Blade went over to the priestly party. While he was covering the distance, two priests in black got down and helped Umru slide off the white horse. Looking at the size of him, Blade wondered how the high priest was ever going to get back on. “Yes, sir?” he asked politely.
“You had me shivering for three hours last time we met,” Umru remarked. “Has your father, the wizard, arrived yet?”
Blade explained that Derk would be here by the evening.
“We shall wait,” Umru said. “I owe him that courtesy for putting this camp so far away on this side of the mountains. This suggests that the battles will be here, too. Is this so?”
“I don’t really know,” said Blade.
“Then I must ask him,” Umru said. “But I fear these other priests with me are coming to complain. Maybe you should warn your father.” Blade looked up at them in their colored robes, staring grimly down from their horses. “From the other temples of the other gods,” Umru told him. “They do not like this idea that a god must manifest to the Pilgrim Parties.”
“That was Mr. Chesney’s idea,” Blade protested. “It’s nothing to do with my father.”
Umru turned to look up at the grim priests. “There, Reverences. As I told you. Will you take the boy’s word and return home?”
“We shall stay and talk to the wizard,” a dour priest in a red robe replied.
Umru sighed. “In that case, can you provide us with a place to wait, my boy?”
“You’d better come and sit on the hampers,” Blade said.
“Hampers?” said the dour priest.
“Yes indeed,” said Umru. “I see an emperor and a king sitting on those hampers. Abate your pride, Cartebras, if you must stay, and sit on a hamper, too.”
“Er—just a moment,” said Blade. He sprinted uphill to the camp, past the lofty bard, across the parade ground, and into the cookhouse, where Barnabas was just setting up the tables and benches. Blade threw himself across as many of the benches as his body would stretch over.
“What are you doing?” said Barnabas.
“There are sixteen high priests now,” Blade said, and translocated with the lot back to the riverside. The priests disdainfully seated themselves and sat looking so grim that the happy chatter around the hampers died away.
“Forgive us, my friends,” sighed Umru, and sat, very cautiously, on the third hamper. It swayed sideways, but luckily it held his weight.
Blade began to see that it was one of those days. And here he had been, expecting it to be a day of empty waiting. The next person to arrive appeared so suddenly and quietly behind him that Blade thought he must have translocated there. But it seemed not. He was a gaunt man dressed all over in leather, who looked nearly as grim as the priests. “Chief Werewolf,” he said abruptly. “This camp is in the wrong—”
“I know,” said Blade. “And I’m afraid my father won’t get here until this evening.”
“Then I’ll wait,” said the werewolf. “This camp has got to be moved or the werewolves won’t be able to manage. We have to attack Pilgrim Parties sixty miles away between battles.”
“And I have to hold evil court for them eighty miles away,” King Luther called out. “It can’t be done. Come and join us, my friend.”
The werewolf glowered at Blade as he stepped over toward the hampers. Blade was rather glad that the next people to arrive were only a squad of legionaries, each carrying a spade and all running briskly in step, while a fierce officer ran behind them, chanting, “One-two, one-two, one-two.” Blade jumped up from the shale and showed them where the huts were in the camp. “No problem at all,” said the officer. “These lads do this twice a day before breakfast, don’t you, boys?”
“More like three times,” a legionary said ruefully.
“Then jump to it!” shouted the officer.
We could do with a few officers like him, Blade thought as he came out through the camp again. He wondered if Titus could lend him a few—except that it did not seem to be quite in the spirit of the rules. Blade was wondering if there was anything about it in his black book—which he hoped Kit still had safely—when he looked up to see the next arrival just dismounting from the most splendid horse he had ever set eyes on. Even the bard deigned to give a slight whistle and remark, as Blade went past him, “Now that is horseflesh.”
This latest person, as Blade saw when he was near enough, was female. She was tall enough to be an elf, but probably, Blade thought, she was something else. Her hair was brownish, and her eyes slanted a bit. Her skin was brown as well and, though she was dressed from head to foot in soft white doeskin, the doeskin was the only soft thing about her. She was as tough and stringy and fierce as dried, curried meat. He watched her put her hands on her narrow hips and look ferociously over the crowd around the hampers.
“Which of you is Wizard Derk?” she snapped.
Blade prudently hung back, out of trouble.
“None of us is, madam,” King Luther replied politely. “We’re waiting for him, too.”
“I’m Wendela Horselady, and I want Wizard Derk now,” said the lady. “He may be Dark Lord, but as far as I can tell, he must be the only person in this world who has the least consideration for animals. I’ve got to talk to him about my horses. I’ve absolutely had enough!”
“But Wizard Derk is not here yet, my daughter,” Umru said.
The Horselady looked slowly around the space by the river. By this time there were not only a large number of people there but two dozen horses, too. “You’re all using my horses,” she said. “I’ll talk to you first and then to Wizard Derk when he comes. I’ve had trouble enough finding this camp—someone’s put it in quite the wrong place—and I may as well make it worth my while. Now, listen. So many of my horses got killed last year that I had trouble meeting my quota for this year. I’ve had to send out some of the breeding stock. And that means fewer foals next year—a lot fewer, because those darned Pilgrims are so careless. Six tours have lost all their horses already, and I’m not providing them with new ones just to have those broken down—”
“Madam,” Umru managed to interrupt, “I assure you I cherish my horses, particularly the only one that can carry me.”
