by Andre Norton
I'll break your wings, he spat. I'll shred them, and I'll break every bone, so that no matter how well you heal, you'll never fly again! I'll do it, Myre! I will!
He saw by the fear in her that she believed him—and of course, it never occurred to her that she could simply shift to heal any damage he did to her! Father Dragon knew that little ploy, and his mother—and of course, he had been the first dragon to try it, to his best knowledge. But evidently Myre assumed, like most dragons, that damage to her true self was permanent damage.
Just as well.
Beneath his talons, she dwindled down and shrank into a helpless human, trembling under his claws, but staring up at him with hate in her eyes. Not a human of the Iron People, but a pale-skinned slave of the elven lords.
Now what? she sneered up at him as he loomed over her. Are you going to eat me?
He closed his talons around her, none too gently. You're going to wish I had, Myre, was all he said.
:Shana!: he sent out the thought, even as he spoke. :Get a collar—a new one—and bring Kala and her tools.':
By now the humans were encircling them where they both sat, near-motionless, in the dry, hot grass. Keman was not going to give up his draconic form until he knew that Myre was no longer a threat. The sun beat down on both of them without mercy, but full sun was a friend to a dragon, the hotter, the better, he felt the pain of his belly wounds aching with every tiny movement, but the heat of the sun revived him, even as it wilted Myre in the form he had forced her to assume.
Shana came running up with a collar in both hands; Kala followed at a slow and wary walk, with her pouch of tools at her side. The Priest's wife paid no attention to Myre—all of her attention was on Keman. She was afraid; he knew that by the sweat on her forehead and the trembling of her hands. But she approached him even though she was afraid, proving that she was as brave as any person, two-legger or dragon, that he had ever seen.
Put the collar around her neck, Shana, he ordered aloud, forming his words in the tongue of the Iron People so that everyone could understand it. Lock it there.
She did so; he dropped Myre like the distasteful object she was and backed away a pace. Before Myre could even think to try to make a break for it, Shana seized her and wrestled her to the ground, sitting on her to keep her there.
Keman shifted again, concentrating not only on taking his halfblood form, but on healing the wounds that Myre had caused at the same time. It made the shift harder, but that didn't matter; the freedom from pain as he took the final form made him faint with relief.
If anything, Kala's eyes were even wider as she stared at him in his wizard-form.
You could break the locks on our collars to keep them open, Kala, he said, softly, so that only she could hear. Can you jam them so that they can never open again, as well?
She nodded, slowly; then, while Myre cursed and tried to throw Shana off, she turned and walked to Shana's side. Motioning Shana aside to hold Myre's legs, Kala solved the entire problem by sitting on Myre's back and holding her head by the hair. Kala was not a light person; Myre's face reflected that, as she suddenly turned very, very red.
You will hold still, creature, Kala said, slowly, and carefully, shaking the hair she held so that Myre winced. Demon or monster, it matters not to me, for while you are in the form of a woman, and wear the collar, you will remain in the form of a woman, and there is no woman born I cannot deal with. If you do not hold still, I will not be responsible for what happens as I work. Some of my tools are very sharp.
Myre froze, not daring to move a single muscle.
That was all that Kala needed, and she released her grip on Myre's hair. Within moments, she had inserted one of her probes into the lock of the collar—jammed it into the mechanism, and snapped the tip off flush with the surface of the collar. Only then did she stand up, and allow Myre to clamber slowly and clumsily to her feet.
No one will ever open that collar again, Kala said quietly. You will remove it only when you may find someone willing to cut it from your neck. That, too, will not be easy. You will not be able to remove it with magic, and it is tempered to resist the most determined cutter.
And while you're wearing it, foolish one, you will find you are unable to shift, or to work any but the smallest of magics. That was Kalamadea, coming up from the rear of the crowd. I would not try, were I you. I am told that the effects are most unfortunate.
