Elveblood hc-2

by Andre Norton

  She looked from him to the leader of the dark people and back again. They were human—and alien—but at least they were people.

  It would be better than riding across endless seas of grass on the backs of animals they might have to abandon at any moment.

  At the moment, it seemed the best choice.

  What do I do with the alicorns? she asked.

  Can you send them away? he replied. The bulls won't tolerate them. That's what Haja asked me to do, anyway.

  She nodded after a moment of concentration. Go tell him we'll come with them, and give me a little time.

  She waited until he walked off and joined the man he'd called Haja, then turned her magic on the alicorns for the last time, concentrating on increasing their urge to find others of their kind until it overrode everything else, including the urge to challenge the bulls. Then she lifted her hands from their shoulders.

  They half-reared, startling the bulls and their riders, and pivoted on their hind feet to point their heads west. As soon as their forefeet hit the ground, they were off, not at a fast walk or a lope, but at a run, claw-hooves flashing in the sun, manes flying, tails flagged. They looked beautiful. She watched them go with a little regret. There had been things about them that she would miss—

  —but not enough that she wanted them back.

  With her head as high as theirs, she walked toward Lorryn and his new ally, and realized with a flush of pleasure that the murmurs she heard from the riders were sounds of admiration.

  Now, if they could just hold their illusions—this might have been the best thing to happen to them since they escaped!

  Chapter 7

  THE IRON PEOPLE had not moved their encampment for days, which was just fine with Shana. She'd been afraid that when they resumed their wanderings, the trek might take her little group even farther from the Citadel than they already were. But there was good grazing at this spot, and water, and as long as the grass lasted, the Iron People were not inclined to move on.

  All to the good. Now they had time to make plans to get away. Shana was increasingly uneasy about being gone for so long. Not that she didn't think that Denelor and the others couldn't handle everything on their own—but—

  But—things happen, sometimes…

  Their felt-walled tent was surprisingly cool in the heat of midday; the sides rolled up to let in a cool breeze at floor level, and heated air rose to escape through the smoke hole. With no real duties to perform, they spent most of the time that they were not being questioned in the relative comfort of the tent. After all, where was there to go? How much interest was there in watching cattle graze? Kalamadea was margin ally interested in seeing how the young warriors fought in their practices, but those were always held in the cool of the morning. And whatever the magic was that held their own powers in abeyance, no one was practicing anything that looked or felt like magic near enough for any of them to detect it.

  Are you sure we should be talking with them around? Mero whispered, nodding at the two elves drowsing on their side of the tent. Within two days of their capture, a peaceful accord had been reached between the newcomers and the original prisoners. The tent was divided down the middle by arranging the rugs to conform to that pattern. The elves stayed on their side, the wizards on the other. Haldor continued to ignore them; Kelyan, after questioning all of them about the particulars of the Wizard War and Lord Dyran's demise, fell into a kind of apathetic stupor. He said he was meditating, but it looked to Shana like he was staring off into space just like Haldor.

  She had to wonder if either of them was quite sane anymore, after being held like this for several decades. There was really nothing for them to do or to think about—and if boredom was a real problem for elves in their own lands and in control of their own lives, how much more so was it a problem for these two? As she had studied them, she had come to the tentative conclusion that they were hardly more than the shadow of real elves; Haldor in particular had retreated into himself until there was nothing showing of his personality anymore. It was rather horrible, really. Was this how they would act after being held captive for too long?

  I don't think it matters, she told Mero truthfully. Neither of them seem particularly interested in getting free, and it isn't as if we're planning an escape. We are trying to figure out how we can get the Iron People to let us go with honor all the way around, and that isn't going to get anyone in trouble. We're not doing anything to violate our parole, so to speak.

  Mero shrugged then. All right, I see your point. Even if either of them told tales on us, all the Iron People would hear would be—

  What they already know, Shana finished for him. That we want to go back to our people, that we were here to find trade, and that we are not elves.

  Mero nodded. Well, then, if we're going to approach anyone, I think we ought to go with Jamal, he told them. He's young, he's in the process of changing their customs—if anyone can be persuaded that it would be better to turn us loose against the custom of holding captives, I think it's likely him. And he's very popular, popular enough that people won't question it if he orders something that seems odd or unusual.

  But Kalamadea shook his head at that, emphatically. He is also grasping, that one, and he will not let go of anything, once he has possession of it. We are his, so to speak, and he will not release a piece of booty on the promise of trade to come. And—I do not think he is interested in peace with anyone. I think if he learns of the existence of the Citadel, he will seek to conquer it, not to trade with it. I have seen nothing that makes me think otherwise. He frowned. And I do not like who he has garnered as his followers. They are warriors all, and when was a warrior interested in anything but war? No, I am for the Priest, Diric. He is one who thinks long and deeply, and he does not ponder war without also pondering the losses that war entails.

  It was Keman's turn, and he shrugged, and looked confused. I don't know, he confessed. Except that I don't know how we're going to convince either of them that we aren't elves. He looked back at Shana. Diric spent more time with you than with the rest of us, and so did Jamal, especially after they let the elves give you their language. They've asked you more questions than they have all of the rest of us combined. So what do you think of them?

