by Andre Nolton
"Caellach Gwain is about as likely to appear here as I am to be welcomed into the ranks of the Elvenlords," she said, with a touch of acidic humor. "He's gotten so bad about having the tiniest bit of iron near him that we've taken to wearing the false-gold pendants when we aren't working magic. Lorryn calls them 'Caellach-chasers.'"
Zed's guffaw drowned anything from the workers, but Shana saw plenty of grins as they bent back to their work.
"I think you can count on a settlement going up here, then," Zed replied. "There's enough iron ore here to keep the smelter going for years and years, and more than enough work for everyone. Whoever isn't mining, smelting or hauling can be put to work on the replanting and restoration of played-out areas."
"I was afraid, after I saw that first load of ingots, that I was pushing you too hard over here," she said in tones aimed only for his ears, once he stopped speaking. "I'm glad to see that I was mistaken."
Zed patted her shoulder. "Anything but," he replied. "Ah— would you like to see the smelter? Or not—"
"Not," she said firmly. "I'm no Caellach, but this much iron kind of makes the inside of my head itch."
Zed shrugged. "Doesn't bother me as much, but then I've never had as much of the elven magic as you do. Here, I'll show you where we want to put a settlement instead. I think you'll be surprised."
He turned away from the smelter and headed into the woods. Shana followed him, glad to get out of the hot sun, away from the smelter and under the tree-shadows.
"How did the Iron People react to our first delivery?" Zed asked, with acute—and thoroughly understandable—interest.
"By throwing a festival, or so Mero tells me," she was happy to tell him. "I'm afraid that the Traders are a bit disappointed, though."
"The Traders can learn to live with their disappointment," Zed said smugly. "Now we can start doing more to protect ourselves—and we can send out the jewelry again."
"That can't happen too soon for me," Shana said fervently. "It's not just the Young Lords who need it, though the more jewelry we can get into their hands, the more disruption they'll make with the Great Lords. No, I want to get pieces to the Ladies, and I especially want to get it into the hands of the slaves."
Want was too mild a word; ever since she had last heard from Keman and Dora, she was positively wild to get the jewelry moving out into the Elven lands again. If they could get Lord Kyrtian on their side—
The jewelry might put Lord Kyrtian on their side. If he had a way to protect his own people from Elven magic, to protect his lands from the magical attacks of other Elvenlords, there was no doubt in Shana's mind that Lord Kyrtian's own intensely loyal fighters would be more than a match for any physical force that the Great Lords could bring against him. It was only attack—magical attack—that he needed to fear.
And treachery. There was that. And the Great Lords were past masters at treachery.
"You think it might nullify the collars?" Zed asked with interest, "Remember, if we can't do that, we might as well not give the stuff to them."
"I think I know how." Eagerly she outlined her idea, which had come to her just that morning. "If we make a sort of clamshell device that closes over the beryl in the collar, back and front—" she mimed the idea with her hands "—something that will lock in place, tight, even if we can't get the collar off, we keep commands from getting to the elf-stones and the stone from actually doing anything to the wearer."
Zed considered the idea. "Interesting. It doesn't help someone like a concubine, who might have a collar studded with beryls, but a common worker won't have more than one. So unless the Lords start replacing all the collars on all their slaves, which would be expensive, even for them, we could free whole groups at a time!"
Shana grinned with glee. "That was my idea—the clamshells wouldn't be big, and it wouldn't be hard to distribute them. For instance, we could smuggle a whole bagful out to the workers in a field, the slave taking the water-bucket around could pass them out, and the whole group could bolt at once."
Or the shells could be passed around an army, at night, under cover of darkness. And when the morning comes, and coercion no longer works on the fighters and they are safe from magical attack, how many of them will remain to fight for their masters?
"Tricky," Zed said with admiration. "It's too bad that collars are usually metal, not leather; we could incorporate cutters into the edges of the clamshell, and nullify the beryl and remove the collar all in one go. Well, this is where the camp is, and where the men would like to put in a permanent settlement."
