"This time?" Yuchai said, wonderingly. "Chagun healer?"
He remembered something more of that last dream. The man with his thin, pale face and gentle hands who brought both agony and soothing. The brown giant who filled the tent, nearly. He thought them visions.
"Whenever you woke I have been giving you of this to make you sleep again," Jegrai said. "It is from the healer-with-the-knife. But he said to leave off part of it, else it would make you crave for it."
"Cousin," Yuchai said wonderingly, "Where—hai-kala, in the name of the Wind Lords, where are we gotten to? This is not our last camp—I hear water—and the strangers you spoke of—"
"We have," Jegrai told him with a smothered twinkle in his eyes, "come to an unusual place, by the grace of the Wind Lords. Almost it could be the lands of blessed spirits. We have been granted water-pledge by wizards who hold lightning in their hands. One of them came himself from their home in the clouds to heal you with his own hands."
"That sounds like a tale to me, cousin," Yuchai said skeptically, sipping at the bitter brew of herbs Jegrai had handed him. As son of the Clan Singer he had a sure instinct for bald truth, the gilding of truth, and the warping of it.
Jegrai chuckled. "It is a tale. A tale a good many of the Vredai believe, but still only a tale. The 'wizards' are only men and women, I think; and though they have much wisdom, still, they can learn much of us. And if they are to be believed, this is their wish, to learn. The lightning I have seen, with my own eyes. Aya, it is powerful and fearful, but if men made it, other men can learn the use of it. The place in the clouds is a tall stone building up on the mountain pass on the western side of the valley."
Yuchai managed a feeble grin. "That sounds like less of a tale, though it is wonder enough."
"There is more wonder. One of the wizards did come to heal you, for no other reason than that another asked it of him, and both are good men. He gave us these herbs that kept you in a healing sleep and took your pain, and as I said, he also told us that after three days you would begin to crave them and that we should use them more sparingly. The Shaman thinks you are brave enough to do without except when you must sleep of nights, and I agree."
If Jegrai thought him brave enough to bear pain, then he would bear it until it tore him to ribbons before he complained. "I can bear it, cousin."
"I—I think I would like to ask another thing of you," Jegrai said after a moment of heavy silence, all the laughter gone from his face. "No—do not agree without thinking, and hear me out. We are under a three-day truce with the wizards. I go to speak with them before long, this very day, in the matter of—perhaps—an alliance. I think that there will be an exchange of hostages. Shenshu would go; she is wild to learn of this healing-with-knives. With her, Losha, equally wild to see new herbs and their uses, and to see the craftwork of these wizards. Shaman Demonsbane is to be the third. Shaman Northwind will be sometimes here, sometimes there if they permit; I think perhaps he and the woman-Khene of the wizards are two of the same mind. But I think that there should be a fourth to go." He paused. "Someone whose life they well know I value."
Yuchai blinked, and licked his lips. "M-me?"
"How better to hold my loyalty than to hold one who cannot escape them should I determine to betray them? And how better to prove my intentions than to offer that same person?"
Yuchai shivered. To be left alone, among wizards, trapped by a wounded body in a great hulking stone prison . . .
How better to serve his adored cousin, his Khene?
"Hear me, Yuchai—there may be something more here than being a hostage. The others speak of going to learn, so why not you also? You say you would be a warrior for the Vredai—would you wield your mind for me instead of a sword? Would you learn to cast lightning instead of shooting a bow?"
That possibility had not occurred to him.
"But I will not force you," Jegrai continued. "Though you would serve me and Vredai there as no one else could. You—little cousin, you are the only one of Vredai other than the healers and the -Shamans—and your father, whom I do not trust, as you know—with the quickness of mind to learn these things for me. You know Trade-tongue. You are the only one at all who would do this out of love for me and for the learning. You are the only one except perhaps Shenshu and Northwind who would see things clearly, and with no baggage of omens and portents attached."
"I would?" Yuchai said, bewildered. "Why do you say these things?"
