by Andre Norton
But at the moment it held only a bundle of reeds and the two blankets she was using as a bed, and her scant pack.
A bed would have been nice… and she had to admit that the old wizards weren't entirely wrong about longing for some of the old comforts of their previous lives.
Extra clothing would be nice, too, she reflected wistfully.
All that she had now had served her over rough country for the better part of two seasons, and it was much the worse for wear. She had often thought about piecing together another dragonskin tunic from skin the others had shed; such a tunic would have held up to briars and rainstorms with equal ease. She'd never had time enough, though. Maybe now she would.
Still, first things first. There were plenty of storerooms to empty, as they honed their skills at magically transporting a variety of objects longer distances than any of them had ever dared to try before this.
None of them would even have dreamed of trying, if Shana, in her apprentice days, had not made an experiment with a tiny cache of gemstones, to see if any of them could be used to increase her power and range. She had discovered that, yes, they could, and had begun teaching the use of stones to her peers, when a group of human children with the human wizard-powers on one of the elven estates was about to be eliminated. She had insisted on leading a rescue to save them—thus being the one to meet with Valyn and his halfblood cousin, Mero, as they made their own escape from Valyn's father. And that fateful meeting had carried with it the seeds of the destruction of the old ways of hide-and-conceal of the wizards of the Citadel.
Within two weeks, Denelor had the kitchen, bath, and laundry functioning, with human children employed in all three, as well as some of the older wizards—none of whom qualified as whiners —who were not fit for heavy labor. By that time, Shana and her crew had begun looting the private quarters of the senior wizards themselves.
Favoritism or not—the first ones they ransacked were their own and Denelor's, though they kept very quiet about it, transporting the belongings directly to the appropriate rooms rather than bringing them into the central chamber they were all starting to call the Great Hall. After that, though, they stifled their irritation and started on the whiners' things, beginning with Caellach Gwain.
And he did not thank them. In fact, he was rather irritated with them for bringing his property to the Great Hall, forcing him to use his own powers to take it to his rooms.
Shana was so annoyed with him that she ground her teeth until she had a headache. That brought the whole circle to a halt; she was, after all, the strongest power in it, and without her, the others couldn't move much more than a single pillow or so at a time. That irritated her even more, until Zed, as the oldest, called for a break so that they could all soothe roused tempers and perhaps get something to eat and drink.
It took more than bowl of soup and a cup of willow tea to soothe Shana's temper, but at least she managed to get rid of her headache, if not her irritation. I'm sorry, she apologized, as she came back to the circle and took her place on a cushion with the rest, in the exact middle of the huge room. Her voice echoed quite a bit, since the roof was quite high, and had been left exactly as nature had carved it. I shouldn't let my temper get the best of me around him.
Zed only snorted contemptuously, but said nothing. Shadow patted her hand, and shrugged. The rest grimaced or smiled as their natures dictated. There was really nothing to be said, after all. Caellach had been unbearably rude, but someone with the kind of power that Shana controlled had to have better control over her emotions than she actually did—at least where Caellach was concerned. She knew that, and so did they. What if Caellach had annoyed her while she was in the middle of—say—creating a defense against attackers? That would be a poor time for a headache!
Well, we fetched the old buzzard's things and we won't have to deal with him anymore, Daene, one of the older girls, said at last. She winked openly at Shana, and wrinkled up her snub nose. He's good for three or four days at least, fussing with his furniture and all, like some old hen with her nest and a new load of straw to put in it. We won't see him for all that time, I'll wager!
The comparison, apt as it was, for Caellach cackled exactly like an irritable and irritated old hen, made even Shana smile at last as the rest chuckled. You're right, and we'd better be grateful for the peace while it lasts! she replied. Well, let's get to work on someone who's likely to at least thank us. Parth Agon, do you think? Do any of you remember what his rooms look like to scry for them?
I— Zed began.
