by Andre Norton
The remaining five canoes were much bigger than Collen's little boat; big enough to hold six people and a fair amount of baggage. The person in the prow of the first spotted Collen's rag and directed the rest with silent gestures, to row their boats into the shelter of the willow branches there. The first boat in held five people, including Niki, who greeted Collen with restrained enthusiasm. Niki proved to be a woman, and from the family resemblance, she could well have been Collen's sister. The rest of the canoes held four people each, with one child in three of the boats and two in the last. That also surprised Shana; she wouldn't have thought outlaw traders would bring their children with them.
On the other hand, it might not have been safe to leave them anywhere.
The boats were wood, each carved from a single tree trunk, and from the size of the boats, the original trees must have been quite large. The rest of the outlaws were just as scruffy as Collen, but although their clothing was shabby, it, and they, were immaculately clean.
Shana and Kalamadea waited with no signs of impatience while the traders beached their canoes on the riverbank and took great pains to conceal them, using branches and netting. They worked in silence for the most part—probably out of habit. Shana had noticed that voices tended to carry across the water disconcertingly well, and these were people who clearly were used to concealing themselves and their movements as a matter of course.
When they were finished, they dusted their hands off and stood up, and Kalamadea indicated that they should follow him, which they did without a backward glance.
But they know that we had to flee the elves, so they know that we're in danger, too, if we're discovered. I would think, though, that they might worry about us getting rid of them—no, maybe not. I doubt if they have anything we want at the moment, so what would be the point of us attacking them?
Or so Shana reasoned. There would be no point in the outlaws attacking the wizards—they were patently outnumbered, and they probably knew it.
Collen dropped back to walk beside her. It's I'm hopin' we can do a bit uv' trade, ye an' we, lak I said, he told her, quietly. We trade furs an' oddities t' th' collared; I'm hopin' ye mot hev' summut a bit better nor furs?
Shana thought about that. We might, she said cautiously. And—there is something we have that might be useful just for you and your people—we've got a kind of arrow-tip that's as fatal to elves as elf-shot is to you and me.
Collen's eyes widened at that, the first time he had shown any kind of surprise. No lie?
No lie, she confirmed. One scratch, and they're down; a good hit, and they are dead. We both know, I think, that it takes a lot to kill an elven lord.
She was not going to tell him where the wizards got their arrow-tips—which were actually formed from the tips of dragon-claws. If he asked about the dragons, well, she would let Kalamadea decide what he should hear or see. But there was no harm in trading him some of their special weaponry. It had no particular efficacy against halfbloods, whose constitution and lifespan were nearer the human than the elven, anyway. And if he ever needed such a weapon, it would be criminal not to have put in his hands.
And one more dead elven lord is all to the good. That was how Shana felt about it. anyway. She'd only seen one of the elves, ever, that had been worth anything at all—and it was all too apparent from everything she had learned, then and since, that Valyn had been an anomaly among his kind, an elven lord with a conscience and a heart.
I be damn glad t' hev that, lady, Collen breathed, fervently. An' that be a fact.
She nodded, pleased. At that point, they reached the mouth of the cavern-complex; the entrance was quite impressive, being about three stories tall, opening into the side of the hill and surrounded by heavy woods. Neither the wizards nor the dragons had done anything to alter the entrance, and from here, there was no sign of the mage-lights or the smooth path deep within. Kalamadea conjured a hand-light, and continued to lead the way; Shana called up a light of her own and brought up the tail.
The ground was a bit uneven here, and the traders stumbled now and again. Their footsteps echoed in the vast darkness as they descended, and a couple of the children whispered nervously to their parents as they paced nervously into the cool and gloom. Shana smiled to herself: they were in for a surprise.
The pathway down made an abrupt curve, doubling back on itself, and that was where the mage-lights began, out of sight of the entrance.
The dragons had placed their lights with care, illuminating not only the pathway, but the most impressive of the cave formations as well. For the first time, Shana heard the voice of someone other than Collen in this group, as first the children, then the adults, began to talk quietly to one another, pointing out this or that formation in tones of awe and wonder.