"Because, little cousin, you ask too many uncomfortable questions," Jegrai replied, grinning. "You accept too many inconvenient answers, provided they be truthful. You are, in short, too much like me. I have another reason for wanting you in the hands of the wizards, and it is an entirely selfish one. I want you entirely whole again, little cousin, as strong and limber as before, and with both Shenshu and the healer-with-knives within the fortress walls, if such a thing can be, it will be."
Yuchai did not really need to think upon the matter long. Jegrai wanted this: well, Jegrai would have it.
Although—when he thought a moment longer, the notion of all the new things to see, to learn—that alone would likely have been as much a temptation as Jegrai's need.
"I will go gladly, cousin," he said softly.
The Khene sighed. "You may come to regret your decision before the day is over," he replied, "and your father will want my head upon a stake before his tent. But I thank you, Yuchai. You buy me more than you know."
* * *
It had been Felaras's decision to make the nomads come to her choice of ground, so they met in a pavilion set up by the side of the road within sight of the Fortress. The Order had used this pavilion at harvest festivals in the Vale; it held fifty people and tables for all of them, and was more than large enough for the two delegations and the single bargaining table.
They lined up on either side of it, her group, then the nomads. She'd wondered about chairs, the table, but the nomads seemed reasonably acquainted with such furnishings. The nomad chief Jegrai—even handsomer now that he was clean and rested—had brought with him only seven other folk (and Eriel had babbled about auspicious numbers), so she had ordered the same. The four of the delegation, and Zorsha, Kasha, and Boitan.
Kasha, because Felaras was going to be luck-wishing this colloquy with all her strength, and she wanted someone ready to deflect any ill-wishes. It was a pity Kasha wasn't as expert at this as Felaras was; she could deflect, but she didn't yet have the level of fine control needed to send an ill-wish right back in the teeth of the sender. But this time, deflection should be enough.
Boitan was here, because one of those with Jegrai was the injured boy, in a horse-litter. The boy was half-asleep over on a cot that had been brought at some haste from the Fortress, and set up at the side of the pavilion. Before long he should be completely asleep, as he'd been well dosed with poppy-gum. That was on Boitan's orders, after one look at his strained, white face. And, without prompting, Boitan had silently put himself at the boy's side rather than make an unmatched number at the table.
That was a likely ally she'd overlooked. Vider was hers, but inflexible and very cautious—he'd take to new ways only if others tried them first. But Boitan—quiet, unsmiling, but always ready to try something new and different—this was the one to learn whatever the nomad healers could teach, and giving him that opportunity might well make him hers. A lot like Duran, from what Felaras could judge of that near-legend. Boitan is definitely one to cultivate, a word of thanks and putting him in charge of dealing with the nomad healers will go a long way in that direction.
There had been relief in all the nomads' faces when they'd seen Boitan was one of those in the Order's party, and more relief when he'd taken charge of the boy as if it were a given.
That boy—Felaras fancied she knew what was coming; it made very sound sense in many ways for the boy to become a hostage. It was no secret to anyone how much the nomad leader valued his young cousin. There was this—he would certainly get the best care of
both worlds up here.
And there was the other aspect—he certainly wouldn't be able to escape if Jegrai turned his coat, so that made sense too. It virtually assured her of Jegrai's sworn word.
Lords of light and darkness—that says a lot of nasty things about the folk these nomads have been dealing with of late. If I were a betting woman, I would bet that the last leader he talked truce with would have demanded the boy. Not exactly used to dealing with anyone reasonable; wonder if they'd know a potential friend now if they saw him? But if the boy is anything like his cousin . . . hm. Felaras took her seat on her side of the bargaining table, keeping one part of her mind on the boy, the other on analyzing the Khene's expressions. A sharp mind generally hungers after learning. I wonder if we could gain ourselves an in-camp advocate with the Khene's ear just by teaching him as if he was one of ours. It's certainly worth a try.