The crowd parted suddenly; Diric marched up the middle of the empty space, followed by four of the Man-Hearted Women who had Jamal surrounded. He was not in chains, but from his demeanor he might as well have been. His shoulders were hunched, and he would not look at anything but the ground.
But Keman saw the fury in his eyes, though he tried to hide it. He was defeated, but he would never forget this defeat, and if he ever got a chance at revenge, it would be terrible.
All the reason never to give him a chance, then.
While you did battle in the air, my champion, Diric said to Keman, gravely, I did battle on my own on the ground.
He raised his voice. Hear, oh my people, of the foolishness and the pride of your War Chief, who would risk your lives and the lives of your families that he might achieve a fleeting glory for himself!
He began a highly edited version of everything that had happened since the wizards had been captured; Keman didn't pay too much attention to his speech once he realized what the gist of it was going to be. Instead, he watched Myre, who, despite the warning, had evidently tried something a little more potent than anything he or Kalamadea had attempted while wearing their collars. She stifled a cry of pain, blanched a dead white, and the skin beneath the collar reddened and blistered.
He could have felt sorry for her, if he hadn't still been so angry with her.
Lorryn was staring at her, though, with his mouth hanging wide open.
What's the matter? Keman asked softly. Why are you staring at my sister?
That—that's my sister's maid, the one that helped us escape, he managed to stammer as he continued to stare. But—wasn't she a dragon a little bit ago?
She's also my sister, and she's been trying to kill Shana and anyone who was a friend of Shana since before the Wizard War, Keman replied grimly. As Lorryn turned toward him, eyes wide with a thousand questions in them, he just shook his head. A great deal was becoming clear now, but it would all have to wait. I'll explain it all later; we have more important things to handle right now than her.
He ground his teeth together, as Diric's oration wound to its close, with the declaration that Jamal would be branded with the mark of a traitor and cast out from the Clan. Right now, he continued, we have a war to prevent. If we still can!
By the time night fell, Rena's head was reeling; this was too much to take in, all at once! Her maid, her friend—or so she had thought—was really a dragon? That much she could accept, somehow, for Myre had known an awful lot about the dragons, more than she should have even if she were an agent of the wizards. But to discover that she was a bad dragon, one who'd meant mischief, not good, by helping them escape—
It shook her, and it hurt her. She'd had so few friends, and she'd thought that Myre was one of them, despite the differences between them. Hadn't she gone out of her way to be kind to the girl? Hadn't she told Myre all of her secrets? The stories and romances all talked about the pain of betrayal; well, now she knew what they meant! How could she trust anyone after this? For that matter, whom could she trust after this?
That was her initial reaction, as she tried to take in all of the changes and make some sense of them. But as the moments flew past and her mind began to work again, she had to admit to herself that in the larger scheme of things—her own hurt was a very little incident in light of the things that Myre had revealed. She had not heard the voice in the mind that her brother described, but Kalamadea, Shana,
Lorryn, Mero, and (oddly enough) Diric all had. The danger to the wizards in their new home was not on the horizon—yet—but it most cert
ainly would be soon!
You are free to go as soon as you want, Diric was saying; once again, they were in his tent, but this time for comfort rather than secrecy. Jamal was already beginning his exile—Diric had not thought it a good idea to leave him within the Clan where he might manage access to Myre. A new War Chief had been appointed with Diric's full approval. Myre languished in the prison tent with the two elves, for Keman had reckoned that leaving her in Diric's custody was better than letting her wander around on her own. With the collar locked around her neck, she would certainly never be able to shift again. She might be able to escape, but where would she go? In her human form, that of the slave from Lord Tylar's estates, she would be pathetically vulnerable. Without being able to work magic to defend herself, there were a hundred deaths she could meet with out in the wilderness; all of them unpleasant.
So for the moment at least, Myre was no longer a threat to anyone. Later? Well, Rena was not so sure. If it had been up to her, Myre would be locked away for the rest of her life in a very deep, dark place, with food and water lowered to her on a rope.
