Krythis noted that this was not the same as saying his name was Belot, nor was it the full name that courtesy demanded for a host who had saved one’s life. The self-named Belot was either determined to be rude or genuinely feared that the human blood in Krythis and Tulia had corrupted them enough that they might use his full name to work magic against him.
Neither boded well for the elf’s presence at Belkuthas. As for what it implied about the presence of two or three score like him.… Only with an effort of will and a few warming thoughts of Tulia was Krythis able not to shudder.
“This may not be the best time for those who cannot fight or run to be traveling here. Gryphons are not all that need be”-Krythis searched for a softer word than feared-“that need be considered in one’s plans,” he concluded, which sounded like an Istarian law counselor but at least did not seem to offend Belot.
“All plans will be easier to make when Istar recognizes its proper relationship with the Silvanesti,” Belot said. “Now, if I may go to my mount and see how she fares …”
Tulia offered, “She fares well enough, for now.”
“I must-”
“You may not leave this bed without leave from Sirbones,” Tulia said, coming up on the other side of Belot.
“A human healer?”
“A priest of Mishakal, who is honored by all races, elves included,” Krythis said. “Go where you will, if you insist, but on your head be it.”
Belot put a hand to his bandaged head, winced, and lay back down. “Your pardon,” he said, sounding almost sincere. “But I am worried about Amrisha.” Krythis heard truth and real affection in those last words.
“Our daughter attends Amrisha,” Tulia said.
“Your-daughter-?” Belot said, pronouncing the word as if it were an obscenity and staring as if he had just found dung in his wine cup.
“As fine a rider and with as much knowledge of healing animals as you could find,” Tulia put in.
“A quarter-elf, taking care of Amrisha?” Belot snapped. “Are you mad?”
Krythis did not count to ten or conjure up fantasies of Tulia this time. He thought briefly, but in great detail, about the pleasure of throwing Belot off the top of the keep. If anybody besides Amrisha the pegasus would miss Belot, Krythis would confess himself surprised. Krythis also gave thanks once more that Rynthala was not present. She would have thought even longer about undoing Sirbones’s healing of Belot-and perhaps done more than think.
“You will be even madder than we if you try to wander about the citadel with bees swarming in your head and your feet going in different directions at each step,” Tulia snapped. “We respect you for having earned King Maradoc’s trust. But tonight you would do well to earn ours.”
She slipped her arm through her husband’s. “Shall we leave this elf to the rest he so clearly needs?”
The only problem with Tulia’s grip on Krythis was that he could not run from the chamber, nor even walk from it as fast as he wished.
In the fresh air outside, Krythis felt his temper cooling along with his skin-except where Tulia warmed it with her touch.
“As if war was not enough,” she said at last.
“Do we need to fear war if this High Judge Lauthin and his followers come? Famine, perhaps, and brawls, but war? Who would attack us while we host such an embassy?”
“Anyone who wanted to bring about the final war between humans and elves. You have assured me time and again that such exist. Do you say otherwise, to reassure me?” Her tone was very like her daughter’s.
Krythis knew that to say anything even smelling of an untruth would be an insult not soon forgiven.
He would not be divided from Tulia. Not now. “You have the right of it,” he said slowly. “But if Lauthin brings a score like Belot, we may not survive the embassy long enough to be killed in the war!”
“Then let us fill the days and nights before either comes, with as much life as is in us,” Tulia said.
Chapter 9
Rynthala raised both hands, controlling ber horse with her knees. One hand lifted over her head, halting her scouting party; she held the other out at an angle, thumb and forefinger apart. That brought Tharash out of his saddle and up to her stirrup, albeit at his own graceful, leisurely pace.
Tharash (his full name was only just shorter than a gnome’s) was an elf, from his dark coloring almost certainly of Kagonesti blood. He admitted to being seven hundred years old, although he did not look it, even by elven standards. In any case, Rynthala’s parents could account only for the last forty or so of those years.
They did not care. He was the best tracker and the most indefatigable huntsman and ranger they had ever known. Rynthala, wise beyond her years in such matters (thanks largely to Tharash’s teaching) was willing to take their word for it.
She had even been willing to take Tharash on this ride south and west; for all she knew, it was a trick to get her away from Belot. Her parents trusted her trailcraft and courage; they did not trust her temper with the elven messenger. Since they could not offend him by departing with her, they had sent Tharash in his old role as foster father. They were accompanied by a dozen of the best woodsmen and riders at Belkuthas.
“Yes, Lady Rynthi?” Tharash said. He now put a “lady” in front of her pet name, and no longer patted her knee. Otherwise his manner toward her was unchanged from when she had been seven and spent her first night in the woods with him.
“Judge for yourself, but is that not smoke beyond the ridge-the one with the red outcropping-to the southwest?”
Tharash needed only a single look. “Your eyes are sharp, lady.”
“Who honed them?”
“Guilty. But your tongue is your own creation.”
“Need you follow that trail? My parents have already worn it fetlock-deep.”
But Tharash was not listening. After looking around to see that none had overheard, he knelt and put his ear to the ground. He managed to look graceful even in that awkward pose, but was swift to stand afterward.
“Unless my ears are failing-”
“Your ears will fail long after I am dead,” Rynthala said gently, then wanted to apologize to the frowning face beside her.
She had spoken only the truth. A fourth part of elven blood might give her a century of life or a bit more, but Tharash would still be following trails when her ashes rode the winds of Krynn. It was a price that few elves were willing to pay for associating with humans, and for this Tharash deserved more honor, or at least fewer reminders.
“My ears tell me that not far off are no less than three bands of good size, two of them at least largely mounted.”
The elf’s courtesy kept him from adding, Is it wise to go on? but Rynthala could hear it in his voice.
“One of them could well be Lauthin’s embassy. If so, we should seek them out and ride north with them.”
“Will they welcome us? I am not Silvanesti, so folk like Lauthin are as strange to me as kender, and not nearly as amusing.”
“They already seem ready to think the worst of us Belkuthas folk. If we send them a guard of honor, it can do no harm.”
She did not add, unless we encounter a foe too strong for our fourteen bows, because she could also hear those words in the elven ranger’s voice. Indeed, she could think of nothing to say, nor anything to do except give the signal to remount and move on.
For three days, the united company of Free Riders and Solamnic warriors had been casting back and forth across the country between them and Belkuthas. This was a compromise between, on the one hand, splitting the band to search out Zephros’s army and, on the other, marching straight for the citadel.
Neither chief had favored dividing the company. At least three other armed companies, not counting the kender, were within a day’s ride. All remained as invisible as if they had burrowed into the rock like dwarves. Dividing the riders increased the chances of intercepting one of these bands, but also of falling to them if they were strong enemies.