She'd have preferred having the boy awake, so as to get the interactions between him and the Khene, but . . . no. The boy had endured the pain of the journey up the side of the mountain, but he did not have to continue to endure pain while his elders made noise at each other. She would have ordered that poppy-drink herself if Boitan hadn't anticipated her.
Let him sleep, Felaras thought. It's not as though knowing what's in his head is going to make any real difference at this stage. We'll be turning his world inside out soon enough.
So while the boy drowsed, oblivious, on one side of the pavilion, his elders drank wine and made diplomatic sounds at each other.
Jegrai was amazingly good at it for a "barbarian." Better than most of the folk in the Order.
Felaras was good at it, but she wished she wasn't. Polite noise, pretty compliments, all the rest of that diplomatic rot; Felaras mouthed it and loathed it even as she mouthed it. She was prepared to continue it indefinitely.
And then a glance at Khene Jegrai when his face was momentarily unguarded made her decide that enough was enough. That combination of tension and boredom was nearly identical to the emotions she was keeping hidden.
"All right," she said abruptly, putting her half-empty goblet down on the table. "You've danced your dance, I've danced mine. You want peace with us, we're willing. What are you prepared to give us for it?"
Jegrai's eyes widened a little. "That would depend on what you demanded," he said, his syntax having much improved after a three-day period spent in chattering with Teo. "I may tell you what we are prepared to offer. Hostages—and hostages willing to tell you of the lands we have traveled through, of our ways, of our fashion of healing and other crafts."
She nodded; this was exactly as she'd expected. "How many?"
"Four. The Second Shaman of Vredai, Demonsbane—"
A young man with very old eyes (sitting at the left hand of the weirdly bedecked ancient Felaras knew was the first Shaman, Northwind), nodded at her, and smiled faintly.
"—the First Healer of Vredai, Shenshu—"
Felaras had liked this one immediately, and not the least because of Boitan's descriptions of cleverness and competence. Shenshu twinkled as her name was spoken; there was no fear in her of what she was going to.
"—Losha, who studies plants and all their uses, not just of healing, and who teaches some of the other crafts, including that of weaponry—"
Another intriguingly handsome man, not so young as Jegrai and not quite so handsome, but in the same mold.
"—and—"
"And?" she prompted.
Jegrai simply looked over at the sleeping boy. "—Yuchai. I would have you to know that he is my heir until I breed those of my own body."
"Is it your wish, Khene, that this be more than an exchange of hostages?" Felaras asked carefully. "I am empowered to allow you the indefinite use of the place where you are now camped, and provisions, if you would help us to guard the Vale from wild beasts and . . . the like. But we could also offer you more than this. Would you have an exchange of something far more precious than hostages? Of knowledge? If we engage to teach those you leave with us and to learn from them, will you pledge likewise?"
Again Jegrai's eyes widened in surprise. "That—you freely offer this?"
"Freely offered," Felaras nodded. "There is nothing more important in our eyes."
He drew in a long breath. "We will so pledge."
"Then here is my envoy," she said, stressing the fact that she had not used the word hostage. "Four in exchange for four. Teo you already know. This is Halun, one of our finest artificer-scholars. Mai, wise in many things, including the arts of warfare. And Eriel, who searches for the ways by which we may understand the world. As much as you show to them, so they will teach you." She smiled at the young Khene, who was showing signs of the odd little light in his eyes that the best of the novices got when they discovered that they were going to be learning, and not just playing servant to their mentors. "I would take it well, Khene Jegrai, were you to keep Teo at your hand, yourself. There is much you could share with one another."
Jegrai and Teo exchanged a look bordering on the conspiratorial, and Teo began to grin.
"Master of the Order," Jegrai said formally, under far better control than Teo, "it is well. My people came prepared to stay."
"And mine to leave," she told him. "Let there be truce between our peoples, then."
"As long as the grass shall grow," he said, making it sound like a vow. "And, Wind Lords permitting, let this be the opening to something more than truce."