You have won us as allies, according to all our traditions, Diric continued, speaking mostly to Shana and Lorryn. You defeated Jamal's champion in the view of everyone in the Clan. I do not know what we can do to aid you—but if there is anything we can offer, you have but to ask!
Shana started to shake her head; Rena couldn't help but see how her mood had darkened in the last few hours. She was tense, very tense, and although she wasn't fidgeting, Rena guessed that if she had her way, she would have been a-dragonback and gone right after the fight. Right now it looks like what we need most is an army. I won't ask you to come up against the elves; I wouldn't ask that of anyone. We both know it would be a slaughter, and what would be the point, anyway? But—
Lorryn interrupted her. Shana, wait a moment. The elves are not prepared to attack now. They are still trying to reconcile all their old grievances! What if we interfered with that process?
How? she asked, skeptically. I won't ask the dragons to go into their lands shape-shifted as elves; it's too dangerous! Now every elven lord that appears is going to be under the tightest of scrutiny, and will have to be vouched for by a dozen others! And if they went as slaves—they couldn't do a thing besides watch. I can't ask the wizards to go in, either, not when the elves are watching for illusions! How can we do anything from a distance?
Lorryn and I can go, Rena offered shyly. I'm not sure what he has in mind, but we can do it. He could be any young er-Lord, or even a third or fourth son—no one pays any attention to them, or to women, either. We could go a lot of places, without ever meeting anyone who would recognize us.
Mero reached out and caught her hand and squeezed it. If they go in, I'll go with them, he volunteered bravely, as Shana's eyes widened with shock. I know plenty about the High Lords and their estates. And I know some about the cities, too. I could always pass as Lorryn's slave, after all. I am used to that role.
Shana looked over at Lorryn, who was nodding. You obviously have some plan, she said slowly. There's something you know that we don't—
One small thing, yes, he agreed. And, Lord Diric, mere is something your people can give me that will help that plan along immensely. The jewelry that your women make.
Diric raised an inquisitive eyebrow. This sounds more and more complicated, he said. I hope it is not so complex as to forbid success.
But Lorryn shook his head. Actually, it isn't all that complex at all, he replied. There is an ancient rift among the elven lords that no amount of negotiation is ever going to cure, he told them all. And that is the rift between the powerful and the weak.
Now Rena saw where he was going, and she knew why he wanted the jewelry too! The difference between the powerful and the weak is a matter more of magic than of wealth or property, she said excitedly, rather than waiting for him to explain. Those lords with a great deal of magic make virtual slaves of those with little. Worse than slaves, in fact! That is a chasm so wide that nothing could ever bridge it; the hurts have gone on too long and have been made too deeply to ever be healed!
Mero nodded. It's a rift that would never appear as long as the powerful lords can use their power against the weaker, so I don't imagine that a single one of those powerful magicians is bothering to make any kind of reconciliation with those they consider inferior. I doubt it would even occur to them.
Among those who are oppressed by those with power are most of the women, Lorryn added. Now—what if suddenly all the power in the world meant nothing against those who have none of their own? What if—for instance, there was a fad for filigree jewelry among the not so well-to-do? What if those same souls learned that magic would have no effect on them while they wore it?
What if you got some of it into the hands of human slaves? Shana added, her eyes glowing with excitement. Oh, Lorryn, do you really think that the lesser elves would rise up against their lords if they knew they had an immunity to their power?
Not only lesser elves, but think about all the discontented sons who have nothing to do but be their fathers' heirs, with no true prospect of inheriting? Keman added. They're bored, they are withering away with boredom and resentment. They are tired of being given stupid little tasks as if they were superior slaves! I was among those people when I was hunting you, Shana. Remember Dyran, and remember that if Dyran was the worst of the lot, there are at least a hundred Lord Tylars who are nearly as oppressive to their sons! If they had an immunity from their fathers' magics, there are at least a handful of them who'd make more than mischief!
