by Andre Norton
Mero snorted. All the more reason for you to take me with you if you decide to leave these complainers behind. They might decide that if you're not around, they should blame me!
Shana laughed, and patted her friend on the shoulder. It's a bargain, she told him lightly. If I bolt, I'll take you with me.
Keman rolled his eyes upwards. If you bolt, you'd better not forget to tell us! he exclaimed. We dragons are only here because of you, little two-legger, and there's no reason to stay if you leave! You think we want to have to listen to them whining without you to keep them off our backs?
I can't imagine why anyone would, Shana told her foster brother. Not for more than a heartbeat, anyway.
Caellach Gwain surveyed the cave that would be his home for what was left of his life, and seethed with resentment. The dragon that had prepared it for him had smoothed the floor and walls, it was true, had drilled a ventilating shaft right to the surface, and it was no longer as dank as it had been. He'd been promised that later another dragon would return, and shape a little cubicle into a bath and necessary, and another into a fireplace and chimney. The dragons swore that there would be no trouble in creating a real sanitation arrangement, nor a good heat source.
But it was still a cave, with his few belongings heaped pathetically in one corner, and nothing was going to make it into anything but a cave. It was not his comfortable suite of four real rooms with real walls, floor, and ceiling of warm wood, in the old Citadel. There was no furniture, and there would be none until someone learned how to make it. No bed, no tables, no chairs—no rugs, no fireplace, no cushions, no blankets…
No one to clean for me or cook for me, and everything topsy-turvy, with brats that should still be apprentices playing at being our leaders, and people who should be leaders forced to take their orders. Caellach grimaced angrily. And if it hadn't been for those same brats, I would be sitting in my favorite chair with a nice cup of tea right now, or perhaps a glass of mulled, spiced wine. His mouth watered with longing.
He had not forgotten that this Shana creature was the reason they had all been forced to flee the Citadel in the first place, and he was not about to let anyone else forget it, either. If she hadn't rashly used the old transportation spell to bring her and her three idiot friends straight to the Citadel the moment she thought they might be in a trifle of danger, the elves would never have known that it and the wizards in it even existed. Things would still be the way they always had been, the way they should be.
Comfortable, safe, and secure.
They kept telling him, whenever he tried to insist on his rights and get his apprentices back to their appropriate work, that things were different now and he would have to see to himself. He didn't see why things should be any different, especially not now. Wasn't it the duty of the young to see to the welfare of their elders? Hadn't it always been that way? And the elders paid for that with their wisdom and experience, which was only right.
But apparently that wasn't the way this new order operated. Anyone who is able-bodied will have to take care of himself, he'd been told, rudely. We'll get you started, but you'll have to make your own quarters after they're roughed in, and you'll have to see to your own needs.
The nerve of them, he seethed. That had to have been on that Shana's orders! She had never liked him, because he'd put her in her proper place more than once. He'd be willing to bet that her own master Denelor wasn't doing without the services of his apprentices!
And just what was he supposed to do to make this into something livable, anyway? He couldn't steal what he wanted from the elves, the way he had in the old days; that was part of the bad bargain that Shana had made to get the elves to agree to leave them alone. Anyway, the moment I did, they'd know where we are now. That would be stupid, even by that brat's standards. Was he supposed to go cut down trees and build his own bed, chests, chairs? Was he supposed to weave his own blankets? Were they all mad?
Of course, they're all mad, he told himself, grinding his teeth. They wouldn't have done this if they weren't mad. They wouldn't have fought the elves in the first place, they'd have rendered that Shana creature unconscious and left her for the elves to find. They had no reason to suppose there was more than one halfblood, after all. She should have willingly sacrificed herself to save the rest of us! It was her duty! Not dragging us into a war we didn't plan on and never wanted! Not turning our whole way of life upside down just because she thinks she's better than her elders!
He felt a flush of anger crawling up his face, and forced himself to calm down.
It won't be this way forever, he promised himself. It may not even stay this way for long. The other senior wizards have been listening, lately, when I've tried to show them reason. There are probably a lot of them looking at holes in the stone and thinking now that I was right. Shana brought all this on us; there's no reason for us to listen and obey when Shana and those dragons start upsetting the proper order.
There was every reason for the older and wiser wizards to start returning things to the proper order. They were no longer under a state of siege, nor were they trudging through the wilderness. It was time to set things right again.
And if Parth Agon would not take care of the task, Caellach Gwain was just the man to see that things did get back to normal.
But meanwhile—
He surveyed the hard stone floor with ill grace. Supposedly—provided that their so wise leader hadn't appropriated the children for some other necessary task—the human children had been sent down to the river in the valley to cut reeds for bedding. Supposedly they should have made several trips by now, and there should be many bundles stacked up on the riverbank, waiting for someone to come get them. That floor was going to be cursed cold to sleep on without something between him and it.
He started to call for one of his apprentices to start fetching bundles of reed down here, recalled that he had no apprentices now, and stopped himself with a growl.
Well, at least she can't forbid me to do this the logical way, he thought hotly. Cursed if I'll carry all those bundles down here by hand!
