They followed a narrow trail along the face of the drop-off, a trail that switched back and forth constantly as it dropped, so that there was never more than a length or two from one level of the trail to the next below it. This was no bad idea, since it meant that if a mount and rider were to slide off the trail, they would have a fighting chance of saving themselves one or two levels down. But it made for a long ride, and all of it in the full sun, with nowhere to rest and no shade anywhere. Kethry and her mule were tired and sweat-streaked by the time they reached the bottom, and she could see that Tarma and Kessira were in no better shape.
But there was immediate relief at the bottom of the cliff, in the form of a grove of alders and willows with a cool spring leaping out of the base of the escarpment right where the trail ended. They watered the animals first, then plunged their own heads and hands into the tinglingly cold water, washing themselves clean of the itch of sweat and dust.
Tarma looked at the lowering sun, slicking back wet hair. "Well," she said finally, "We have a choice. We can go on, or we can overnight here. Which would you rather?"
"You want the truth? I'd rather overnight here. I'm tired, and I ache; I'd like the chance to rinse all of me off. But I know how anxious you are to get back to your people."
"Some," Tarma admitted, "But... well, if we quit now, then made an early start of it in the morning, we wouldn't lose too much time."
"I won't beg you, but -- "
"All right, I yield!" Tarma laughed, giving in to Kethry's pleading eyes.
Camp was quickly made; Tarma went out with bow and arrow and returned with a young hare and a pair of grass-quail.
"This -- this is strange country," Kethry commented sleepily over the crackle of the fire. "These grasslands shouldn't be here, and I could swear that cliff wasn't cut by nature."
"The gods alone know," Tarma replied, stirring the fire with a stick. "It's possible, though. My people determined long ago that the Plains are the bowl of a huge valley that is almost perfectly circular, even though it takes weeks to ride across the diameter of it. This is the only place where the rim is that steep, though. Everywhere else it's been eroded down, though you can still see the boundaries if you know what to look for."
"Perfectly circular -- that hardly seems possible."
"You're a fine one to say 'hardly possible,' " Tarma teased. "Especially since you've just crossed through the lowest reaches of the Pelagir Hills."
"I what?" Kethry sat bolt upright, no longer sleepy.
"The forest we just passed through -- didn't you know it was called the Pelgiris Forest? Didn't the name sound awfully familiar to you?"
"I looked at it on the map -- I guess I just never made the connection."
"Well, keep going north long enough and you're in the Pelagirs. My people have a suspicion that the Tale'edras are Shin'a'in originally, Shin'a'in who went a bit too far north and got themselves changed. They've never said anything, though, so we keep our suspicions to ourselves."
"The Pelagirs..." Kethry mused.
"And just what are you thinking of? You surely don't want to go in there, do you?"
"Maybe."
"Warrior's Oath! Are you mad? Do you know the kind of things that live up there? Griffins, firebirds, colddrakes -- things without names 'cause no one who's seen 'em has lived long enough to give them any name besides 'AAAARG!' "
Kethry had to laugh at that. "Oh, I know," she replied, "Better than you. But I also know how to keep us relatively safe in there -- "
"What do you mean, 'us'?"
" -- because one of my order came from the heart of the Pelagirs. The wizard Gervase."
"Gervase?" Tarma's jaw dropped. "The Lizard Wizard? You mean that silly song about the Wizard Lizard is true?"
"Truer than many that are taken for pure fact. Gervase was a White Winds adept, because the mage that gifted him was White Winds -- and it was a good day for the order when he made that gift. Gervase, being a reptile, and being a Pelagir changeling as well, lived three times the span of a normal sorcerer, and we are notoriously long-lived. He became the High Adept of the order, and managed to guide it into the place it holds today."
"Total obscurity," Tarma taunted.
"Oh, no -- protective obscurity. Those who need us know how to find us. Those we'd rather couldn't find us can't believe anyone who holds the power a White Winds Adept holds would ever be found ankledeep in mud and manure, tending his own onions. Let other mages waste their time in politics and sorcerer's duels for the sake of proving that one of them is better -- or at least more devious -- than the other. We save our resources for those who are in need of them. There's this, too -- we can sleep sound of nights, knowing nobody is likely to conjure an adder into one of our sleeping rolls."
"Always provided he could ever find the place where you've laid that sleeping roll," Tarma laughed. "All right, you've convinced me."
"When we find your people -- "
"Hmm?"
"Well, then what?"
"I'll have to go before a Council of the Elders of three Clans, and present myself. They'll give me back the Clan banner, and -- " Tarma stopped, nonplussed.
"And -- " Kethry prompted.
"I don't know; I hadn't thought about it. Liha'irden has been taking care of the herds; they'll get first choice of yearlings for their help. But -- I don't know, she'enedra; the herds of an entire Clan are an awful lot for just two women to tend. My teacher told me I should turn mercenary... and I'm not sure now that he meant it to be temporary."
"That is how we've been living."
"I suppose we could let Liha'irden continue as caretakers, at least until we're ready to settle down, but -- I don't want to leave yet."
"I don't blame you," Kethry teased, "After all, you just got here!"
"Well, look -- if we're going to really try and become mercenaries, and not just play at it to get enough money to live on, we're both going to have to get battlesteeds -- and you are going to have to learn how to manage one."
Kethry paled. "A battlesteed?" she faltered. "Me? I've never ridden anything livelier than a pony!"
"I don't want you at my side in a fight on anything less than a Shin'a'in-bred and trained battlesteed," Tarma said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Kethry swallowed, and bit her lip a little.
Tarma grinned suddenly. "Don't go lathering yourself, she'enedra, we may decide to stay here, after all, and you can confine yourself to ponies and mules or your own two feet if that's what you want."
"That prospect," Kethry replied, "sounds more attractive every time you mention battlesteeds!"
* * *
Kethry had no idea how she did it, but Tarma led them straight into the Liha'irden camp without a single false turning.
"Practice," she shrugged, when Kethry finally asked, "I know it looks all the same to you, but I know every copse and spring and hill of this end of the Plains. The Clans are nomadic, but we each have territories; Liha'irden's was next to Tale'sedrin's. I expected with two Clans' worth of herds they would be camped by one of the springs that divided the two, and pasturing in both territories. When the Hawkbrother told me which spring, I knew I was right."