While they deal with the revolt of their underlings, and the insubordination of their women and children, they can't do anything about the wizards, Lorryn concluded. That's my plan, anyway. Rena and I go back home. I go into the cities and hunt up the disgruntled underlings, the discontented heirs. She goes back home, spins some tale of how I forced her to come with me, and inserts herself back into the social round—only wearing this new filigree jewelry. My idea is that we can silver-plate it to hide the fact that it is made of iron. That way no one but the owners will ever guess what its powers are. The construction of it is exotic enough she ought to start a fad. The women are mad for anything new.
Rena nodded ruefully, and he continued, turning toward her. The only problem—it could be very dangerous to you, Rena. I won't risk that if you really don't want to go. His eyes were grave, and his face troubled. The plan will go better if you are in it, but I can succeed at least in part alone.
Until you're caught, Mero said grimly. No, if you go in, I go too.
And I. Rena lifted her chin defiantly. I think you're right. Revolt from the women is the one thing that the lords will not be looking for. She thought for a moment, to that long-ago time when she had been staring into the darkness of her room, looking forward to a bleak future as the near-enslaved wife of a complete idiot. What would she have done if she had known that she had a way to shield herself from anything her father or his could do to her? What would she have said if she knew she could not have her mind taken away from her?
Oh, her father could still have used physical force—but there were answers to that as well. And if her mother could somehow have gotten an iron collar locked around his neck, perhaps as he slept…
Mother.
If nothing else, I have to return to help Mother, she said suddenly. I have to, Lorryn! Wait a moment, let me think.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and let her thoughts settle. We can find out if the news got around that I escaped with you quickly enough, she said, finally. If it didn't—I can start visiting some of my female 'friends,' the farther away from our estate, the better. I can show them my jewels—tell them that they were betrothal gifts—and let slip where they can purchase their own copies. I won't stay more than a day at a time. The men never bother with visitors in the bowers, and they never remember a woman's name. As long as I don't linger, I'll be safe enough.
Lorryn nodded, and so did Mero
. Mero's look of approval and encouragement was what she really needed to get on with the next part of her plan.
That gets the fad started, so it can go on with or without me. Then I go home. She raised her hand to stop Lorryn's protests. I tell Father that you kidnapped me, just as you suggested. All he has to do is cast a simple spell and he'll know I'm fullblooded. Then I become important, Lorryn, I become the only true child of his blood! I can even tell them that's why you kidnapped me, so that you could use me as a bargaining chip against him. Then I can slip some of the jewelry to Mother, and we can escape together.
The only question I can think of is—are we going to make an organized revolt over this? Lorryn said, finally, turning to Shana.
I don't see how we can afford not to, she told him frankly. Once the secret of the jewelry leaks out, the more powerful lords are going to start looking for ways to get around it—and they can do that if they can ambush the wearers one at a time.
Rena closed her eyes, bit her tongue, and tried not to show her fear. This was no romance, no dream in her garden. This was real, as real as their trek into the hills, as real as the rug under her hand. When they left this place, and reentered the lands of the elven lords, she would be in real danger. She could die. So could Lorryn.
So could Mero, and he didn't hesitate.
There was an icy hand clutched around her heart, a ball of cold clay in her throat, and a frozen lump of lead in the pit of her stomach. Was it only a night or two ago that she had walked with Mero in the moonlight, and thought that for the first time in her life she was truly happy? And now—
Now we risk all of it.
But she couldn't do anything less, not without making everything she'd gone through meaningless.
There was, for a brief moment while she strove to conquer that fear, another force warring within her. Temptation—to act like a real coward, a selfish coward. After all, she was no fighter, no hero like Shana! She could run back to her father and tell everything she knew. He'd not only welcome her, he'd reward her. He'd give her everything she ever wanted. She could have all those things she daydreamed about, her own manor where she alone would rule, books, music, gowns and jewels, and freedom to do exactly what she wanted. These halfbloods, these dragons—they weren't her kind. Why should she give them her loyalty and service when simply aligning herself with her real people would grant her all the freedom she ever wanted?