He looked about for a cleaner tunic. “No matter what, don’t stop looking for
Illyra, hear me? If you find her you take her back to the bazaar. The S’danzo
will help, and Dubro. They won’t ask about your past. Do you understand?”
She nodded and watched without interest as he cast his filthy tunic aside and
pulled another one over his head.
“You should wash first,” she told him. “You shouldn’t stink before the Prince.
You won’t win any bargains.”
Walegrin glared at her, dropping the second tunic to the floor as he stormed
toward the stream where they washed.
“I wasn’t always like this,” she shouted after him.. “I know better ways.”
Dripping, but clean, Walegrin returned to the room to find his tunic lying
neatly on the mattress. Somehow the girl had gotten the extra wrinkles out. His
bronze circlet had been given a quick polish and some of the mud was gone from
his sandals. But Cythen herself was gone from the shed, the courtyard and the
villa. Coming on top of the loss of Illyra and Thrusher it was almost more than
he could endure. Had he found her right then he would have cheerfully beaten
her.
But the girl had been right, damn her. He felt better clean. His few men
straightened up as he assembled them in the courtyard. He told them what he’d
told Cythen. They grumbled and he doubted they’d wait more than a day before
going their separate ways if he did not return. He looked for Balustrus too, and
found only his share of the swords. The ore, the necklace and the metal-master
had vanished. He was getting used to that.