  She chewed her lip thoughtfully. Initially I thought we should try to concentrate on Jamal, mostly because of Jamal's popularity, but also because I thought Diric would be like the old whiners. I thought that Diric would be very prejudiced against us just because we're 'green-eyed demons,' and he'd be more in favor of loading us down with more chains than with setting us free. But—I don't know if it was because I'm a female, or some other cause, but Jamal has been incredibly arrogant with me, and Diric has never been less than courteous. I think Diric already believes we are something other than elves. And I know he is far more interested in setting up trade with others than in going to war with them; he's asked me any number of times about what, exactly, our people have to offer in trade. He was very specific in what he was interested in—grain and metals, for the most part, though he'll take raw wool, linen, and ready-made goods. When Jamal wasn't trying to browbeat me, he wanted to know about terrain, and where I was from, precisely—and what our people possess. That sounds like someone looking for booty and an easy target to conquer to me, too, Kalamadea. So, on the whole, I am inclined to concentrate on Diric myself.

  Kalamadea looked from her to Mero and back again. 'Two for Diric, one for Jamal, and one undecided. He turned to Mero. Would you like to make further arguments to convince us, or have we convinced you?

  Mero rubbed the side of his nose with his finger. I'm not really strongly in support of going to Jamal, he said, finally. If the two of you are strongly in favor of Diric, I'm willing to go along with that. He made a disparaging face. After all, even though I know more about life on an elven lord's estate than either of you, both of you know more about how to read a person's intentions from what he says and does—and doesn't say.

  I am q
uite strongly in favor of approaching Diric, Shana replied firmly, as Kalamadea nodded agreement.

  Diric it is, then, Mero agreed. At least he isn't as scary as Jamal. I always have the feeling Jamal is a hair away from doing something I hadn't expected—and whatever it would be, it would probably be unpleasant.

  That may be another sign he is not a man of peace, Kalamadea observed.

  Shana didn't have anything to add to that—she would have said that Jamal didn't feel safe ; as if he could and would change his moods with lightning swiftness, even though she had never seen such a mood change. Now, to change the subject, have any of you figured why neither elven magics nor human magics work on these folk?

  Kalamadea threw up his hands in despair. I am baffled he replied in disgust I have never encountered anything like this, and I am older than the oldest elven lord on this world! I can speak mind to mind with you and Shadow, Shana, but I cannot touch the minds of any of the Iron People. I can mold a bit of rock to my will, but the collar remains stubbornly immutable. And I cannot shift. Now, speaking mind to mind if enough like human wizardry that I can see how, perhaps, they could block my ability to do the same—but not the purely draconic abilities of rock-shaping and shape-shifting! It is most vexing!

  Shana nodded ruefully; her own experiments had come to nothing as well, and so had Mero's. Kelyan has no clue how they do this, and I haven't caught anyone actually working whatever magic they do that blocks ours. I'm baffled, too.

  These collars are very old, Keman said, softly.

  Shana turned to him in surprise. Why do you say that? she asked.

  He shrugged. They can't be very new, he said. They're iron, and I've overheard people complaining that they haven't had fuel or metal for the forges for months. If you look at these collars, though, you can see that there is a great deal of wear on them, enough that they could have been around for hundreds of years. In fact, I don't think they were ever intended for humans or elves at all. I think they were meant for animals; huge hounds, most likely. There may be some protection against control or against magic being used against the wearer in them, but I don't think there's much more than that. After all, we can speak mind to mind with each other, we just can't read them. We haven't tried anything else except shape-shifting and rock-shaping, and the rock-shaping works.

  Shana nodded, slowly. So the reason our magic is blocked might be something that they are each doing for themselves, and not the effect of the collar at all?

  Except in that our magic can't be used on the collar, yes, Keman told her. That is my best guess, at any rate.

  Which would be the reason why the elves can continue to cast their illusions, even though they wear similar collars, Kalamadea mused aloud. That is logical. But why can we not shift?'

  Have you tried shifting to a form the same size as a halfblood? Mero asked, suddenly intent. Or did you try something larger or smaller?

  This is the smallest form we can shift to, Kalamadea told him. And—no, the only thing I have tried is to shift to one of the oxen, and I did not actually try to shift back to my draconic form until last night.

  Which is bigger, much bigger. So is the ox. Mero's eyes narrowed. It could be that the reason you can't shift is because your body knows very well that you won't break the collar before it strangles you in a larger form. It isn't magic that stops you at all, it's instinct, to keep you from choking to death.

  Kalamadea and Keman looked at one another, startled. After a moment, Kalamadea nodded.

  That makes even more sense, he said, slowly. No matter what new form I shifted to, if the 'neck' is even a hair larger than my neck in this form, that is precisely what will happen. I will have to think about this, and perhaps between us, Keman and I can arrive at a form wherein this will not be a problem. He frowned. The trouble is, we have never learned to shift into anything that we did not have the pattern for in nature. I am not certain that we could learn how to do so now.