But the best was yet to come, as the cave narrowed, and finally widened out again into the Great Hall. Mage-lights were everywhere, in globes along the walls, and even in the cluster at the top of the ceiling. The humans blinked as they emerged into the spacious Hall, and stared about with as much shock as surprise.
Denelor had been as good as his word; he had arranged for tables and benches, lights and plenty of food—and a good number of the wizards to share the meal, including Parth Agon. The eyes of the children and adults alike went wide at the sight of all the people, but Collen seemed to take it all in stride. He left Shana and went to the head of the group, made a nice little speech of gratitude to Denelor, and then ushered all of his people to the seats awaiting them. Very clearly, no matter what he had claimed earlier, he was not just the scout for the traders, he was their real leader.
Well, that tallied with the glimpse she'd had into his memory.
With customary tact, Denelor had seen to it that not only was Parth Agon seated with himself, Shana, and Kalamadea at the strangers' table, but so were several of the human children Shana had rescued and brought to the old Citadel. The sight of other full humans seemed to reassure Collen's folk; they relaxed, and so did Collen.
They were hungry, but not starving; they ate well, but did not bolt the food nor stuff themselves—except at the sweet course, when their greed was frankly shared by the wizards as well. The trader children and the former slaves began eyeing each other halfway through the meal, shyly, and there were signs of tentative overtures on the part of the strangers' children as well as Shana's brood. She didn't get much of a chance to watch the children, however, for as soon as Collen's appetite was satisfied, he cleared his throat in a significant manner, and got the attention of all of the Citadel adults at his table.
I tol' these three, down by river, we be outlaws, traders, he began, taking it on himself to repeat what the others might not yet have heard. Clearly, he was not assuming that they all had the same ability as Shana to speak mind to mind. Some on us be freeborn, some on us be 'scaped. We trade, lak, wit' collared that be workin' fer th' cat-eyed.
Parth Agon, the only one at this table other than the children for whom this really was new information, considered it and nodded. So long as you keep them from following you—which, presumably, is not difficult if you travel by water—you should be safe enough. So—I take it that you trade whatever odd things happen to come your way, and they in turn take the goods back to their overlords?
Summat lak that, Collen agreed. We got an unner-standin', lak. We—we're willin' t' chance risks they ain't. We bring in thin's th' cat-eyed don' see much. Furs, mostly, but now an' agin' it's summat odd. They tell th' cat-eyed 'twas they went an' fetched the things, an' they keep quiet 'bout us.
We get what we can' make, can' grow, lak. Now, we ain't 't only freeborn out here—
You're not? Parth Agon's eyebrows rose, though it was obvious to Shana. How could you be a trader with no one to trade things to?
Collen shrugged. Tothers, 'tis th' odd clan, family, all farm folk, lak; couple herders, couple hunters, trappers, an' we trade wi' 'em all. They bin here since there was dirt. Got nothin' th' cat-eyed want t' go huntin' after, not no kind
a threat, wouldn' know one end uv a spear from 'tother, so they ain't gonna fight. Them cat-eyed pointy-ears, they got to figger us traders is bad, since we got runaways 'mongst us, so we don' let 'em know we's here. But them—nay, they ain't no threat, an' cat-eyes don' care if they be out here. So figger we make same deal wi' ye as we got wi' them. An' ye can find summat t'trade, we take it downriver, an get what ye canna make nor grow. Tell us what ye need. We get some, ye get some.
Fairly standard offer, fairly made, Parth Agon said at last. Denelor?
Oh, I've been in favor all along, Denelor replied quickly. The—ah—storerooms won't stay full forever. He said nothing about the complete lack of crafting or farming ability among the wizards; he didn't have to. Parth Agon knew that lack as well as he. Eventually the wizards were going to have to learn to work with their hands, but the longer it took to come to that eventuality, the better off they would all be.
The more time we have, the more time we have to get some practice in. I'd really rather not trust my soup to a wizard's first pot.
