by Andre Norton
At the mention of Dyran's name, both Shana and Mero started, and Kelyan flashed an unexpected smile. You know him! So something did happen to the boor? How pleasant! I hope it was nasty.
It—was, Shana managed. It's very complicated, though. It will take a while in the telling.
Let me just savor the moment then, and give you some useful information while I do so. Kelyan smiled again, the satisfied smile of a child surprised with a sweetmeat. You know, for my supposedly deadliest enemies, I'm beginning to like you four quite a bit! Now—to begin with, these people are the ones the oldest chronicles refer to as the 'grel-riders,' although they haven't seen a grel for a century or more.
Ah. Kalamadea nodded, satisfied. I thought they might be. They certainly match what was written.
First, a piece of really important information. They have something, and I do not know what it is, that makes them immune to magic, so don't bother trying anything on them. At Shana's grimace, he nodded. I see you already discovered that.
The hard way, she agreed, rubbing her arms. At least they didn't attack back, so I suppose we're lucky.
He laughed. Oh, they're utterly contemptuous of our magic. They have legends of it, but meeting with us has convinced them that the legends of truly powerful mages are exaggerations. Illusions do not deceive them unless it is an illusion of something that they expect to see and don't pay too much attention to—ah— He thought for a moment For instance, if one of them looked into this tent, I could spin an illusion of Jamal sitting here until I was blue, and they would still see me—but if I happened to manage to get into Jamal's tent and sit on his couch of state, they would believe it was Jamal there unless they looked at me very hard.
Which means there's no point in trying to make them think we're oxen or invisible, and trying to escape that way, Keman finished for him.
He nodded. Magical weapons—levin-bolts and the like—also do not work on them. Right now they are all very much on edge and nervous, because this is all foreign territory to them. They normally live hundreds of leagues south of here, but there has been a five-year drought in the South, and there's nothing for the cattle to graze on down there. They live by their herds; nearly everything they have or use comes from the cattle. They don't understand what's causing the drought, and that makes them nervous as well. They're afraid that their ancestor-spirits are angry with them, and nothing I can say seems to make any sense to them.
May I assume you do know the cause of the drought? Kalamadea hazarded gently.
I can guess, Kelyan told him, with some evidence of interest. That fool Dyran started meddling with the weather long before I was born, and convinced everyone else to give it a try—now there's no such thing as normal weather anymore. That was what ruined my family; what used to be a very nice little manor ended up flooded so often, it turned into a swamp, and now it's nothing but swamp and rain forest
And that was probably no accident, if someone in your family managed to get on Dyran's wrong side, Mero put in with a glower.
The flash of anger in Kelyan's eyes would have been answer enough, but he nodded to confirm Mero's guess. Well, if too much rain has ended up there, it stands to reason the water had to come from somewhere else.
Kalamadea nodded, but said nothing.
This arrangement of four tents in the center of the camp is very important, Kelyan went on. 'The easternmost is Jamal's—he's the War Chief. The westernmost belongs to the Iron Priest. Do not, no matter what, go into the northern and southern tents, unless and until a priest takes you there. Those are sacred to the spirits, and they will beat you to within an inch of your life if you desecrate the tents. Then they'll make you go through a ritual of purification that will make you wish they had beaten you to death.
He looked so grim when he said that; Shana had to wonder if he'd learned that the hard way, too.
A woman appeared at the entrance to the tent with a flat basket of finely woven grass; Kelyan rose immediately and took it from her, bringing it back to the center of the group. Are you eating? he called over his shoulder to Haldor, as he sat down.
Haldor shook his head.