There wasn't much there at the moment, and it was a good thing that not only was it high summer but there had been remarkably good weather, for the shelters were barely enough to keep off the rain. Shana could see how it would make a perfect spot for a settlement, however, and she made all the right sounds of enthusiasm for Zed and his people. There was no doubt in her mind that she and Lorryn had made the right decision in putting Zed in charge of mining, smelter, and crews to man both operations, although she would not have pictured him as a leader. And Caellach Gwain had, of course, argued against the mere thought of putting someone as young as Zed in charge of anything.
She completed her inspection—if that was not too official a word for merely looking the situation over—in short order. Things could not possibly be better; at the moment, she really didn't want production going any faster. It wouldn't hurt trade to keep the Iron People waiting for their ingots just a little between each shipment; she didn't want them to start thinking that the supply was unlimited, and she had a long talk with Zed on just that subject. He was disappointed in one way, and relieved in another. He wouldn't have been unhappy to be asked to find more ex-slaves to recruit, but on the other hand, he didn't want his workforce growing past the point where he could handle everything himself.
In the end, Shana and the latest load of crude iron ingots returned overland to the New Citadel by pack-mule, arriving just about sunset.
Just in time for Caellach Gwain to run straight into them.
He stared; he began to shake with anger. In a matter of moments, he was practically beside himself with rage.
"What are you doing, girl?" he screamed at the top of his lungs, drawing everyone within hearing distance to the mouth of the cavern where the unloading was taking place.
"I should think that was perfectly obvious," she retorted. After the long walk—for she was not going to ride when she had two perfectly good legs, and her weight-equivalent in iron bars could be loaded on a mule in her place—she was hot and tired, and not in the mood for the temper-tantrums of irascible old men.
"You idiot!" he shrieked. "Bringing that—filthy stuff here? Bringing it inside the caves? You're mad! You're crazed! How is anybody supposed to work magic with that foul garbage practically on top of us?"
There were some grumbles and mutterings from the older wizards in the crowd that had gathered around them, but this time Shana stood her ground. It was about time that the recalcitrant wizards adapted to the situation, instead of expecting someone to work around their reluctance to change.
"You'll work magic around it the same way we youngsters do," she said firmly, hands on hips, glaring at him. "I should think you'd be grateful to me! The more iron there is around here, the safer you are! Haven't you at least figured that out by now?"
Usually she made some pretense of politeness to the old man, but she was in no mood for him at the moment, and her attitude sent him into an incoherent frenzy.
That was just about the last straw.
"Shut up, you stupid old man!" she screamed—and since her soprano was considerably more piercing than his hoarse howls, even he heard her, and stared at her, mouth agape.
"Ever since we arrived here, all you've done is complain!" she shouted, her face flushed. "We've fed you, clothed you, seen to it that you got your creature comforts, and you have done nothing, nothing to help the rest of us! You're a parasite, Caellach Gwain, you're as useless as a second nose
and you aren't even half as entertaining! Now shut up and learn to work magic around iron like everyone else, or—or—"
"Or what?" Gwain sneered. "You'll turn me over to the El-venlords? That's just what you would do, isn't it? Elvenbane?"
As hot as she had been the moment before, now she was cold. "No," she said flatly. "But only you would think that I could. No. If you won't learn to adapt to our new life here, Caellach Gwain, I will see to it that no one else will cosset you from this moment on. You will find your own food or starve, clean your own clothing or go dirty, cut your own firewood or freeze. Sooner or later, you'll figure out how to live like a responsible adult, and high time, too."
And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked off, pushing her way through the surrounding crowd of mingled young and old wizards.
Someone grabbed her elbow; she started to pull away blindly, when she realized it was Lorryn. "Don't run off," he muttered. "Not now. This isn't over yet." He turned her back to face the crowd.
"I've heard the mutters and the complaints," he said loudly. "I've heard them from the moment that I arrived here. I couldn't help but notice that most of them came from the same set of mouths—so let's just address this situation once and for all. I'm calling a convocation of all Wizards."