  I wish I could pry more out of Diric, Shana said after a long silence. I have the feeling that I would be able to figure this out, if only I knew the right questions to ask. She toyed with a lock of her hair. I think he's feeling me out—trying to decide if he can trust us. There is something going on here that none of us are privy to between him and Jamal, but it's something that is going to cause us trouble. I think they're in the middle of a very subtle and covert struggle for power.

  Huh, Mero said. That actually makes sense, and matches what I've been seeing and hearing.

  It matches what I know also, Kalamadea added. I would not call Jamal 'rash,' precisely, but he would much rather control something directly, and that means conquering it if he can, whether it is the power over his own Clan, or the means of obtaining grain and metals, both of which are in short supply among these Iron People.

  Keman groaned, and massaged his temple as if he had a headache. This is not fair! I hate being stuck in the middle of a power struggle at any time, but why must I be stuck in the middle of one that hasn't got anything to do with me?

  How do you think I feel? Shana retorted. I've been in the center of power struggles since before I was born! No one ever asked me if I wanted any part of this!

  You have great hamenleai, Lashana, Kalamadea said, with one of his inscrutable smiles. I said so when Alara brought you to the Kin. Since you are such a center of great change, you can hardly be anything but the focus of power struggles.

  Oh, thank you, she replied sarcastically. Sometimes I wish Father Dragon would take his position as Chief Shaman and—ah, never mind. Foster mother is like that too; she just doesn't get quite so pompous about it.

  Oh, you are welcome, he replied, with equal irony, but more humor. I merely point out the facts, Lashana; I am not responsible for them.

  She only snorted. Fact or not, we are here and I would like to do something to get us out of here. So has anyone got any ideas about approaching Diric?

  There had been some disturbance outside; Shana had been ignoring it. There were often disturbances outside the tent: quarrels between young warriors, noisy games by mobs of children, the occasional cow taking it into her head to charge through the center of camp. Such disturbances usually faded after a while.

  This one did not. In fact, the crowd noise had increased over the past few moments.

  What is going on out there? she wondered aloud, getting to her feet. She coiled the loose end of her chain around her waist and walked over to the entrance, followed by the other three and the two elves.

  They emerged into the bright light and heat of midafternoon-noon; the sun struck her like a blow to the head, and she shaded her eyes with her hand as she peered in the direction of all the noise.

  Now, now that Haldor had been coaxed to work something the elves called a spell of tongues upon them all, and had imparted to all four of them all of the knowledge of the language of the Iron People that either he or Kelyan had, she could understand the shouting.

  Are they saying something about 'Corn People' ? she asked Kalamadea in puzzlement.

  He nodded, frowning furiously. They are, he replied, and that is an impossibility. They were a tribe that allied with the grel-riders in their struggle against the elves, but unfortunately, they were handicapped by being farmers rather than nomads. They would not leave their land, and they had not really acquired the skills of war—they had always relied on their allies to protect them. The Corn People were slaughtered long before the first Wizard War, and their children made into slaves. There are no more Corn People.

  He seemed so certain of it that she could not doubt him, but that was certainly the gist of what the shouting was all about. So if there were no Com People, then what—

  The shouting neared; clearly the crowd was headed in this direction.

  A moment later the chaotic mob surged through the gap between the tent-wagons. In the middle of it all was a group of Iron Priests, escorting a pair of golden-haired, pale-skinned humans, who stood out among the dark Iron People like daisies bloomi
ng in a freshly turned field. The two newcomers clearly were being escorted and were not prisoners; the Priests gave them all the deference of honored guests, the folk crowding around them were excited at the sight of them, and most telling of all, they were not wearing collars and chains.

  The entire crowd pushed and shoved their way past without anyone paying the slightest bit of attention to the prisoners.

  Except for one of the newcomers.

  The male of the pair looked up, catching first Shana's eyes, then Mero's—and his eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened, as if he meant to shout something.

  But it was too late, he was already past, carried by the crowd heading for Diric's tent.

  Lorryn could not have been more surprised if he had seen Lord Tylar disporting himself among these nomads. There had been two elves back there, with collars on their necks and chains around their waists—and beside them, what could only have been four wizards in like condition!

  How had that come about? And why?

  I don't have time to worry about that now, he reminded himself, casting a nervous glance around the crowd. He prided himself on being able to read people, and he did not like what he sensed. While he and Rena in their guise of allies might be an exciting new novelty, it was obvious from some of the subtler signals that the Corn People had been considered somewhat inferior to the Iron Clans. There was an air of amused superiority about the Priests, for instance, now that they had gotten over the initial shock of the discovery. And Lorryn thought he knew why; the Corn People had been farmers and not nomadic herdsmen. They had not been particularly good fighters, though they had held their ground valiantly to protect the retreat of their allies into the South. In the histories he had read, the Com People had always relied on the Iron People to protect them from enemies, paying for the protection in the grain and goods only a settled population could produce.