Shana! The shout from the doorway echoed across the entire room. The shouter followed, scrambling in the door and across the stone floor of the Great Hall, all out of breath. Shana! the little human boy gasped again, forcing his words around his panting. Shana, Denelor and the big dragon want you! Down by the river! There's a stranger!
At first she didn't quite understand what he meant. Then—
There's a stranger? Here? Oh no—
Here, in the wilderness, where there should be no one but the wizards and the few humans that had fled with them? Who was it? And more important—haw had he found them!
:Kalamadea!: she called to Father Dragon with her mind. :Is there danger? Should I bring weapons?:
:No danger yet, I do not believe,: he replied the same way. :But I want you to see him and speak with him. You have more experience than Denelor or me with full humans.:
A full human? But how had he gotten here? Was he an escaped slave? Before the others could react, she had vaulted to her feet and was running out the door.
The Great Hall was the very first real room in the Citadel; from there, a long and winding trail led up to the surface, leading through caverns that had been left, more or less, in their natural state. The only concessions to habitation at this end of the Citadel were the mage-lights at intervals, and the smoothing of the path. This place was like the limestone and alabaster caves that she had lived in with her foster mother and the rest of the dragons; there were hundreds of fascinating formations she had promised herself that she would examine properly one day. But not while she had so much work to do.
Not while there were strangers showing up out of nowhere!
She burst out into the pool of sunlight directly in front of the cave mouth, and flung herself down the path that led to the river, a path they had cut carefully so that it was screened and protected by the trees and bushes—hoping to avoid detection from the air. Unfortunately, this plan made it impossible for her to see Denelor and the others down at the riverside.
I wish I knew what to expect. I wish I knew how he got so close to us without any of us seeing him. I wish—No point in wishing. Just get down there, now! She pounded down the path at her fastest run, feet thudding into the dirt, breath coming hard even though she was running downhill.
When she made the last turn the river came into view, a patch of brilliant sunlight reflecting off the water, at the end of a tunnel of trees. There were several figures down there, dark against the bright light—and something, low and long and dark, in the water itself, or at the very edge of it.
As she ran closer, the shape resolved itself into a hollow object, pointed at each end, with a place to sit. She had never seen a canoe herself, but she did recognize what it was from descriptions in some of the old chronicles.
A boat? But of course—we weren't looking for anyone on the river! She could have flogged herself in vexation for not taking the precaution of putting at least one sentry above the river. Too late now.
There were only three people standing beside the canoe, which had been tied to a stake driven into the riverbank. Denelor, Kalamadea in his wizard-form, and the stranger. They were all obviously waiting for her, and neither Denelor nor Kalamadea looked at all tense—
As she took in that, she slowed to a walk, so that she would not be completely out of breath when she reached them, and so that she could get a good look at the stranger before she had to speak to him.
She got her
first surprise when she realized that although he was fully human, his neck bore no slave-collar and no signs he had ever worn one. For the rest, he looked like a field hand or a caravan trader; his eyes were an ordinary enough brown, his hair black, and his hair had been pulled back into a tight braid, to show mat his ears were not in the least pointed. He was moderately tall, very wiry and muscular, dressed in a rather tattered linen tunic and trews of cloth so old and faded, it wasn't possible to tell what the original color had been. He had a bow slung across his back, a long knife in a leather sheath at his rope-belt, and what appeared to be clumsy boots made of rawhide on his feet. He hadn't shaved in several days, but despite his scruffy appearance, her first impression was that he was not dangerous.
At least, not at the moment. But what was his purpose here? Could he be a spy?
Ah, Shana— Denelor said genially, waving at her to come closer, and then turned back to the stranger. Collen, this is Lashana.
The stranger nodded, his eyes narrowing. Not much t'look at, ye be, he said to her in the elven tongue, strongly accented. Wouldn hev figgered little bit lak ye woulda caused s'much trouble. Bin a mort uv tales abaht ye, though.
I take it you've heard about me, then, she replied dryly, concealing her agitation from him. She still had no idea what he was doing on the river—or who, if anyone, he served.