"Here?" someone gasped. "Now?"
"Here and now," Lorryn agreed. "I give you all a quarter-candle to get everyone assembled; whoever isn't here by then I'll assume has no interest in the way things are run in the New Citadel, and doesn't feel the need to have his voice heard."
About half of those present shot or lumbered off in every direction to gather friends and enemies from every part of the Citadel. Shana looked askance at Lorryn.
"Is this a good idea?" she asked doubtfully.
"It had to happen sometime soon," Lorryn replied. "Better that it comes as a surprise to both sides; Caellach and his cronies won't have a chance to prepare themselves."
"And we're prepared?" she replied, staring at him incredulously.
"More than they are—and what's the besetting sin of every one of the Whiners?" he asked, and answered himself triumphantly. "Laziness! That's why I only gave them a quarter-candle. How many will think it's too much trouble to drag themselves away from whatever they'd planned or were in the middle of?"
"Maybe enough to make a real difference," she said slowly— for already the young wizards were coming up to the clearing at the entrance, brought in by the youngsters who had scattered like quail to bring the message to everyone within reach of a pair of fleet feet.
With the help of a couple of their friends, Lorryn prepared the area. This was also the spot where firewood was chopped and stored, and the young wizards got to work, rolling in some logs for the less-than-healthy to sit on down in front, and setting up sawn sections of trunk for himself, Shana, and presumably Caellach to stand on so everyone could see them. Caellach, of course, merely stood about and observed them sourly. More and more people were arriving with every passing moment, and by the time the allotted span was gone, the only Wizards not present were a scant handful of the oldest or laziest. The biggest surprise was the number of pure humans who had come as well; virtually every full human in the Citadel.
With a great deal of overacted infirmity, Caellach bullied a couple of human youngsters into helping him up onto one trunk-section, as Shana and Lorryn took the other two.
"Now, settle down!" Lorryn shouted, very loudly, so that those who were chattering and milling about obediently stopped talking aloud and turned their attention to where the three of them stood. "All right, then. I am going to moderate this convocation since I'm the one who called it."
"But you're Shana's lover!" Caellach sputtered, red-faced.
Shana was going to protest, but Lorryn beat her to it. The furious look that Lorryn turned on him sent him from red to white, and he even shrank back a little. No one had ever seen Lorryn angry before—and he looked positively murderous.
"I am not," he replied into the silence, "Lashana's lover. We are friends, and she has been relying upon my experience on my father's estate to help her handle you unruly lot. Even if that were true, it would have nothing to do with this situation and it would be none of your business so long as her foster mother approves. I am offended, Caellach Gwain. I do suggest that you confine your words to the issues at hand, or I will be tempted to challenge you."
Challenge him? What on earth does he mean by that? Shana thought, bewildered. Caellach Gwain evidently knew, though, for he turned even whiter, and stammered an apology.
"The primary issue at hand," Lorryn said, when the old wizard was done, "is a greater one than just the presence of iron within the Citadel, or the number of people who are attending to tasks other than ... housekeeping." His bland expression gave no hint as to his own feelings on the subject, and although they were no secret to Shana, from the looks on the faces of Caellach's cronies, they were not sure if he was Shana's partisan or not. He might be courting her, but he was also an aristocrat, used to the attentions of hundreds of slaves, so shouldn't he be on their side? For that matter, he might only be using her to get the power of leadership himself—she saw that in the new speculation with which Caellach regarded him.
"Caellach Gwain," Lorryn continued, turning to the old wizard, "you have voiced your opinions often enough for the ears of your friends and supporters—I must insist that you allow everyone in the Citadel to hear them."
Caellach stared at him; tried without success to stare him down. His expression remained inscrutable. "As moderator, I will not be questioning either of you. Instead, you will answer questions from everyone except me. I will see to it that there are no interruptions and that you both have a fair chance to be heard."
