“You have the right of it,” he agreed, wearily. “But . . . Lady … by the time I realized what a mistake I had made, I was in too deep to extricate myself gracefully. I knew you would be angry, and I did not want to hurt you.” He hesitated, then continued, in a low voice. “And yesterday, when you began saying that we must part, I knew that if you were to leam the truth, then you would indeed go your separate way- and I did not want that to happen.”
As he spoke, Lydryth heard a note in his voice that broke through her ire. Her face flushed again, but not from anger, and she could feel her heart pounding, as though she had been sprinting. “I did not want you to risk falling into the witch’s hands again on my behalf,” she said awkwardly. “That would be poor repayment indeed for your aid.”
“And my lack of truthfulness was poor exchange for your candor,” he said. He stepped closer to her in the darkness. “I can only say that I am sorry. I was wrong, but the thought of never seeing you again was . . .” He hesitated. “. . . not something I wished to contemplate.”
Lydryth backed away in confusion, half of her struggling to find words to answer him, half not wanting to hear any more.
“Shall I go, then?” he asked, with an undercurrent of sadness in his calm tones. “Must we indeed part?”
Mastering her conflicting emotions, Lydryth managed to say, levelly enough, “If you are certain that the witch has been foiled in her hopes of finding us, then I see no reason why we cannot continue on to the Valley of the Green Silences.”
Silently he nodded, and they walked together back to the place where they had made camp.
The smell of stew tantalized the travelers when they reached the place where Monso waited, cropping determinedly at the scrubby clumps of grass nestled between the rocks. Alon fed the Keplian, then they sat down to their own meal.
When they finished, Lydryth gazed at her companion across their campfire and said, quietly, “You know my story, Alon. I feel I have the right now to know yours. How came you to be in Rylon Comers, racing Monso? A man with your abilities …”
She saw lines appear around his mouth as he grimaced, then he said bitterly, “It is true, most Adepts spend their days in other pursuits than cheating at horse racing. But believe me when I tell you that until I encountered you, and we were captured, I had not used magic in more than a year.”
“So you put the guards and the witch to sleep?”
“I directed my Power through the beasts, yes.”
“I should have guessed,” Lydryth said, then in a burst of honesty admitted, “Perhaps I did guess-but I did not want to let myself see what lay plainly before my eyes. Duratan and Nolar . . . they knew, didn’t they?”
“I believe so.”
The songsmith stirred the dying fire with a branch until it blazed up, then tossed the stick into the glowing red heart of the coals. “From living in Kar Garudwyn, I know that it is no small thing to ignore one’s Power. The Gift will out, no matter what. Why had you given up using your magic?”
“Because I killed my best friend with it,” Alon replied.
She stared at him, shocked. Silence held between them for a little while; then Alon sighed and said, “It is a long story. I know not who I truly am, or what my parentage is. I was fostered by a Lord Parian, for he believed me to be the son of a slain kinsman of his. Whether that story was the truth, I know not.”
He paused, and Lydryth asked, “Why do you doubt that tale?”
“Because Yachne told Lord Parian that I was born to his kinsman, but there was no other evidence to support that tale. And Yachne . . .” He hesitated. “I never trusted her, though she cared for me and raised me for my first dozen years.”
“Who was this Yachne?”
“A Wise Woman, of that I am sure. She appeared at Lord Parian’s keep with me as a babe in arms, telling him the story of who I was and how I had been born. She claimed to have been my lady mother’s servant.”
“And she had the Power?”
“Yes. In many ways, I believe, she lessoned me subtly in its use from the time I could walk and talk. But I do not believe that she ever had any warmth or liking for me-only for what she thought I might be able to do for her.”
Lydryth thought of what a barren existence he had evidently led-without true kin, or caring-and felt her heart tighten within her. “Perhaps,” she ventured awkwardly, “this . . . Yachne . . . felt true affection for you, but had difficulty showing it. That is often the case with certain people.”
Alon shook his head decisively. “Even by the time I was a lad of twelve, I knew better. She never acted like a mother, or an aunt, or even a fond teacher. She taught me as though she had a use for me, and I feared the day I would be put to that use.” He stared bleakly at her across the yellow flames. “I learned from her, but I did not love her-though she never abused me or treated me with anything but a rather aloof kindness. She took very good care of me, but always I feared her more than a little.”
“Did you worry that she meant you harm?”
“No …” He hesitated. “But I never wanted to be a dagger for her honing.” Alon smiled wryly, but there was pain in his eyes. “However, I know with certainty that that is what I was to Yachne. That is all I was to her.”
“So what set you free of the Wise Woman and Lord Parian?”
“There was a raid by one who was in league with a powerful Dark One. Everyone in Lord Parian’s keep was killed, save for me. I managed to conceal myself from the raiders.”
“By sorcerous means,” Lydryth guessed, and was not surprised when he nodded assent. “Everyone was killed?” she continued. “Yachne too?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I never saw her body, but I have no reason to believe she was spared. If she had still lived, it seemed to me, she would have come to my rescue. I was valuable to her, after all,” he finished, with a bitter grimace.
“And then?” Lydryth prompted, when he fell silent once more. “What did you do then?”
“I made my way to Escore, and, as I told you, I was fostered there by Hilarion and Kaththea. But several years after I came to live with them, they had a child of their own . . . then, two years later, another.
“By that time I was near-grown, and Hilarion had taught me much of what he knew. They would have had me stay, but I was restless to see the land where I had been born-if Karsten was indeed that place, since I have no way of knowing. And I felt that my foster-parents should be able to raise their children without distraction. So I set off with Monso.”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned his chin in his hands, staring intently into the dwindling fire, as though he saw events from the past pictured there. “Once on the other side of the mountains, I encountered Jonthal, Steel Talon’s master. I’d had a Falconer friend, Nirel, when I was a child, so I spoke to him, where I was cautious in speaking to other men. We became friends, and soon we were leading parties over the mountains from Karsten and Estcarp into Escore. Jonthal handled the business, and I rode with the travelers to protect them from the dangers that had been unleashed following the Turning … the Thas and the Grey Ones, mostly.”
“I can see how a party could travel safely under your protection,” Lydryth agreed. “No wonder you never needed to learn swordplay!”
“You have convinced me otherwise,” he said. “Now that we have no further fear of Estcarpian pursuit, I will practice daily.”
“Good,” she said. “But pray continue your account.”
“Jonthal always warned me that I was overconfident,” Alon resumed his story with a tired sigh. “But I laughed at his fears. One night in Kars, we were dining in a tap-house, when a boy delivered a message, saying that a prospective client wished to see us. Jonthal did not wish to go, as the summons had come from a part of Kars City where even the City Guards did not venture, save in force, but I insisted. We needed the money, and what was there to fear, I said? My Power would protect us.”