“But he figured out ways of doing things that needed getting done, without magic!” Darian protested.
“And that is certainly to his vast credit, I have no argument with you. It is too bad that your villagers were so certain that something done by magical means is intrinsically more valuable than something done any other way that they forgot that the value lies in the accomplishment, not how it was done.” Snowfire decided enough had been said on that issue. “Well, that, after all, is how it is said that carnival sharpsters manage to separate the gullible from their earnings, by accomplishing the ordinary with so much flash and tinsel that their victims forget that they are seeing nothing but a gaudy illusion overlaid on the absolutely commonplace.”
Darian looked so puzzled by that last remark that Snowfire reminded himself sharply that he was only dealing with a young lad, no matter how clever the boy sounded.
“I don’t know what that means,” the boy admitted honestly, impressing the Hawkbrother even more.
“It matters not, Dar’ian, we can talk about it another time. We have time to be friends. But for now—” He led Darian, gently and by careful questions, to talk about his parents.
He discovered that Nightwind had been correct about Darian’s close and affectionate relationship with his parents. He also learned that, as she had surmised, he still held to the hope that they were still alive somewhere.
He saw no reason to disabuse the boy of that hope. Certainly his guardians had made that attempt, and failed, and after all, what harm did it do him? That hope had probably sustained him, rather than harming him in any way, and had helped him to keep his spirit intact. That was hardly a bad thing.
Finally he persuaded Darian to come out of the ekele, get something to eat, and continue answering questions.
“You will feel better with a meal inside you,” Snowfire assured him, as he led Darian to the central cooking area. “I know that I always do. I would also like you to meet the rest of us one at a time, rather than facing all of us in a group. That cannot have been comfortable.”
Darian averted his eyes for a moment. “It felt like—like I was in trouble again, and you—you people are pretty scary,” he murmured uncomfortably.
Snowfire mentally berated himself for not seeing that beforehand. “I apologize, Dar’ian, but that is how we always conduct our information-meetings. When people must know some crucial intelligence, we all come together to hear it and ask questions, then folk go off to think about the situation, then return some time later to discuss possible strategies. You were not in trouble—but you were the focus and the most important part of the meeting.”
Darian flushed, and Snowfire decided that the subject had better be changed. “Never mind,” he said. “Let’s get food.” By that time they had reached the cook shelter, which had clay ovens constructed on the spot for baking, open fires with tripods for pots and spits for roasting small beasts and birds whole, and grills over coals for fish. Snowfire spotted the hertasi Ayshen taking fresh, hot bread from one of the ovens, and headed straight in that direction, for there was nothing he loved so much as hot bread. It was only when he noticed that Darian was no longer beside him that he turned to see the boy staring at the little hertasi with an expression of horrified surprise.
“Dar’ian?” he asked, puzzled. “Is something wrong?”
Darian’s face was as pale as a cloud. “What—is—that?” he whispered, as if he was afraid to make a sound lest the hertasi suddenly leap at him and rend him with claw and fang.
“That is Ayshen, a good friend of mine, and a wonderful baker,” Snowfire said, deciding that the best approach would be to be completely matter-of-fact about the hertasi. Did the Valdemarans have no hertasi in their land? Evidently not, judging by Darian’s pinched expression. “His mate Drusi makes a better stew, but no one can rival his bread, and his meat pies are worth suffering any hardship to earn! Come, I’ll introduce you.”
Darian could hardly hang back after that, and he trailed along after Snowfire with wide eyes and a set look of determination on his face. “Ayshen!” Snowfire hailed. “I am about to perish of famine, and our young friend Dar’ian k’Valdemar has not even had breakfast. Surely you can take pity on us and feed us!”
Darian obviously understood none of this—probably not even his name, given that Snowfire had given it the Tayledras pronunciation—but he could not misunderstand the tone of friend-to-friend that Snowfire used. Nor could he misunderstand the similar tone with which Ayshen replied to this sally.