“—by stupid fools who think they’re just some kind of walking chairs,” the Horselady swept on. “And now you’re all coming up to this ridiculous round of battles, and there’s bound to be absolute carnage amongst the horses, because there always is, and I shall have practically none left, and most of those will be hurt in some way. Why you people can’t be more careful—”
“This really isn’t our concern,” Titus said stiffly. “Our legions mostly fight on foot.”
“Yes, I know they do!” the Horselady retorted. “Your lot is the worst of all. Your beastly legions go for the horses every time in order to get the riders off. Well, I’m warning you, if they do that this year, if a single horse gets maimed or killed—”
“Look,” said King Luther, “you can’t have a battle without any horses being hurt—”
“Yes, you can if you fight on foot!” the lady contradicted him. “And you’re going to do that, because as I said, if one single horse gets hurt, I shall simply recall the entire lot.”
“That’s surely easier to say than to do,” King Luther said. “For a start, you’d have to—”
“I’d just do this.” The Horselady put her fingers to her mouth and gave a long, warbling whistle. The heads of all the horses turned toward her. Then they all, even Barnabas’s horse, and Umru’s, and those that had been tied to stakes by King Luther’s men, trotted eagerly toward her over the shale. The bard’s horse came out of the dome at a canter and reached her first. The noise, for a moment, of hooves crashing on stones, was horrible. “You see?” the Horselady said, out of the crowd of horses. “Nothing simpler.” She patted necks and rubbed noses. “There, my loves. Go back to your borrowers for now. I’ll call you again when I need you.” All the horses obediently turned and went back to where they had come f
rom, except for the bard’s horse, which the bard caught on its way up the hill and made to stand beside him.
By this time it was dawning on Blade that he must go and warn Dad that there was a pack of trouble waiting for him when he arrived. But there was a camel now, coming around the dome of the camp. The man on its back asked the bard something, and the bard pointed to Blade. The camel came down the hill, splay-legged and knock-kneed, and stopped with a snarl beside Blade.
Blade found this arrival very hard to understand, but he gathered that this man was a personal servant of a vizir and his message was something about “the Emir acting strange.” He told him to go over to the hampers and wait. At least the Horselady, who was now walking about haranguing everybody whom she happened to be near, could not possibly worry about a camel, or so he hoped. Nor, he thought, could she have anything to say to the next two, who were coming splashing up the river on foot.
These two climbed up the bank and accosted Blade. “This camp is in the wrong place,” the first one to reach him said.
I shall scream! Blade thought. “Tell me your complaint or message, and I’ll tell my father when he gets here.”
“We’re not really together,” said the one behind. “I’m from Chell City. Something’s seriously wrong with the arrangements for the siege there.”
“And I’m from the north,” said the one in front. “I’ve come about that wretched mauve dragon. Who gave it permission to roost right in the middle of our fur-trapping drove?”
Blade persuaded them both to come and sit down with the grim priests.
“Do you use horses?” the Horselady demanded, looming up behind them.
Blade fled in a clatter of stones down to the river, where he intended to translocate at once before anything more happened. A large dark shadow sailed above him as he ran. He looked up and saw, to his surprise and joy, Callette coming in for a neat landing by the river. “Hey!” he shouted, joyfully crunching toward her. “I thought you’d gone to Aunt’s house!”
Callette settled her wings and took a drink from the rushing water. “I did,” she said, “and then to the University. I can go much faster if I come down for a rest every ten miles. Dad said to meet him here, but I got here first. But he’s only about half a mile or so away now. They were chasing some soldiers who were trying to run away when I went over. They won’t be long.”
“Thank goodness!” said Blade. “You wouldn’t believe how many people are waiting here to complain to him!” He meant to go on and pour out to Callette all the events of the day, but he stopped because he could see Callette was upset about something. Her wings kept rising, and her tail lashed on the gravel. “What’s the matter?”
Callette looked up and around and ruffled her crest feathers. “Blade, can you do me a favor? Can you get two of those people who’ve never seen me before and bring them over here? I need to ask them something.” It was an odd request, but Blade supposed Callette had her reasons. She had reasons for everything she did. He nodded and started back for the benches and the hampers. Most of those waiting there had clearly never seen a griffin before. They had all turned to stare at Callette. “Honest people!” Callette called after him.
That probably cut out at least half of them, Blade thought. And King Luther had met Kit when Kit and Dad took the pigs over to perform at his palace last year, and although the Chief Werewolf looked honest, Blade did not like him at all. Nor that bard standing up there on the hill. Blade chose the Horselady, on the grounds that this would stop her going on at the man from Chell City, and Titus because he liked Titus.
He was astonished at their reaction. When he interrupted the Horselady by taking hold of her fringed doeskin elbow, the lady said, “Really? I’m honored!” and clearly meant it. Titus said, “Oh, marvelous! I’ve always wanted to meet a griffin!” Both of them crunched down toward Callette with Blade as if he had offered them a real treat.
