Would one of those extra harnesses happen to fit me?
Keman looked up, as startled as everyone else, as a shadow slid over them all. A moment later, Dora landed in a flurry of wingbeats that kicked up dust and sent it flying in every direction.
I saw the double-saddle on Kalamadea, but Keman is much smaller than the Elder One, and I thought you might need an extra mount, Dora said, shyly and turned to Keman. You were right, she said, simply, and his heart soared.
:And thank you for not—not using emotions to convince me,: she added, for his benefit only.
Kalamadea was the first one to recover, and he did so with considerable aplomb. Keman? he said, quietly. Would you care to introduce us to your—friend?
:And is this where you've been vanishing at night, when we all thought you were hunting, you young rascal? Or were you hunting after all? Fairer game than plains deer?: he added.
Ah—this is Dora, he said lamely, suddenly tongue-tied. She's from a Lair very far south, where the Iron Clans all live, and she's been watching this Clan the way we used to watch the elven lords. She didn't know there were any other dragons except the ones in her Lair until she saw my shadow.
Really? was all Kalamadea said, then he turned to Dora, every talon-length the gallant. Welcome to our group, Dora. We are very pleased to have your help, and very grateful as well.
She ducked her head, her nostrils flushing.
Now, if I may take command of this situation, Kalamadea continued, looking over his shoulder at the sun, I believe we should get another harness onto our new friend Dora, and make all speed while we can. Explanations can wait until we are airborne. Lorryn, since you are riding double with your sister, who is the only one of us who cannot speak and hear thoughts, you can simply tell -her what is being said. At the least, it will enliven the journey no end.
He clapped his wings sharply, by way of emphasis.
Come along, my friends! he finished. The elven lords are sharpening their talons for our necks! It is time, and more than time, that we were in the air!
Chapter 10
LORRYN NURSED A cup of thick, too sweet red wine in one of the many taverns he'd been frequenting since he began this part of the plan. This one was in Whitegates, a trade-city administered by Lord Ordrevel—or more correctly, by Lord Ordrevel's underlings. It didn't matter where he was, really; each of the five trade-cities looked pretty much like the next one, and all these taverns were alike.
He should know. He'd been in every trade-city on the continent, and most of the taverns.
The taverns were all luxuriously appointed—or so it seemed. If you looked closely, though, you saw that most of the luxury was only where it could be seen. Leather upholstery extended only to the side of the cushion that showed; satin wallpaper gave way to bare wall where the wall was covered by furniture or something else. Velvet drapes proved on touching to be soft, flocked paper, cheap and disposable.
These taverns all had dark rooms in the upper levels where human slaves waited to give whatever pleasuring was required, but the rooms were so dark that neither the slaves nor the surroundings were readily visible. They all served very cheap wine, spiced and honeyed to a fair-thee-well to disguise how cheap it really was.
And they all played host to elves who were too low in rank and status to have estates, manor houses, and concubines of their own—or young elves, leashed and collared by their lord fathers, who likewise had nothing of the sort as their own. This—and the taverns like it, in this city and the other four trade-cities—was where the legacies, the supervisors, the seneschals and trainers, came to forget the petty insults heaped upon them by their liege lords. This was where the extra sons and the disregarded heirs came, to forget that there was nothing that they would ever see or touch that was truly theirs.
This was where the former concubines, or young girls and boys too delicate to serve in the fields, but not comely enough to grace a harem or work as house slaves, also came. It was difficult to imagine a worse life than that of a field hand, but surely this was it. Especially for the traumatized, abused creatures waiting in those upper rooms. Lorryn tried not to think too hard about them; he was already doing what he could to change their fates.
Lorryn provided a sympathetic ear, and more important, a ready purse. (Many of them were kept on meager allowances by those so-careful lord fathers, generally an amount that was less than the cost of a good dog or a field hand.) He offered his wine and murmurs of understanding. That was common enough; they all shared their grievances, those who came here. What was uncommon was that he also provided a remedy.
Word of that remedy was spreading.
He had learned something fascinating during the hours he had spent in these places, where the air was scented with perfume to cover the odor of spilled wine, and the light was dim to hide the stains on the velvets and satins of the upholstery, the serving girls, and the clientele. His worst fear had been that one or more of the seemingly disgruntled would prove to be an informant, and that the game would be uncovered be fore it began. And surely one or more had been an informant—
But whether they informed out of fear or out of greed, when he actually gave them a way to even the odds with the Great Lords, when he showed them how ineffective magic was against his talismanic jewelry, they all turned. Each and every one of them turned against the lord they had been working for, passed over the gold, hid the necklace, headband, and armbands in the breast of his tunic, and walked out without a word.
Except, perhaps, to inform to someone else who had a lord as cruel, as indifferent, as sadistic as his own.
He had always known that the Great Lords were cruel to their underlings, but he had never, in all of his planning, guessed that they were so cruel that their liegemen would turn against them at the first opportunity. He had seen the gilded facade of their world, as he walked through it as Lord Tylar's son and heir. Beneath the languid manners, the pretty magics, the idle games, was a cruelty that was all the darker for being so completely casual, a cruelty that used up and disposed of humans and elves alike as if they were toys meant only to amuse an idle hour.
He sipped his wine, and sat in his back-corner booth, and waited for them to find him.
There had been a young lord—he must be a younger son, for he did not wear livery, and his clothing was of too high a quality to be an underling—sitting at a table nearby, drinking steadily, and watching him for the past hour. Now, finally, he rose to his feet, wove his way through the tables with surprising grace (considering the quantity of drink he'd been putting away), and settled himself onto the bench across from Lorryn, empty cup still in hand. He helped himself to the wine in Lorryn's pitcher without a by-your-leave, which further argued for a high position.
Lorryn simply nodded, and pushed the pitcher of wine closer to his new drinking companion.
The stranger took that as an open invitation, downed his cup in a single gulp, and poured it full afresh.
Fathers, he said at last, sneering, and making the word a curse. 'Tell you how important you are from the time you can walk, give you ev-everything you ask for right up until you co-come of age. Then what?