“Shame on you, Snowfire. I thought the hatchling was in your charge! You are supposed to feed hatchlings, don’t you know that? Are you trying to stunt his growth through starvation so that you will no longer be the runt of this pack of humans?” Ayshen swiftly tore one of the steaming loaves in half, then tore each half in half, lengthwise. Onto two of the quarters he laid juicy slices of venison he carved from a roast over one of the fires, knife flashing in his blinding speed. He topped the meat with some mouth-watering concoction of his own, made of finely chopped herbs, wild garlic, and watercress from a set of nested simmering pots. Then he restored the top quarters of each, and handed one to each of them. Darian took his gingerly, unable to take his eyes from the hertasi’s lizardlike face.
Ayshen was a k’Leshya hertasi, and did not suffer from the painful shyness shared by all of the Pelagirs hertasi, including his mate. So he was neither offended nor alarmed by Darian’s reaction.
“The boy has never seen one of us, eh?” Ayshen chuckled. “No worries. I mind me the time I saw my first Haighlei; I thought my eyes would pop out of my head. To me, the idea that you humans had hide colors that wildly different just set my brain afire.” He turned to Darian, and cleared his throat. “To hearth, bed, and bread, be welcome,” he said in slow and uncertain Valdemaran.
Darian jumped, but held onto his meal with both hands, and made an awkward little bow. “Thanks be to the keeper of the house; my hand is at his service,” he replied in the formal manner.
Ayshen chuckled. “Tell him he shouldn’t have said that—I need a dishwasher today! You were on the roster, but with that bad arm, you can’t lift pots. It’s probably why you got the wound, as an excuse.”
Snowfire obediently translated, and a slow smile crept across Darian’s face. “I wouldn’t mind—if he really needs the help,” the boy said shyly. “I used to do all the dish-washing for Justyn—and—I could pay you back a little by taking your place.”
The glance he gave Snowfire had more than a shadow of hero worship to it, but Snowfire knew how to deal with that. “If you have no problem in taking my place, I would be grateful,” he replied and made a face. “On the whole, I don’t mind washing dishes; it’s preferable to a lot of other camp chores that I won’t escape because of my bad arm. And I will miss out on the special treats Ayshen keeps for his helpers.”
The ploy worked; he not only established that he was grateful to Darian for volunteering, but that the job of dish-washer brought with it some extra rewards.
It was arranged that Darian would report to Ayshen after the evening meal; with a bit of trial, they determined to both of their satisfaction that Ayshen could direct the boy with a bit of mime and a great deal of pointing.
That certainly went well, Snowfire thought with satisfaction, as he led Darian off in the direction of the dyheli grazing grounds. He is resilient, I must give him credit for that. Now that he has the concept of nonhuman partners planted in his mind, I’ll show him the next set.
* * *
Darian had hardly known what to think when he first saw the hertasi cook, Ayshen. The creature had looked—at least at first—so very much like the horrible Thing that had been leading the enemy fighters!
But Snowfire hadn’t been afraid of Ayshen, and the hertasi himself had been very kind—as Ayshen had put together a lunch for the two of them, and as Darian had gotten over his fright enough to look closely at him, it was obvious that he wasn’t very much like the enemy Thing at all.
Darian found himself volunteering to act as a dish-washer, and even more surprising, found himself looking forward to the task. At least now he would be able to accomplish something useful here!
It was so odd, though—feeling an urgent need to be useful.
“So—what’s a hertasi, anyway?” he asked Snowfire around a mouthful of bread.
“They are, so we believe, one of the creations of that same great mage who ended the Mage Wars,” Snowfire replied. “As you saw, they are descended from lizards, and they share many characteristics with lizards. Cold sends them into a stupor, and extreme cold could kill or injure them very badly. They act, more or less, as our helpers; they cook and clean for us, make clothing, act as the assistants for artisans—when they are not, themselves, artisans as well. In return, we give them the protection of our Vales and scouts and things that they need. They tend to live in colonies, although they take single mates. They are one of the five nonhuman races that we Tayledras associate and work with.”
“Five?” Darian could hardly believe it. “There are five kinds of—of—things that you have around your Vales?”
