It was Dallandra’s turn for the puzzled stare. The Ancients, Laz decided, weren’t as morbid as Deverry men and Gel da’Thae if she couldn’t see the humor in the situation.

“Your name was Tren,” Dallandra went on, “Another tale I heard has you killing a Gel da’Thae bard.”

Laz winced again. “That’s a heinous thing among my people,” he said. “And among the Deverry folk, too, I think.”

“One of the worst crimes under their laws, truly. I don’t know much else, because you were part of the Horsekin besiegers, and I was inside the city walls, so—” Dalla paused abruptly. “Now, who’s that?”

Someone was calling her name as he came walking through the rustling long grass. Dallandra rose to her feet, and Laz followed, glancing around him. A man of the Westfolk was striding toward them; he paused, waved to Dallandra, and hurried over with the long grass rustling around him. Tall, slender, pale-haired and impossibly handsome like all the Westfolk men, he had cat-slit eyes of a deep purple, narrowing as he looked Laz over. Ah, Laz thought, the lover or husband, no doubt!

“This is Calonderiel,” Dallandra said, “our banadar, that is, our warleader.”

“How do you do?” Laz made him a small bow.

“Well, my thanks.” Calonderiel held out his hand to Dallandra. “Our daughter’s awake.” The emphasis on the word “our” was unmistakable.

“You’ll forgive me, Laz,” Dalla said, “but I’ve got to go. We’ll continue this discussion later. I’d like to know what you think of Haen Marn, among other things.”

“Therein is a tale and half, indeed. One quick thing, though,” Laz said. “Little Wynni, is she well? As well as she can be, I mean.”

“She’s deep in her mourning, but she’s young, and she’ll recover, sooner or later. Evan’s doing his best to cheer her a bit.”

“He told me,” Calonderiel put in, “that he was going to take her to meet her stepmother today.”

“Stepmother?” Laz hesitated, thinking, then grinned. “The black dragon, you mean?”

“Just that.”

“Well, I’ve heard women describe their stepmothers as dragons before, but this is the first time I’ve ever known it to be true.”

Calonderiel laughed, but Dallandra spun around to look back at the elven camp.

“That could be dangerous,” she said then took off running, plowing through the tall grass.

“What?” Laz said.

“I don’t know.” Calonderiel shrugged, then turned and trotted after Dallandra.

Laz set his hands on his hips and stood watching them go, cursing silently to himself in a mixture of Gel da’Thae and Deverrian. Warleader, is he? Doubtless he could slit my throat without half-thinking about it, and no one would say him nay.