Kelyan shrugged. Your loss. He waved a hand at the basket; it contained a pile of flat white rounds, strips of what appeared to be grilled meat, onions, a set of round cups and a skin, and a bowl with something white in it. The flat things are bread, more or less; the strips are beef and they are tasty enough, but tough. There's butter in the bowl, and the skin is full of fresh milk. You'll get flatbread and cheese in the morning, and more milk. He reached for a round of bread, deftly wrapped it around a strip of meat and onion, and poured himself a cup of milk. Down south they had beer made from barley, but the barley ran out a while ago; I don't know what they'll do up here. Before the drought, the food was better than this; there were farmers to trade with, more variety. He raised an eyebrow at Shana, who was juggling a hot strip of meat from hand to hand. I don't suppose that drivel about wanting to trade happened to be true by any stretch of the imagination?
Well, she said, getting the meat into the bread, and blowing on her fingers to cool them, as it happens, it was. We—the wizards, I mean—had another confrontation with the elven lords; this time the ending was a bit more on our side, and the truce-treaty specified we could come down here and settle unmolested. We have things we can trade, and it's easier to trade for things than use up magic creating them.
Not that too many of us can create things, but let him think we can, like the greater elven lords.
Hmm. He said nothing more, but ate, quickly and neatly, and washed his meal down with the milk. Shana did the same, finding that the fare was not at all bad—although she could see that it would be very easy to tire of it quickly.
Kalamadea and Mero took more time with their meal, as she and Keman sketched in as much as they knew of the time that Kelyan and Haldor had missed. I always figured that they couldn't possibly be getting rid of all of you halfbreeds, he commented, when they got to the second Wizard War. There are just too many accidents, too many times that a concubine or a human field-slave happens to be fertile when her lord takes a fancy to her. And I figured that the results were being left out on the edge of the forest or something of the like. There's always been rumors of halfbreeds in the forest, living wild as wolves. I can't say it surprises me.
Since he was being so frank, Shana decided to return the favor. Your entire attitude towards us surprises me she told him. I can't understand why you aren't—well—like Lord Dyran—
Because I'm not like Lord-Damned-Dyran, he replied fiercely. Very few of those of us on the bare edges of society are at all like the High Lords! Have you any notion of what it's like to be elven and yet have next to no magic?
She shook her head, dumbly.
I have, Mero put in quietly. Both Shana and Kelyan turned to look at him. After all, I spent most of my life in Dyran's manor. Shana, the elves base everything on how much magic a person commands. If you have a lot, you have everything. If you don't—well, I've seen slaves treated better than some of Dyran's pensioners.
Kelyan nodded, bitterly, and even Haldor seemed to be listening and not ignoring them.
At least the slaves have set duties, Mero continued. They aren't expected to perform miracles with nothing, and they aren't punished or ridiculed when they can't make those miracles happen. The slaves are ignored, which is better than being watched, when the watcher is someone like Dyran. I saw him set one of his overseers an impossible task, make him work to exhaustion, then accuse him of shirking and as punishment order an arranged marriage for the fellow's daughter with another of his underlings who was—well, just vile. I watched him drive another quite mad, then order his wife be taken away and given to someone else as a lady. And at least the slaves of someone like Dyran have mercifully short lives compared to the elven lords. A pensioner can look forward to centuries of that kind of treatment.
Kelyan nodded all through Mero's explanation. Exactly right, halfbreed— He paused, and
tilted his head in inquiry. Sorry, I've forgotten your name. You're very quiet—
Mero, the wizard supplied, and smiled. They called me Shadow; I am very good at making myself ignored.
Kelyan gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Mero, then. Yes, exactly right. There were plenty of Dyran's slaves who would look at me with pity in their eyes—and my father, too, before he worked himself into a premature senility. He sighed. Well, needless to say, there are—or at least there were, when last I walked civilized lands—plenty of younger elves who would be only too happy to find a way to limit the High Lords' magic. And given enough time to think about it, there are probably any number of them who could find it in their hearts to sympathize with the wizards. And actually, now that I've had a taste of being a slave myself, I even find it in my heart to sympathize with the humans. He quirked another of his ironic smiles. At least Dyran met a nasty end. I will sleep very peacefully tonight, knowing that.