“As equal partners and helpers and not always in the Vales. The tervardi, or Bird-people, the kyree, or Furbrothers, and the dyheli, or Straight-horns, usually live outside our Vales. The hertasi and the gryphons in our Vales entwine their lives with ours; the others live entirely separate lives from ours, and only become partners with us where there are specific tasks that are better done with all our peoples.” Snowfire was so matter-of-fact about this—as if he were telling Darian how the Hawkbrothers arranged to get things from traders, or worked with the Valdemaran Guard! Darian found his head swimming. First, two-legged, intelligent lizards, and now this!
“In fact,” Snowfire was continuing, “we have dyheli with us as well as hertasi on this journey. They have volunteered, in token of their separate alliance with Valdemar, to act as our mounts and burden bearers. Selenay has offered, in light of the fact that they are grazers and most of the Pelagirs are forested, to sponsor colonies of dyheli into some of the unused grazing lands on the western border, and our dyheli are also along as scouts to investigate this possibility. We could say that, as grazers, they wish to find if the lands and available grasses and plants suit their tastes.”
Darian giggled at the word play. “What—what do these dyheli look like?” Darian asked. “I mean, I’ve heard stories, about some of the things in Hawkbrother lands, but I’ve never seen any.”
Snowfire smiled. “That, my friend, you are about to see for yourself. Look there—”
He pointed as they came around another of the ubiquitous vine curtains—and there, in a sunny meadow, was a small herd of something vaguely like deer with ghostlike coloration of pale beige and cream.
At least, they had four legs, hooves, and two delicately curved, unbranching horns on their heads. But the heads themselves were much larger than that of a deer, the enormous brown eyes looked more forward than a deer’s did. But the biggest difference was in the shape of the skull; a small and delicate muzzle, comparatively speaking, but an elongated cranium, something that could easily contain a brain the size of a man’s.
As he and Snowfire stood at the edge of the clearing, every dyheli head came up, the humans were examined closely, but swiftly, and then every dyheli head came down again, back to the important business of grazing.
Darian blinked at them in awe; he was no stranger to the concept of an intelligent, four-legged creature. After all, he was a native of Valdemar, and you’d have to have the brains of a wheel of cheese not to know all about Companions. But these creatures were so—different.
“Do they talk?” he asked in a whisper.
“Not like the hertasi do,” came the reply. “The dyheli speak mind-to-mind. Some of us find it difficult to speak to them, as some of us are better at Mindspeech with nonhumans than others.” Snowfire smiled down at him. “I happen to be one of the lucky ones; I find it as easy to speak with them as I do with you. Easier, in fact, for I am not translating into a foreign tongue.”
Darian turned his attention back to the dyheli. “I wonder if I could learn to talk to them,” he mused out loud.
:Why not simply try?:
“Because I don’t know if I can—” he began, then realized that Snowfire had not spoken aloud.
In fact, the voice he had heard had been entirely in his mind—and had not been Snowfire’s.
One of the dyheli had raised his head again, and was walking toward them, his eyes centered on Darian. The delicate creature had no expression to read, but the voice in Darian’s head was warm and amused. :It is a great advantage to speak this way, little brother,: the dyheli stag said to him. :It requires no translators, and it is very, very difficult to lie or be lied to. It tends to make all things level, as it were.:
Darian stared up into the stag’s huge, brown eyes, and didn’t realize that he was holding his breath until his lungs began to ache. Belatedly, he took a gasping breath of air, as Snowfire chuckled at his expression.
“Tyrsell tends to be a bit more direct than I do,” he told Darian. “I would have waited to test you for Mindspeech, but his approach is to simply try it and see if you can Hear him. Well—I suppose this means that now I shall have to teach you to use that Gift—”
:Oh, not immediately; his natural shields are good enough to hold for now,: the stag replied lazily. :And if it comes to that, I’m as good a teacher as you are. Better, maybe—I’ve had more practice at it.:
“Are you volunteering?” Snowfire asked, as Darian felt his mind reeling under this latest revelation.