A very good point. Parth Agon actually turned to Shana before he checked with Kalamadea. Shana?
You could—if you want—ask him mind to mind, she said forthrightly. Collen has the human mage-craft, and you know he won't be able to lie mind to mind. But I don't think that will be necessary. He has a great deal to gain by dealing fairly with us, and a lot to lose if he doesn't.
The only question is—what have we got at the moment that we can trade that wouldn't be traced back to wizards? Parth Agon mused aloud.
Shana's mind ran to the metals and gems that Keman said lay in these mountains—would the dragons be able to get enough out at this short a notice to make it worth the traders' while? And would it be wise to divert them from the important work of shaping the Citadel? It took a long time to bring up gold, and longer to extract gems; that much she recalled from her years of living among them. How much of the dragons' precious time could they all spare?
Keman coughed shyly, and they all turned to look at him. You know, he said, ducking his head a little, you could say that our troubles started over that bit of—of hide that the elves called 'dragon-skin,' the stuff Shana's tunic was made from when she was taken captive. The elves wanted that stuff, they sent out all sorts of expeditions looking for the source of it—and we have more of it right here.
Dragon skin? Collen looked very puzzled. Can ye show me what 'tis ye be callin' 'dragon skin'?
Just a moment— Keman slid out of his seat and ran off, returning in a few moments with a strip of his own shed skin, wide as a human's palm and about as long as a man's arm. Since it was Keman's, it was a brilliant blue, overlaid with a shimmer of rainbow hues. Collen bit off an exclamation, and reached out involuntarily to touch it, then pulled back.
Go ahead, Keman urged, handing it to him. It's pretty tough.
Collen took the strip of skin gingerly, testing the strength and suppleness, and running his hands down the smooth scales. Where ye get this? he asked, his eyes filled with wonder.
Evidently, although he had heard of the second Wizard War, he had not heard of the existence of real dragons. Had the elves decided they were illusions? Or had they made up their minds that the dragons had been constructs, artificial creatures made by some of the strongest wizards?
If they had, that certainly eased some of Shana's guilt about the situation. She still felt bad that the dragons had been forced to abandon their long-held secret to help her and her friends. She hadn't wanted the elves to know about the dragons, any more than the dragons had, and for good reason. The elves would never tolerate a race as powerful as the dragons or allow them to continue to exist in the same world—and as Keman had said, they wanted the dragons' skins. They would quite happily kill every dragon alive for the sake of the skins.
:He can't know about you, Keman,: she told him. -:Make something up, quick.:
It's from a lizard, and we use magic to make it prettier, Keman lied blithely. We can make a lot of it, and we have quite a bit on hand now. It's very useful. He glanced over at Kalamadea, who nodded agreement It's tough, besides being pretty.
If that be so—then ye' got th' bargain! Collen exclaimed, his hands closing possessively on the piece of skin when Keman showed no interest in reclaiming it. We kin get 'bout all ye mot need wi' this as the trade goods.
What about our settling here? Denelor asked. Is that going to be a problem? We didn't see any signs of habitation in this valley, and we plan to be as discreet as you would, in our place. I think we can make sure the elves don't find us.
Collen shrugged, as if it was a matter of complete indifference to him. Maybe it was. I think ye got yersel's a fair home. Sure, an' we won' be disputin' it wi' ye, an' there's none I know of that hev a claim here. 'Tis all yours fer the claimin', lak. Be nice t' know that his part 'o th' river's safe from cat-eyed spies, eh?
'So we could say that—this is a kind of welcoming, then? Parth Agon said, mildly.
Oh, aye! the human trader laughed, as if Parth had told him a joke. Oh, aye, an' well-come indeed!
Chapter 4
SHEYRENA COULD HARDLY believe her luck when, the day after the fete, absolutely nothing happened. She had spent the day in a state of dulled dread, expecting—at the least—to be called into her father's presence and interrogated about just whom she had spoken and danced with, and what they had said. Worse were the fears that Lord Tylar would somehow discover her lack of conquests, and call her to account for that.