He didn't need a scrying crystal to locate the bundles of reed; that was for mere apprentices. He was a senior wizard and above such crude necessities. He simply concentrated and called upon his powers—
A glowing, ball-shaped haze of light appeared in the center of the cave, and within a heartbeat or two, the unmistakable shapes of reed bundles formed within it.
He wondered for a moment, as the power drained from him a bit, how many he should take.
As many as I can fetch! He decided. And we'll just let them see who the senior wizards are!
He made a mental grab for his target, and with an audible thud, a dozen bundles dropped to the stone floor, bringing with them the scent of fresh air and river water.
He surveyed his prizes with smug satisfaction. He had really only needed three bundles of that size for an adequate bed, but—
But they can cut more. They're not even apprentices. And for once, I'm going to nave the comfort I deserve.
After all, it was only what was rightfully due him.
So now we have water, Denelor told Shana, gesturing at the filling pool of spring water with a smile of tired satisfaction on his round, good-humored face. He was thinner than he had been; months of hiking across the wilderness had trimmed off the excess pounds he'd carried, and had tanned his skin to a warm brown, against which his thinning hair seemed whiter than ever. I think I can even replicate some of the old magics with help, eventually, and we'll have real running water all over the Citadel, hot and cold, in a few years. When I was an apprentice, I used to have to work on the plumbing, so I'm partly familiar with it. A look of determination replaced the smile. What the first wizards learned to do, surely we, too, can rediscover.
Shana smiled back; her old mentor Denelor had done an amazing job of adapting to this new life. She would have expected him to throw in his lot with the old whiners, but instead he had turned into one of the f
irst to try and work out a solution to problems as they arose.
In the meantime, he was saying, I can get water to a kitchen area and a bathing area next to it; tomorrow the dragons will be sculpting rubs with drains for baths, laundry, washing things, and the means to actually drain the dirty water away without contaminating our fresh water. They're already putting in chimneys and fireplaces today—for now, to heat the water, all we have to do is heat stones and drop them into a filled tub. We won't be able to cook a stew or a soup, or brew more than a cupful of tea, though, until we find a way to get big pots.
Food won't be a problem, she assured him. There's plenty of game in the forest, plenty of edible plants down there, too, I suspect. You won't even have to actually hunt, just bring in the game magically, the way we used to steal supplies, and you know it'll arrive dead.
Denelor chuckled; obviously he still remembered the way Shana had casually magicked in a huge buck elk when she first arrived, easily ten times the weight he, her master, had thought she would be able to handle. Shana had known better, of course, but he didn't believe her until she demonstrated her ability.
At least it won't be mutton, he replied comfortably. That is one aspect of the old Citadel that I will not miss; it was convenient to have that flock of sheep there, but one grew very tired of everlasting mutton.
He turned to go back up to the next level above this, the one where living quarters would now actually start, since this lowest level had been usurped by the water. The other two followed, their footsteps echoing up the slanting tunnel. Does anyone here actually know how to make anything? Mero asked. You know, make pots, build things with their hands? You're going to need a lot of things, from bed frames to clothing, and you won't be able to get them from the elves anymore. Can you make things magically that will last? The elven lords can, some of them.
Denelor shrugged, and eyed his rather worn tunic ruefully. I don't know, he admitted. I must admit that I had an idea that was very, very tempting, though. We're forbidden to steal from the elves—but is there any reason why we can't steal from ourselves?
Shana frowned. I'm not sure I follow you, she said doubtfully, as they reached the place where the tunnel flattened out, and other cave mouths opened up on it.
Well, we don't think the elves looted the Citadel after we left it, correct? her former master said. We don't even know for certain if they actually found it, since they were really looking for us, and not our hiding place.
Shana nodded. They could have destroyed everything in sight just out of spite, though, if they did find it. she warned. They're like that.
Yes, but I don't think they actually found it, and I'm sure they never had time to really do much but superficial damage, Denelor persisted. I'm sure that they have some kind of magical guard placed around the forest, and I'm sure they have regular patrols there now, but I rather doubt they have a mage-shield about it—and even if they did, Shana, I am sure you can break it.
She flushed. I wouldn't be too sure about that, she demurred, but I think I see where your reasoning is going. And honestly—I can't think of any reason why we shouldn't start systematically bringing things out. I know it's a long way from here to there, but with several of us younger wizards combining our powers and using gemstones, I think we can do it. It would make our lives a great deal easier.
Especially if we start by bringing out furnishings and whatnot for the whiners, Mero put in sourly, shoving his hands in his breeches pockets and grimacing. Then maybe they'd shut up for a while.
Denelor sighed; Shana knew he had been hearing nearly as many complaints as she had. The thought had occurred to me, too. The talk about how Shana has 'deprived' them of their 'rights' might die down a little. Could you get your little circle of friends together, Shana, the ones mat know how to work with stones? I think you're right; they will be the only ones with a long enough range to successfully scry out the place and bring things back.