He nodded, and his thin lips curved in a reluctant smile. Hardly thought, when I seen smoke on th' ridge, I'd be passin' greetin's wit' sech troublesome an' savage rebels, lak.
Collen is a scout for a trading party, Shana, Denelor said easily, and her eyebrows rose with alarm as she stepped back an involuntary pace. Oh, not a bondling party, the wizard amended hastily, as Collen's grin turned into a chuckle. Can't you see? He's got no collar, no elf-stones about him.
Shana flushed with chagrin. As she had seen for herself, the neck of the man's tunic was open to his breastbone, and he wore absolutely nothing else that could have served in place of the collar that could have bound him to an elven overlord. His belt was rope, the sheath of his knife was leather, the knife itself had a plain, wrapped handle with none of the dangerous spellcarrying beryls set into it. And in any case, if he'd been a bondling, she, Denelor, or Kalamadea would surely have sensed the blankness that meant there was a spell on him that blocked all the purely human powers of magic. They all knew the shape of that particular blankness.
Oh, aye, Collen said agreeably. No collars, no leashes. We be jest as dangerous a lot of savages as ye, I 'spect, an' the cat-eyes knew we was here.
Her eyes widened. This was the one thing she simply had not expected. You mean—you're wild? she exclaimed, her voice shadowed with disbelief. Oh, she'd heard that so-called wild humans existed, but after tasting the efficiency and ruthlessness of elven rule for herself, she hadn't believed they were capable of anything more than scrabbling out a bare and brutish existence. And that was only allowed so that the elven lords would have something to hunt, now and again, that ran on two legs rather than four.
Then again, she chided herself, as Collen's grin widened at her reaction, the wizards existed for hundreds of years without the elves knowing. There are wild humans beyond their lands; we already knew that. Why not wild human traders to serve them?
Oh, aye, Collen repeated. It's none so bad a life, lak. Call oursel's outlaws, though. Has a better soun' t' it. He shrugged. Some on' us be 'scaped, some born free, lak. Got no land, no set home, an' we rigger we hev' t' move about a bit, but got no overlor' neither.
Collen would like to talk trade with us. I think we should invite these people to come talk to us, Shana, Kalamadea said gently, breaking into her daze. I think we might have something we can offer each other.
:And since he already knows we're here, there's no point in trying to hide the Citadel,: the dragon added, deep inside her mind. :The more we show them, the more impressed they are likely to be, and the less likely to betray us.:
Ah, of course, Kalamadea, she said, to both statements. How far away are the rest of you?
Not far. Be here 'fore sundown, lak, he replied with a nod. Lemme put out flag, they'll pull in here.
Without waiting for their consent, he pulled a faded red rag out of the canoe and tied it to a branch where it would be seen by anyone passing on the river itself. There she be, he said with satisfaction. Now—we jes' wait, lak.
She itched to touch his thoughts, to see for herself if he was telling the truth. Did she dare? If she did, would he know, and how would he take it?
Fine, Denelor said, easily. I'll just go up and tell the others to fix a meal for our new—allies? He raised an eyebrow on the last word.
Collen shrugged. Canna speak fer the lot, he replied laconically. Could be. For sure, an' ye got stuffs t' trade, we'll be 'greeable t' tradin' for 'em.
That, apparently, was enough for Denelor, who strode back up the path at a much brisker pace than he would have been able to set a year ago. Collen folded his arms and leaned back against the trunk of a willow, watching both Shana and Kalamadea.
Bloods, he said finally. Heard on ye, heard on the troubles ye set, last summer, but never saw none.
I could say the same about outlaws, Shana retorted mildly. Can I test him out? Should I ask him if I can?
He grinned, as if he found the retort amusing.
Kalamadea simply examined him calmly, as calmly as he regarded nearly everything, from impetuous young dragons to elven mage-craft. Why the river? he asked, finally.
Mun leave no tracks on water, came the easy reply.
Ah, Kalamadea said. But—there are no elves here, nor bondlings, either.