He would have said more, but another of the warriors appeared at the door to the tent, pushing the flap aside and gesturing peremptorily. Kelyan made a face, and got to his feet, prodding Haldor with a toe. Come on, old thing, he said with resignation. Time for our performances. Our masters are awaiting us.
Haldor just grunted again, got to his feet, gathered up his chain, and followed Kelyan out.
Want to watch? Shana said to Mero in an undertone. I really have got to see what it is they're doing. Especially if we're going to be expected to do the same.
He shook his head.
I'll go with you, Keman offered.
I'll stay with Mero, Kalamadea said. You two go see what you can see; we'll see if we can come up with any plans.
Shana didn't need a second invitation; she gathered up her chain and followed the two elves, Keman on her heels.
Just as Kelyan had told her, no one tried to prevent either of them from following the two elves as long as it was obvious they were not trying to escape. The elves didn't go far, only to about the third circle. Their destination was a tent—a real tent and not a tent-wagon, the kind Shana remembered the caravan-traders using, only much, much bigger. She reflected that it must have taken a dozen people working together to put this up. As they neared it, colored lights played on the tent walls from inside, and music drifted through the quiet night air.
The elves went inside; Shana and Keman followed them.
They stopped just inside the tent flap, which was tied open. Inside, it had been furnished much like Jamal's tent; there were painted hangings decorating some of the walls, rugs forming a floor, and large piles of cushions for people to sit or recline on. At one end was a group of musicians; at the other, someone dispensing food and drink. Servers brought both to the men and women who were dispersed about the tent. Most of them had the look of fighters; most were relatively young. Some sat or reclined, eating, talking, or playing games of chance. Some danced to the tune the musicians played.
But most were drifting toward the musicians' end of the tent where the elves had just arranged themselves.
What do you suppose they're up to? Shana wondered aloud.
I haven't a clue, Keman told her. But we ought to see if we can't get nearer.
They worked their way through the crowd; carefully, trying to attract no attention to themselves. They managed to get into a corner where they had a good view, but were out of the way.
The musicians finished their current piece, and stopped, clearly waiting for the elves to settle themselves. There were six musicians: two drummers, two with string instruments, one with a horn, and one with something Shana couldn't identify. Kelyan took a comfortable position, and nodded to the head musician, the one with the horn, who started a new piece. He played the first phrase alone, and the others joined in after a few beats.
That was when Shana understood why the riders were so intent on keeping the elves as their captives.
Kelyan spun a complicated illusion of fantastic birds and creatures with the bodies of lithe young females and males, but with butterfly wings. He danced them around each other in time to the music, to the evident pleasure of the watching riders. It wasn't a very good illusion; the birds and butterfly-creatures were quite transparent, easy to see through, impossible to believe in. But as an artistic piece, and as entertainment, it was excellent.
Certainly it was something the riders would never have been able to produce for themselves.
When the piece ended, the illusion faded. Haldor sat up, face full of resignation, as the next piece began. His illusion, like Kelyan's, was a frail thing and quite transparent, but his tiny horses of flame, darting and rearing and galloping in the air, were quite mesmerizing to watch.
Shana tapped Keman on the elbow and inclined her head toward the less crowded part of the tent as Haldor's piece ended. He nodded agreement, and they made their way to the end nearer the open doorway.
Before you ask—I can't work any magic on the collar itself, and I'm not certain I can shift, Keman said quietly. Kalamadea and I have tried; I think it may be something in the collars.
She made a face of distaste. Well, the elves manage it; I don't see why these people couldn't, too. Oh, fire and blast it! At least none of them know our tongue; it's easier talking man thinking at you.
We are going to have to convince this Jamal that we aren't fullblood elves and we can't do illusions, Keman continued urgently. Otherwise they'll have us sitting there making butterflies and flowers, for the rest of our lives—
Unless Collen runs into them and arranges a trade or a ransom or—yes, well, that isn't very likely at the moment. She chewed her lip. Let's sit here and watch the people for a while. Maybe we can find out more about them, something useful.
