Later, he promised, and slid off the back of his alicorn to approach the leader of the dark people. She dismounted before the stallion could react to his absence, and steadied both beasts while Lorryn and the dark man spoke together. She began to lose her fear, and then her nervousness, when she realized that the man's posture and tone of voice were both not only friendly, but respectful. And whenever he looked hi her direction, or indicated her, that respect only deepened.
Lorryn returned to her. I'll tell you more later, but I made out as if we were the last of our tribe, and we've been looking for our ancient allies—them—to let them know how things stand in the lands the elves hold. They are very impressed by tame alicorns, and we have been invited to exercise the rights of our ancient alliance and join them. These people are associated with their head Priest, a fellow called Diric, and they want us to meet him at least. He paused, and looked gravely into her eyes. Rena, if this is not something you are comfortable with, we'll go on—but with these people we'll have shelter and food, and I think from my reading that we'll be safe with them. It's up to you.
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?