Collen nodded. Aye. But we trade wit' th' collared. Mun leave no tracks, no way fer collared t' follow, lak. They can' follow, they got no hold on us. They got no hold, they gots t' trade fair.
Shana nodded, too, for Collen's reasoning made excellent sense—and it made her a bit more inclined to trust him, if he did not trust the collared bondlings he traded with. It showed a good, strong sense of self-preservation, and a disinclination to place any possible power in the hands of those controlled by elves.
So why should you trust us? she asked. After all, you don't know us—we might be elves in disguise.
He laughed aloud at that, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. Oh, aye, ye mot, he chortled. ' Cept there be a reason I be scout.
And what's that? Shana asked, since he was obviously waiting for her to do so.
I got the human-magery, little Blood,: he said, deep in her mind, grinning as she started. :That's how I tell Niki. back wit' th' rest, t' come on, lak. An' I know ye be Blood, 'cause I keened ye when ye made talk wi' the old one, then. So ye got the human-magery, an' ye got no guise-spell 'bout ye.:
She blinked—and so did Kalamadea, taken quite aback by the voice that resonated in his mind as well. A remarkably strong and controlled voice —as indeed it must have been controlled, for him to have called to the absent Niki without either of them overhearing him.
So—ye want t' be seein' inta my head? he asked genially. Go on. Got nothin t' hide.
Given the invitation, she did not hesitate, but reached out with her own thoughts to touch his before he could withdraw the invitation.
Perhaps because it was so strongly on both their minds, she touched a memory rather than a thought—a recent memory by the power and newness of it So powerful was it, so charged with emotion, that she found herself actually caught up in it, as if she were living the moment with him, looking out of his eyes.
The tension was just short of unbearable, and Collen's heart pounded, his chest was tight, and he was a little short of breath as he crouched in his shelter. He waited and watched from behind the concealing bushes for his bondling contact with the traders. Their trade goods, mostly furs, spices, a few very odd precious gems, were all hidden beneath a brush pile nearby. The rest of the group was hidden down by the water's edge; he alone would take the risk of immediate capture.
That risk was always there, e
very time he met the traders.
Not even his powers of human-magery could warn him if this time they planned to betray him, for he could not hear their thoughts past the blankness imposed on their minds by their spellbound collars. Other traders had been captured in years past, by other groups of handlings. The particular furs he and his clan brought to trade were very valuable to the handlings, and he didn't think they would risk the loss of their source—but you never knew. Especially not since the Elvenbane and her wizards had sent everything so topsyturvy, and given the cat-eyes their comeuppance. There might be enough profit in capturing wild humans this time that the loss of the supply of furs would be no great problem.
Especially if one of those wild humans was also a wizard.
His stomach knotted as he heard the sound of cautious footsteps coming toward him. His contact had arrived, and with him, the moment of truth.
He stood up, slowly, and stepped forward, out of the concealing branches of his bushes—
With a wrench, she pulled her mind out of the memory and back to the real world. Collen looked into her eyes, and nodded knowingly, as she shook her head to try to rid it of the last clinging vestiges of that terrible tension.
It's death fer ye Bloods wi' th' cat-eyes, lak wi' us wi' th' human-magery, he said. Ye seen, what's lak fer us. So ye got here, or nowheres. An' no point in us gettin' up t' games wi' ye; I reckon since ye messed wit' yon cat-eyes, me an' Niki'd be no match fer ye, he continued, eyes twinkling. Still, we be traders, lak. I reckon we mot do some business. Eh?
How many of you have the human magics? Kalamadea asked, slowly.
Don see no reason t' giv' ye th' lie, Collen told him candidly. Ony me an' Niki. There be four hands on' th' rest uv th' boats, an' no more wit' human-magery than us. Give boats, lak.
Twenty, twenty-two. That's a good-sized group; big enough to protect themselves, but not too big to hide, Shana reflected, and smiled. Well, I hope they aren't too far away, she told him. My curiosity is about to drive me to distraction!
For answer, Collen gestured at the river, and just at that moment the first of the canoes came into view.