What? That took Shana completely by surprise, and she felt seriously shaken. What on earth was he after? Surely the Old Whiners would try to make her look a fool—
But it was too late to back out now, for either of them, as Lorryn fielded those who wanted a chance and selected one of Caellach's cronies for the first question.
"You were the one that brought the Elvenlords down on us in the first place, girl, so what've you got to say for yourself?" shouted the old man, who practically trembled with eagerness to finally have a chance to confront her in front of witnesses. "If it hadn't been for you and your pretensions of being some mythical Elvenbane, we'd still all be back in the Citadel and comfortable!"
Think! Don't react, think! "I never called myself the Elvenbane," she retorted, throttling down panic and irritation that mingled uncomfortably, setting her insides topsy-turvy. "I never even heard of the Elvenbane until after I was brought to the Citadel. And besides, it was the dragons that made the Elvenbane up in the first place, not me!" She caught sight of Father Dragon back in the crowd, in his halfblood-shape. "Right, Kalamadea?"
Gazes followed hers, and several of the more wary, elderly wizards who found the dragons as uncanny as Caellach did cleared away from him. Father Dragon cleared his throat modestly. "Well, it was mostly my doing," he admitted. "But yes. We dragons created the legend of the Elvenbane, and we were just as surprised as the rest of you when the legend came to life." He warmed to his subject. "We believe, we dragonkin, that certain creatures are endowed at birth with great hamen-leai, which is the power to become Fate rather than to be steered by it, and I tell you all now, Lashana, even as an infant, showed such tremendous hamenleai that even if she had been raised by alicorns in the wilderness, the legend would have fitted itself around her. Every dragon acknowledges that now, whether or not they count her as a friend. Where she walks, great change will follow."
That was not what Shana had hoped he would say—nothing like it, in fact—but she gamely took up where she had left off. "As for all of you still being in the Citadel, I don't think you would have lasted undetected for much longer. You were taking too many risks. Someone would have found out why goods and supplies were vanishing and where they were going, if nothing else. The Elvenlords were already startin
g to wonder about that even before I joined you."
"Didn't I say that was too risky?" said a wizened old scrap of a wizard, before he was hushed. Lorryn had already signaled someone else to ask a question, and Shana felt her heart sink as she surveyed the faces around her. She had felt, and sounded, weak and uncertain. She hadn't convinced anyone, and Father Dragon hadn't helped.
"What makes you think you're better than any of the rest of us at leading?" shouted someone from the back. "Both of you!"
"I don't," Shana replied promptly, but Caellach was already swelling with self-importance and ran right over the top of her.
"I have decades of experience, not to mention intelligence and wisdom," he boasted, "which is far more than this impudent little girl can claim. I do not make impetuous decisions, and I do not rush to embrace something just because it is novel and new. There is no doubt in my mind that the situation here is well on the way to becoming intolerable, between these foolish innovations in magic and dangerous liaisons with barbaric wild humans, not to mention creatures that aren't even human. The young should serve their elders, not dictate absurd rules to them! They should be thrilled to trade their service for the wisdom that we have gathered!" He warmed to his subject, surrounded as he was by his own nodding supporters, paying no attention at all to the expressions of some of those who were farthest away. "What should we Wizards have to do with humans, anyway—except in that they, too, should be eager to serve us! We are more powerful, we are longer-lived and have the opportunity to garner far more experience than what can be learned in the few years these mayfly humans enjoy. It is clear that we are far superior in every way—and this girl, this child, thinks that we are to treat them as equals! Never! I will never tolerate treating such debased creatures, creatures who should be competing in devotion to me, as my equals!"
An actual growl arose from the humans who made up the bulk of the crowd—perhaps few of them had ever realized just how deeply Caellach's prejudices went, nor how poisonous they were. At that moment Shana realized Lorryn's tactics in allowing this convocation to take place in the way it had, for he had permitted Caellach full freedom to say whatever he chose with his followers around him, and the old wizard's mouth had run away with him.
