At the edge of town Valandario waited. Beside her stood a tall pale-haired man, dressed in a long tunic clasped with a distinctive broad belt, beaded in a pattern of blue circles and triangles. Valandario introduced him to the prince as the town mayor. When Daralanteriel dismounted, the mayor knelt to him.
‘Please get up,’ Dar said. ‘There’s no use in you kneeling in cold mud.’
The mayor laughed, then rose and launched into a speech of welcome. Other townsfolk came running to usher the prince’s retinue inside with speeches of their own. In the resulting confusion, Dallandra managed to slip away and join Valandario.
‘Let’s go to my chamber,’ Val said. ‘It’ll be quiet there.’
As they walked through the muddy streets, Dallandra marvelled at the town around them. Out in the grass few trees grew. Traders had hauled in some timber in return for the salt that the townsfolk harvested from the sea. The farmers had dug stones from their new fields and collected driftwood from the beaches to build a strange collection of squat, thatch-roofed cottages. Most of the walls stood at odd angles; some bristled with assemblages of random driftwood. Smoke from the hearths and lime from the sea birds stained roofs and walls. Behind most houses cows and chickens lived in shelters built of blocks of cut sod. A whiff of sewage hung in the air. Still, the men and women who lived in those houses weren’t Roundears, a marvel in itself. They’re my people, Dallandra thought, but they know things we’ve forgotten for a thousand years.
‘It’s still small,’ Valandario said, ‘but we’re expecting several boatloads of new settlers by the autumn.’
‘We?’ Dallandra said, smiling.
‘I’ve become part of the town, yes, at least for the winters.’
‘I’m going to need you to come with us when we leave.’
‘And I’m ready to ride, or at least, I will be once I finish packing up my things. Don’t worry about that.’ Val paused for a glance around. ‘But I’m hoping to come back in the autumn.’
The house in which Valandario was staying was a grander affair than most, two storeys high, the lower of stone, the upper of timber planks, with proper wooden shutters at every window and a slate roof. Inside the fenced yard chickens pecked and squawked in the spring greenery. Although she couldn’t see it, Dallandra could smell a cow as well.
‘Your hosts must be prosperous people,’ Dallandra said.
‘Yes, they’re the town potters,’ Valandario said. ‘The kiln’s round back, and their shop’s on the ground floor. And Jin’s teaching some apprentices how to make pabrus, too, as well as how to throw pots.’ She pointed to the side of the house. ‘We’ll go up the side stairs here.’
The creaky wooden stairs led to an off-kilter door of planks laced together with rope. Val opened it and ushered Dallandra inside to the kitchen, a big room with a brick hearth at one end, a long table in the middle, and crates and barrels along a side wall. Doorways led to various rooms, including the Wise One’s. Just like her old tent, Valandario’s chamber gleamed with bright colours on the walls and on the floor. Blankets and a pile of cushions lay on the narrow bed jammed against one wall.
‘Do sit down.’ Valandario waved at the bed. ‘You look like you could use a rest. Is the baby due soon?’
‘A pair of months.’ Dallandra sat down with a sigh of gratitude. ‘About. I’m not sure when exactly. Probably she’ll come at the most inconvenient moment.’
‘Babies seem to, yes. I know this is practically treason to our kind, but I’m glad I never had one.’
‘Well, I’m hoping that things work out better for this soul that they did the last time he was born. I won’t abandon him this time, for one thing.’
Valandario stared at her with abruptly cold eyes. ‘Are you saying that it’s Loddlaen?’ Her voice dwindled to a whisper on the name.
Too late Dallandra remembered who had murdered Valandario’s only lover. Val stood so still that it seemed she’d stopped breathing, waiting for the answer. From outside came the noise of the inhabitants returning to their town after greeting the prince – laughter, chatter, snatches of song, the barking of dogs and the high-pitched shrieks of children.
‘I won’t lie to you,’ Dallandra said at last. ‘Yes, it is, but she – and notice that I said she – she’ll wear a different personality this time around.’
‘Of course.’ Val turned away and walked over to the window. ‘Forgive me!’ She paused again, while the everyday noises from outside seemed to mock old griefs. ‘It would be a terrible thing to carry grudges from life to life,’ Val said at last. ‘Maybe that’s one reason we don’t remember lives, so we can let old hatreds die.’ Again a long pause, until the laughter and shouting had moved on. ‘I won’t revive mine, I promise you. The news just took me by surprise, that’s all.’
‘I’m sorry I let it slip like that. I should have prepared you –’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Yet Valandario continued staring out of the window. ‘You were gone when the murder happened. I can’t expect you to remember the particulars.’ Her voice nearly broke on the word ‘particulars’. ‘It’s just that all sorts of little things have happened, just lately, to remind me of Jav.’ She turned around at last. Her eyes glistened with tears. ‘And I still miss him. Elven lives are so long, no one stays together forever, but for us, everything ended too soon.’
‘Very much too soon, yes.’
Val went back to her work table. For a moment she stood, letting her fingers trail across the tooled leather cover of a volume lying there; then with a sigh she sat down in one of the two chairs standing behind it.
‘I’ve put together some interesting information about crystals.’ Val’s voice was steady again. ‘I’ve compiled a set of notes for you. Grallezar brought us some immensely valuable books.’
For some hours they discussed Valandario’s findings. When the light in the chamber faded, Val lit candles. Sidro came and went, bringing food and news. With warm bread came the information that Branna had gone with Grallezar and the Gel da’Thae. Chunks of roast lamb accompanied the welcome bulletin that thanks to a speech that Devaberiel had composed, Prince Daralanteriel had impressed everyone at the banquet. Along with a flask of Bardek wine for Val, Sidro reported that Calonderiel was discussing the town’s defence with the mayor and the leader of its ill-armed militia.
Dallandra was resting on the bed in Valandario’s chamber when Sidro came in for the last time, carrying a pottery cup of boiled milk with honey for her to drink. At her table Valandario had spread out her scrying cloths. Sidro noticed them and lingered for a moment.
‘I did want to ask you, Wise One,’ Sidro said to Val, ‘if there be aught I may do to help you find Laz. I know but a little dweomer, though it would gladden my heart to learn more, but what I have I’ll happily use if it would give you any aid.’
‘Thank you,’ Val said, ‘but I don’t know –’
‘Val,’ Dallandra interrupted in Elvish, ‘did you know that Sidro can read and write?’
‘I didn’t, no,’ Val answered in the same. ‘That might be useful.’
‘It’s time to record your gem scrying.’ Dallandra gave her a stern look over the rim of the cup. ‘The lore’s too valuable to risk losing.’
‘Oh.’ Valandario looked