They didn't learn much, except that the riders worked the elves to sheer exhaustion—and that both Haldor and Kelyan grew depleted of magic and weary a great deal faster than either Shana or Mero would have under the same conditions.
Even then, the riders didn't seem disposed to let the elves go for the evening. Instead, they were plied with food and drink, allowed to rest for a bit, then put back to work.
This did not bode well for the four of them, if ever the riders discovered their real abilities, Jamal would not want to let them go, ever.
It was interesting, though, that although the warriors did not wear their armor here, they did retain their iron neckpieces and armbands, and sometimes added a browband as well. The women wore truly exquisite jewelry of black filigree, some of it faceted and polished in places until it sparkled like gemstones. All of the people here favored bright costumes of light, flowing fabrics; oranges, reds, and golden yellows, in more elaborate versions of the garments Shana had already seen them wearing during the day.
Who's that? Keman whispered suddenly, as there was something of a stir at the entrance to the tent. She peered through the half-lit darkness and made out a familiar face among the crowd pushing in through the entrance.
That's Jamal, she whispered back, as the War Chief and his entourage were offered a hastily vacated set of cushions by those who had scrambled to their feet. But who's that beside him?
An older man with the physique of a blacksmith, his short hair as white as sheep's wool, had entered at nearly the same time, with his own entourage. While Jamal's followers were all clearly warriors, though none of them actually carried weapons here, this man's followers were all of his type; they all wore an odd headdress of folded fabric, and all wore spotless leather aprons. They differed from Jamal's group in one other striking way: They all wore iron torques from which a stylized flame-shape was hung as a pendant, formed out of the same filigree as the women's jewelry.
Don't know, Keman answered, But he seems to be just as important as Jamal!
Indeed, there were as many people waiting to talk to the older man or hastening to serve him. He and his entourage got the same deferential treatment. Shana didn't detect any open animosity between the two groups, but she thought there was a certain undercurrent of tension when the two
men glanced at each other.
If she were to hazard a guess about it, she'd say that the Iron People had two leaders, not one, and that this older man was the second of them. And that it was just possible that neither of them was entirely happy about sharing power.
Well, that was interesting! It might be useful, too. If there was some rivalry there, it might just be possible to exploit it
The first thing to do was to find out just what, exactly, the function of this older man was. Then she could see if there was some way to use one of them as leverage against the other.
She turned her attention back to Jamal, studying him further. He was the younger of the two, and might be the more flexible and forward-thinking. It might be best to appeal to him, rather than to the older man.
He's watching us, Keman whispered urgently. The old man, he's watching us.
She transferred her gaze, quickly. The old man was watching them both closely, eyes narrowed. Even as she looked, he turned his head slightly aside to talk to one of his followers, never taking that speculative regard off of them.
I wish I knew what he was saying, Keman muttered to her.
She nodded; there was a great deal of intelligence in that man's face; something about the determined set of his mouth and chin told her he would be a bad man to cross. He would take his time about a solution to the problem you represented, and when he had his solution, he would methodically and thoroughly implement it. And she could not tell what she and Keman meant to him. Now, more than ever, she cursed the ability these people possessed that enabled them to keep her out of their minds.
I wish, she replied fervently, That I knew what he was thinking.
Where did these new green-eyed demons spring from? First Iron Priest Diric asked one of the acolytes in an aside. He took care to show none of his displeasure in his expression, but he made it very clear in his tone of voice. And more to the point, why was I not informed of their capture?
Lord, as to the first, I was told that they were caught spying upon the wagons this afternoon, the acolyte replied, keeping his voice down and cultivating a pleasant tone, as if he spoke of nothing consequential at all. As to the second, lord, I cannot tell you. I only heard of them this very evening.