Callette examined them with one eye and then with the other. “Good choice,” she told Blade.
“How can we help?” asked Titus.
“I want to know if you think I’m beautiful at all,” said Callette.
“You certainly are. You’re superb!” the Horselady said, even more vehemently than usual.
“You’re quite the most beautiful being I’ve ever been privileged to meet,” said Titus.
“And you’re a lovely mover! Trust me!” added the Horselady.
“Thank you, both of you,” Callette said happily.
Blade was even more astonished. Callette was just familiar brown Callette to him, his more-or-less twin sister, who had hacked her way out of her egg while Blade was being born. Mara always said she never knew which of them had eaten most or cried loudest. But the Horselady seemed quite sure, and Titus must have been surrounded by beautiful things all his life. Callette was beautiful. Fancy that!
He had to leave the three of them talking beside the river because the first of the soldiers began arriving then, streaming among the trees that grew between the riverside and the moor-land, with a terrible crunching and clattering. Blade had to move the benches, the hampers, and the people, and get some of the people to move the horses and the camel, to give the soldiers a free passage to the camp. By the look of them, the soldiers were in an even meaner state of mind than they had been in this morning. Blade was afraid someone could get hurt. But before any accidents could happen, Kit came swooping in over the trees to make sure the front ranks behaved. The waiting people stared at Kit and stared again at Don, flying back and forth to herd the soldiers who came next. The air was full of wingbeats and the clacking of feet on stones while the soldiers streamed on, up into their camp, where Kit swooped down to seal them in. The dogs, cows, and geese arrived next, herded by Shona, who was also leading the horses, including Beauty and Pretty, while the owls flew in above. This all caused more staring. When Derk finally arrived, he caused the greatest sensation of the lot, because he was riding Scales again. It was quite impressive, even to Blade, who knew Derk was only doing this to frighten the soldiers.
The sensation lasted only moments. After that almost everyone surged toward Derk, shouting to be heard. Barnabas went past Blade at a rolling run, crying out, “I can explain! I can explain everything!” The bard, too, mounted his horse and rode that way with the rest. But instead of joining the crowd around Scales, he turned aside and rode up to Shona. As Shona dismounted from Nancy Cobber, he handed her a scroll with a large seal dangling from it and then rode away without a word to anyone.
Shona put Nancy’s reins under her arm and unrolled the scroll, looking mystified. She looked at what was inside. She went pale. Then she dropped Nancy’s reins and threw herself onto the shaly ground, screaming and crying.
SIXTEEN
BLADE WONDERED HOW his father did not scream and cry, too. As Blade rushed across the shale on his way to Shona, everyone around Derk was shouting and the Horselady’s voice was coming out over the top like a descant. She had hold of Beauty by her halter. “And this mare is overtired! Look at her!”
“’M all rhight! ’M fhine!” Beauty was protesting as Blade got to Shona.
Kit got there at the same time, in a spurt of stones. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Shona’s face was in her arms, buried in her hair. Shaking with sobs, she simply held the hand that was clutching the scroll up to Kit. Callette and Don arrived as Kit read out: “‘The President of Bardic College hereby informs ex-student Shona that she has broken our express command not to assist in any way with Pilgrim Parties or Pilgrims. Had the ex-student condescended to attend at our College, she would have learned that all bards are now forbidden to have any dealings with these tours. She is accordingly hereby expelled from our College and forbidden to perform as a bard in any manner henceforth.’”
“I didn’t know!” screamed Shona. “No one said! What shall I do? I don’t have a career any longer, and I can’t live without music!”
Kit was shaking with rage. Feathers and hair stood up i
n a ridge all down his back. “I’ve a good mind to go after that fellow and pull his head off!”
“That won’t help,” said Callette. “Come and comfort her.”
Kit raked the shale furiously with all ten front talons, but he moved around opposite Callette and settled head to tail with her, enclosing Shona in a warm feathery nest. Shona just lay there between them and cried desolately. Blade had never seen her—or anyone else—so horribly unhappy. It stunned him. He could not think what to do.
“Horses,” Don said to him. “Feed dogs, quick supper, avians in hampers.”
Blade nodded. It was a relief to have things to do.
By the time they were daring the geese into hampers, Derk’s face was hanging in harassed folds, but he had sorted out most of his visitors. Barnabas was sitting sulkily over a mug of coffee, Scales had flown away north to speak to the purple dragon, and Derk had assured the priests, with complete honesty, that he had made no arrangements whatsoever to have a god manifest, even a fake one. He had assured Umru that they would not have battles in his country. He had promised to discuss the whole matter of battles with Titus, King Luther, and the Chief Werewolf tomorrow, and he had agreed to go to Chell and to take a look at the Emir later. But the Horselady was still at his elbow, haranguing him.
“I said yes!” Derk told her loudly on his way over to Shona.
The lady stopped and stared at him.
“You don’t listen, you know,” Derk said. “I said yes when you began. We’ll fight on foot. I’ve been worried about the way the Pilgrims treat horses for years. That’s why I’m breeding ones with wings. I thought they’d survive better.”
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