Instead, there was no summons, not even a note. She was, as usual, ignored. With the sole exception of the fact that she was permitted to sleep late, her day passed precisely as any other day. She walked in the garden and tended her birds, had her lessons in music and etiquette, and made her daily call upon her mother in her mother's bower. Only there did she have any reminders that this was not quite an ordinary day. She and Lady Viridina discussed nothing but the gowns the other elven ladies had been wearing—speculating on how they had been made and of what materials, deciding whether or not the particular style would be suited to Rena or the Lady herself. In other bowers, with a collection of elven ladies, there would have been other comments, too, of course—comments on how poorly suited the gowns of certain ladies (absent from the current group, of course) had been, either in terms of style or in terms of the wearer's endowments. Lady Viridina did not encourage gossip, however, so none of that entered the discussion in her bower.
Nor were there any discussions of which young lords seemed to have paired off with young ladies. That, in Lady Viridina's opinion, was also gossip, and of no one's concern except the parties involved.
The truth of the matter in the bower today was that Lady Viridina discussed the gowns, and her slaves-of-the-wardrobe murmured appropriate comments. Rena simply listened, and not very attentively. Oh, normally she enjoyed the topic as much as anything except riding with Lorryn, but today she had rather not be reminded how wonderful the other ladies looked—not when she had suffered in all ways by comparison. She had thought until last night that she had no pride left to bruise, but that was simply not true. It had hurt to look into the mirror and see a laughingstock. It still hurt this morning.
I wish there were a way to destroy that horrid gown, she thought resentfully. I don't ever want to see it again!
Viridina didn't seem to notice her silence, though, which was just as well. As she rattled off details of trains and trimming, it occurred to Rena that her mother was oddly distracted, as if Lady Viridina also had something weighing heavily on her mind, and was trying to disguise the fact with idle chat.
She's probably worried about Lorryn, I suppose. I rather doubt it has anything to do with me.
After what seemed like half the day, Viridina finally dismissed her daughter, and Rena was free to return to her garden and her books. There, with two of her birds sitting on her shoulders, she carefully worked out the spell that had been used on the birds at the fete, the one that made them fly off to make their dr
oppings, then return. That was the most useful spell she had ever seen, and it was definitely going to come in handy here!
She set it on only one of the birds, at first—she didn't want to hurt them by getting the spell wrong, after all—but when it worked perfectly, she quickly made it part of every flying thing in her garden. Now she could pet and play with them to her heart's content, and never have to worry about the results!
One of the prettiest, an especially gentle little thing with bright red feathers and a hooked bill, loved to sit on her shoulder and press his face and body against her neck for hours at a time. She'd been reluctant to let him do that for very long, and especially reluctant to allow him to sit there when she was reading, since she tended to forget where she was—with the result that Visyr would usually do something unfortunate before she noticed, and she would have to run and change her gown before either her mother or her father saw it. There were days when she'd had to change her gown no less than three times! So that afternoon was an occasion of perfect enjoyment for both of them—for Rena could sit in the garden with her book, and Visyr could sit on her shoulder and be petted for as long as he liked. She discovered that his capacity for being petted was a great deal greater than she had ever suspected. He was the perfect tranquilizer, and she ended the day in a calm and cheerful mood.
She woke with the same apprehension as before, though, for her dreams had been filled with images of Lord Tylar and the punishments he was creating for her, for not having caught a husband.
But once again, her fears were all for no cause—nothing happened that was out of the ordinary during the entire day.
The next day, and the day following, were repetitions of the same. Most important, there were no expressions of disapproval from Lord Tylar. Rena began to relax, slowly, as she attempted to puzzle out just what was occupying her father. At a guess, the political connections that her father had made at the fete were proving to be so engrossing that he had forgotten his original, intention—that of ensuring she found an advantageous alliance. That would, indeed, be typical for his thinking. Anything having to do with her and her future (or lack of it) would always take a poor second place to Lord Tylar's personal aspirations, and that was precisely how she wanted things at the moment. The more he thought of himself, the less he would think of her.