She grinned. And they're also the only ones who've crawled all over the Citadel, down all the unused passages. I think you're right; even if the elves got in there and did some destruction, they won't have gotten into the older sections, and there are still furnished rooms and the like back there. Old Caellach may not get his bed, but we'll get him a bed, and whatever other gear he thinks he needs, too.
Kitchen things first, please, Denelor admonished. Objects that we all need, that will benefit all of us together. Then I'll tell the others that they can bring you their lists and they can ask you politely if you can fill them when you aren't too tired.
She caught the twinkle in his eye as he said that. And if they don't ask politely, we can decide we're too tired, hmm? Oh, Denelor, if you weren't on my side, I'd be worried!
Denelor shrugged, but he had a wry grin.
We dragons have a solution, too, Keman said shyly. There are minerals, gems in these hills. Gold, we think. We can bring those things up, shape-shift into elven form, and go into one of the elven cities to trade for things we all need, if you cannot bring them from the Citadel. Cloth and tools would be the best, we thought—foodstuffs, seeds for planting perhaps.
Denelor brightened at that. Oh, now, that would be excellent! he exclaimed, his voice echoing a little in the stone of the kitchen-chamber-to-be. That solves a problem of continuing supply. Much as I hate to admit it, Shana, I don't think that there are many of us who would know an edible forest plant from an inedible one, and one cannot live on nothing but meat without getting sick.
I was afraid you'd say that, she replied with resignation. Oh well. She took a moment to order her thoughts. In the short term, the best I can do is get my circle together and start bringing things over from the old Citadel, then, she decided aloud. If the elves didn't loot the place, there was a lot of stored food there that was too bulky to take with us in the evacuation. That would be flour, tubers, other vegetables—
Don't forget blankets, Denelor reminded her. You will gain a great number of friends if you bring blankets in quickly. Stone is cold to sleep on.
What about the sheep? she asked slyly. That's wool for future blankets, mutton for future meals—I can bring them in alive now, you know, and there are a couple of the human children that can perfectly well tend a flock of sheep. They do reproduce themselves, you know.
He grimaced involuntarily and she giggled. Oh, he sighed, I suppose you must, after all. But—
Don't worry, Master Denelor, she told him with a chuckle. They'll be much too valuable in this situation to start slaughtering. You won't be forced to eat mutton any time soon.
Thank goodness for that, he muttered as she moved off down a side corridor, trailed by Keman, to find Zed, the first of her circle of young wizards. Now—may the powers grant that we do not find ourselves in a position where even old mutton would be a feast.
Working together, the young wizards were able to find and fetch a fair number of articles that very day—and as Denelor had requested, the first object brought by magic from the old Citadel was a huge kitchen kettle, and the last, a pile of blankets from the storeroom. The latter were snatched up greedily by the old whiners, Caellach Gwain predictably among the first Shana noted that there wasn't a single word of thanks from any of them, but she kept silent about it, in part because she was too tired to make an issue of the slight.
And the next day, fortified by a good breakfast of oat porridge made in the very same kettle they had brought in first, from the oats they had brought in as the last task, she and her group started in all over again. Those who were the very best at scrying examined rooms they were familiar with, in order to identify what was there and whether or not it might be useful.
They confined their attempts, at first, to objects that would not be harmed too much if they were clumsy with their magic, and which were not too heavy. That had been Shana's plan. She reasoned that until they knew their limits, it was better to bring in a few things at a time than to overstrain themselves trying to lift too much. Their first targets were therefore the
kitchen and the storerooms, and they systematically looted both of everything that was still there, unbroken, or unspoiled by vermin.
The elves, it seemed, hadn't found the old Citadel after all—although they certainly would have if the wizards had remained there rather than fleeing. That was a cheerful discovery; it meant that virtually everything was still there, in tact, and that eventually everyone in this new Citadel would have his belongings back.
Although she still didn't understand this preoccupation with possessions that the older wizards showed, Keman and the other dragons seemed to understand. They couldn't explain it to her, though, and after several tries, gave up.
Let me just put it this way, Kalamadea told her, finally, with surprising patience. The older the wizard, the more likely he is to want, desperately, all his familiar things—and the more likely he is to be less troublesome if he has them around him. He's like an old dragon curled up with his hoard. Don't try to understand why, just accept it, and use the fact.
She nodded, with a wry shrug. It would be a small price to pay for peace, she supposed, even though this price represented quite a bit of effort on the part of her and her friends, effort for which they would probably not even receive thanks. And it was very, very tempting to put the whiners on the very end of the list—
But if she did that, they could and would accuse her of playing favorites, and while they were waiting, they would be whining even more, and probably causing more trouble.
Storerooms first, though, she told the dragon fiercely. Things we can all use before personal possessions! Denelor agrees with me on that.
Kalamadea just shrugged. It is your magic and that of your friends, he replied, and backed out of the bare little cave she had taken for her home. Kalamadea's and Keman's were both nearby, and she suspected that Kalamadea had been the one who had smoothed the walls and the ceiling, built in the sanitary facilities and the fireplace. It looked vaguely familiar—very near to the room he had once occupied in the warren of caves in the old Citadel, in fact.