"Hladyr grant," she said fervently, and stood up from the bargaining table. She nodded briefly at Kasha and Zorsha, who made their unhurried way to the side of the pavilion, and picked up the boy Yuchai, cot and all, without waking him. She nodded again to Boitan, who gathered up the other three the way a kridee gathered her chicks, and with as little fuss.
"Do not fear, Khene Jegrai," she said, reacting to his look of worry. "We shall care for him as one born of us. Kasha, for the duration, the boy's a novice; equal shares with you and Zorsha until he proves out where his interests lie."
"Yes, Master Felaras," Kasha murmured, after casting her a single startled glance.
They headed for the pavilion entrance, following Boitan and the rest of the "hostages." She prepared to go after, but Jegrai cleared his throat urgently.
"Master Felaras, there is a favor. . . ."
"Ask."
"Shaman Northwind would come and go here—if that is permitted."
Felaras thought about that; it was obvious to a child that the old man could carry messages back and forth. Then again, they were asking openly. This wasn't exactly clandestine.
She looked out of the corner of her eye at the bizarre old man—who caught her eye, grinned, and winked.
By the gods, I like this old goat! she thought with amusement. Why the hell not?
"Why not?" she said aloud. "Surely your envoys will wish to send words to their families from time to time. He is welcome in our home—if—" she said with sudden wild inspiration "—I will be welcome from time to time in yours."
The young Khene was plainly not expecting that response. She watched him grope for an answer, and the Shaman forestalled him by answering her smoothly.
"How not?" he said in passable Trade-tongue. "One wizard should always find a welcome in the home of another. It is plain to me that you and I have much we should speak of together; now, if we may." He gave her a long look, and continued, with emphasis, "Is it not always so when folk share . . . knowledge?"
She felt just a hint of a tickle at the back of her neck, the pleasant little sensation that meant someone was luck-wishing (not ill-wishing) her, and looked at the Shaman with wild surmise. By the gods, he's not mouthing platitudes, and he's not making boasts! He's a real wizard—and he's got me pegged as having the power too! He must have felt the luck-wishing I was doing, and—
She glanced at Kasha, disappearing with the boy.
As if in answer to her thought, he followed the glance, then winked again, slowly.
—by the gods, he felt Ka
sha's deflection shield, tool This is going to be a very interesting conversation.
"It isn't so as often as I'd like, Shaman Northwind," she replied courteously, gathering her scattered and ambulatory wits again. "Pray, come with me. If you will excuse us, Khene, I think Shaman Northwind and I indeed have a very great deal to discuss."
* * *
"Where should we put our new novice?" Zorsha asked Kasha's back with a half-grin as he balanced his end of the cot over a rough place in the road. A rough place that was a legacy of those little efforts of Felaras's at impressing the nomads. "I've never had a novice before—only a puppy. I don't suppose we'll have to housebreak him, will we?"
Sunlight on the top of Kasha's head gave her hair reddish highlights that looked very nice against the dark brown of her tunic. "I think we'd better put him somewhere he's not likely to be frightened when he wakes up. Some place as open as possible. With a window." Her voice had gone flat the way it always did when she was thinking. "Hm. You know, there's the Master's Folly."
"There is, and probably the best bet if what you want is 'open,'" Zorsha agreed. "I just hope he doesn't get just as frightened when he sees how high up he is. He's just lucky it's spring, though, or we'd have to shovel a path from his bed to the door every morning."
"Oh, it isn't that bad. I stayed there when the Master had pneumonia. I'll grant you it's cold and drafty in winter, but I've been in worse inns. And it should keep him from feeling like he's buried under a pile of stone."
"I'll give you that. It also puts him right next door to Felaras, which is no bad thing. . . ."
Kasha gave him a sharp look over her shoulder. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"If you're thinking that there are some folk who, for all their learning, would take a certain enjoyment in tormenting an injured and helpless barbarian boy—"
"That's what I'm thinking, all right." The expression on her face as she turned away again was of someone who had tasted something sour. "Easy on, threshold—and dragon—ahead."
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