:Why not? The boy could use a competent teacher,: the stag replied teasingly. :Actually, and more honestly, young Darian, you need a teacher with a little less to attend to than our friend Snowfire. I have more time to spare than he.: The stag lifted his head to look up into Snowfire’s face. :But, I think, Snowfire, that it would be a good thing if you let me give Darian your language now. It would be better for him if he did not require a translator.:
Then, for several moments, the stag and Snowfire looked into each others’ eyes, and Darian sensed that they were exchanging words that he couldn’t “hear.” Snowfire was frowning, as if he didn’t agree with what was being said. Finally, though, the Hawkbrother sighed and nodded.
“Dar’ian,” he said carefully, “I was going to work a very small magic that would allow you to understand our tongue—but as my friend and herd leader has just reminded me, he can do the same thing without magic, and with fewer problems. But—there are some things that will also happen that you might consider problems.”
“Like what?” Darian asked immediately. Having people talking over his head and not being able to understand them had been making him very frustrated, although he had been too polite to say anything.
“It might hurt a little. It will definitely be a shock to your system. You might get some of his memories as well, or mine, since he will be taking the language of the Tayledras from my mind. They’d probably crop up in your dreams, and they might be disturbing. You already know that I am used to fighting. My friend is also a warrior—he has to be, or he couldn’t lead the herd—and he knows how to use his weapons.” Snowfire glanced at the dyheli’s horns significantly.
“I don’t care—I mean, I’d really like it if he could do that,” Darian said quickly. Just at the moment, the idea that he might finally be able to understand all the people chattering around him made him almost sick with longing.
:Then look into my eyes, young one,: the dyheli commanded, and without another thought, Darian obeyed.
Time slowed, then stopped.
He came to himself lying flat on the grass, gazing up at the blue sky, feeling very much as if someone had kicked his feet out from underneath him.
“I did warn you,” Snowfire said, holding out a hand to help him up—and as Darian took it and clambered clumsily to his feet, lightning flashes and glitter dancing in his eyes, he suddenly realized that the lang
uage had not been Valdemaran.
“So you did,” he agreed, and to his delight, he realized a moment later that he had replied in the Hawkbrother tongue without thinking about it. He felt the back of his head gingerly, but the ground had been nicely cushioned with grass, and there was no knot on his skull, which was a good thing. He did have a headache, though, which felt as if someone had taken the top off his skull, looked inside, stirred the contents up a bit, and then replaced the skull top and left him lying in the grass.
“Are you quite all right?” Snowfire asked him, with concern.
“I think so, but I’ve got a headache,” he admitted as he rubbed his temples. “It doesn’t seem to want to go away.” Then he realized that he had not yet thanked Tyrsell, and he flushed.
“Thank you very much, sir,” he said, turning hastily to the waiting dyheli, and bowing a little. “I hope I don’t sound as if I’m complaining, because I’m not! Being able to understand people—” He groped for words.
:Being able to understand people will prevent you from feeling like such an outsider,: the stag said smoothly. :You have quite enough troubles without that added to your burden. Being able to understand their words will help you to understand them. And you are quite welcome; be sure to come to me when you have time for a lesson in Mindspeech. Until then, I hope you learn to enjoy being among us. It is the way of a herd to encompass and support.:
Darian said that he would, reflecting that at least a dyheli would not be able to smack his fingers with a rod like the Widow Clay who had taught him his letters had. The stag nodded and moved back toward his herd, flowing over the grass in a way that hardly resembled walking.
Darian steadied himself against Snowfire for a few long minutes. His head felt compressed, twisted, and then expanded again to a size larger than his skin could hold. There were words for things he had never seen inside his mind now, and images associated with rituals and crafts, and trees and plants, and women and men, and clothing and tools, and names for all of them. There were even some images of things he did not want to understand, and a few that he didn’t think he was quite old enough for. There were even names for tastes he had never tasted, and feelings his body had never known. Darian would have felt disassociated and frightened enough to scream, if it weren’t for the effect of hopeful wonderment these new words were having upon him. So many great things had now touched him, and were a part of him, and there was a spark inside him—now that he had names, he wanted to learn the meanings.
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