowsill, then found their one cup. He drank greedily, smiling at her between gulps, his face softened by sheer exhaustion.
‘You need to sleep,’ she said.
‘Quite right you are. Let’s hope your holy fools interpret the omen correctly.’
He stood up more easily this time and staggered over to the mattress. As soon as he lay down he was asleep, flopped on his back with one arm flung over his face. Sidro doused the wizard light, took off her dress, and lay down next to him.
As she was falling asleep, she remembered Laz telling her that he’d found the crystal in the ruins of Rinbaladelan. As if I’d believe that! she thought. All at once she was wide awake, wondering if he’d actually sent a warning to Zakh Gral. Why would he? ‘Only out of love for you’, he’d told her, a dull spur when it came to urging him to forgive the people who’d tried to kill him. She remembered how he’d looked at her so lovingly. She desperately wanted it all to be true. Was that why he’d said those particular words and given her that look, to ensure she’d believe him?
But what then had frightened Rocca so badly? Sidro lay awake for a long time that night, trying to resolve in her own mind what Laz might or might not have done, and whether or not he’d ever tell her the truth about it. Finally she realized that whether he said yes, he’d sent it or no, he hadn’t, she couldn’t believe him. Zakh Gral and Rinbaladelan merged in her mind until, that night, she dreamt about a city drowned in forest like breaking waves and saw the raven, drifting high above an army marching to destroy it.
‘Ebañy, wait up! If you’d be so kind, I mean.’
The voice belonged to Kov, the dwarven envoy, speaking Elvish with a guttural accent. Salamander turned around and saw him, staff in hand, dodging his way through the noisy Deverry camp. The army had halted for the night’s rest not long before. Servants and fighting men swarmed around, putting up tents, clearing grass and digging firepits, rushing this way and that with rations and bedrolls. Salamander waited in a clear spot by a wagon for Kov to catch up.
‘I’d like to speak with the Wise One, Dallandra,’ Kov said. ‘Do you think that’s possible?’
‘Certainly,’ Salamander said. ‘Would you be offended if I ask why?’
‘No, no,