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 blooming 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.
That meant it was all the more imperative that he hold his illusion of full humanity over himself and Rena. It also meant that once everyone got over the novelty of seeing the blond
Com People in their midst, he and Rena would be here on bare and wary sufferance. After all, what did they bring with them? Nothing. No grain, no hope of grain, no skills of war. Only the ability to tame alicorns, animals the bulls would not tolerate. That wasn't exactly useful—and a demonstration of any other talents might well get them in more trouble than it got them out of.
The Priests that had welcomed the two of them wanted to take them directly to their Chief Priest—and Lorryn agreed, even though he sensed there was something that they were not telling him about, that request. It was somewhat unnerving to realize that he could not touch their minds, no matter how hard he tried; he was so used to being able to read people's thoughts as well as their expressions that he felt curiously half-deaf or half-blind. Was this how Rena felt? Or the more ordinary human slaves without wizard-powers? If so, he felt terribly sorry for them.
They were ushered into a large tent-wagon, redolent with fragrant smoke, and once the flap dropped behind them, seemingly empty. As Lorryn's eyes adjusted to the darkness, something moved at the far end of the tent.
I think you are not what you seem, tamer of one-horns, a deep and amused voice said, quietly, from out of the shadows there.
Lorryn started. I? he replied innocently. How can I be something other than what you see? Rena clutched at his hand, bewildered by the strange tongue and clearly ill at ease. He peered into the shadows, trying to make out the form of the speaker, it was hardly fair that these people were so dark; that made it hard to see them in this half-light.
Someone stood up; a human form detached itself from the shadowy form of a chair and moved forward. I say you are not what you seem, the deep voice continued, because what you seem to be is one of the Com People—yet beneath that seeming I see something else. Something I would have been tempted to name a green-eyed demon, had I not had four creatures like unto you brought to me within the fortnight.
A tall, powerfully built man with closely cropped, tightly curling gray-white hair stepped into the shaft of light from the smoke hole in the tent roof above, and stood before Lorryn, arms crossed over his chest. He leveled a challenging gaze at Lorryn, who froze.
So tell me what it is that you are, tamer of one-horns, he demanded. 'Tell me why it is that you and four of my captives share a semblance, while this you call your sister looks all too clearly like the other twain I hold in chains.
He knows what we are! He can see through the illusions! Lorryn thought in panic. Oh, Ancestors, now what do I do?
Well, there was no real choice. Tell the truth? It seems the only way out.