by Andre Norton
So he continued to watch the beast as the sun sank and twilight turned the sky a deep blue, adjusting his eyes to compensate for the growing darkness. Insects called from the grass around him, and the herds settled for the night
His secret weapon was Kalamadea; if this was a stranger, the presence of Kalamadea, the oldest dragon in any of the Lairs he knew, could be enough to make it simply go away if it came to a conflict. Unless, of course, it was from his old Lair, in that case, it might go away peacefully, unless it happened to be one of a handful of dragons who would be only too happy to discover mat Kalamadea was as helpless as he and Shana, and who would take immediate advantage of the situation.
He debated the question with himself as twilight turned to true night, and as the moon rose to gild the backs of the cattle with a soft dusting of light, without coming to any land of a conclusion. He started to head back to the tent and the others, but found himself drifting back toward the herd to stare at the not-cow and ponder his options.
I wonder; she—if it is a she and the sex as well as the form hasn't been shifted—is just as vulnerable as we are right at this moment. As Kalamadea pointed out when we were caught, shifting takes time, and if I raised a fuss about her, she wouldn't be able to get away quietly.
The not-cow was watching him as warily as he was watching her, as a soft evening breeze ruffled his hair. Had she noticed his regard? Could she see dragon-shadows too?
If she can—then she knows. And if she knows, she could get away as soon as I leave and she can work her way beyond the edge of the herds, out of sight of the herdsmen,
That decided him; he had no options now, and there was no time to get Kalamadea. He was going to have to do something, and he'd better figure out what it was, and quickly!
The dragon-cow moved uneasily, and he knew that she realized he was watching her. She had just forced him to act
He could only hope that what he was about to do would be the right action for all of them.
Rhiadorana had chosen to follow this clan of the Iron People mostly because they happened to be passing through her Lair's territory during the season she had chosen to undergo her Adult Trial. Her Lair had the custom of sending the adolescents out one at a time to spend at least a season shifted into a single form—generally one in which they could spy on the doings of humans. Humans, not elven lords; the elves were too far away, quite out of the Lair's territory, and too dull and predictable to prove to be any danger or even challenge to the Lair. There had been some rumors a few seasons ago to the effect that the situation among the elves had changed drastically, but they were still too far away to bother with. Life in the mountains and plains of the South and West was quite exciting enough without going that far afield only to be disappointed.
It had been a real trial to control her shape for such an extended period of time, but that was the point of the exercise, after all. It had turned out that she had made a good choice of subjects, too, for this clan, driven out of their old range by an extended drought, was doing some entirely new things for the tradition-bound Iron People. If Dora was any judge, there was going to be a revolution here, and the War Chief was going to try to become the only leader of the clan. She'd shifted into a beast of burden that bore his brand upon her precisely so she could hear rumors about him, and even some of his own intriguing, and what she had learned was going to be very valuable to the Lair. He had ambitions, did Jamal. He wanted to be the ruler of all the Iron People. And the way things were going, he just might be able to achieve that goal, especially if old Diric underestimated his ambition or his guile. This was an unusual Clan even without Jamal; they were the only Clan Dora had ever seen that had ever taken elven slaves. They could turn out to be unusual in other ways as well, perhaps enough to be a threat to the Folk.
That had been quite enough to keep her here, many weeks past when she might otherwise have gone home. The Folk needed someone here, at least to see whether Diric or Jamal won in the imminent power struggle. So she stayed, and was pretending to graze at the edge of the herd when the new prisoners were brought in.
They looked like elves—but they weren't elves. No elven lord or lady had ever boasted tanned skin, or hair of any color other than palest blond. Their ears were gently pointed, not the lance-headed shape of the aristocratic elves. She had stared in bovine astonishment as they were chained to the tail of a wagon pending their disposition—and then as she stared at them more closely, she got another shock.
Two of them had dragon-shadows.
She hadn't known what to think or do then. Immediate instinct urged her to come to their rescue, but prudence dictated a more cautious course. They might not want to be rescued. They might be here on purpose; this might be part of a plan of their own, and by rescuing them, she might spoil it
They might also be on their own Adult Trials, and to interfere would be to cast disgrace on them. A dragon who encountered difficulties during her Adult Trial was supposed to get herself out of them. That was the point of it being a trial, after all. How could it be a trial if someone else rescued you? She didn't think any of the others had been planning to follow her to this Clan of Iron People, but it was always possible that they had.
One of the two dragons had been watching her all day, and she began to suspect that he had spotted her for what she was. So since all the Lair knew that she was making her own trial here, he would recognize her. This was not necessarily a bad thing—
Unless he was not an adult, this was not part of a clever scheme on his part, and he planned to get himself out of his own troubles by making trouble for her!
She eyed him dubiously, aware of a growing hunger that no amount of grass was going to cure. She needed to kill and feast on real meat at least once every two or three days, even in this form, and she was overdue. Ordinarily she would simply drift to the edge of the herd, work her way into the darkness, shift, and fly off. She'd be back before the herdsman noticed she was gone, good for another two or three days of acting like a cow. But with this stranger here—if she started to stray, he could call attention to her before she could get away, shouting to the herdsman. As long as he was here, she didn't dare move!
She cursed him mentally, and wished she could call a thunderstorm out of the sky the way the shaman could—under cover of a good downpour, she could slip away with no trouble at all. Better yet, with enough lightning hitting the ground, even the best-trained cattle would stampede, and she could pound away with them!
But she was not a shaman, and there were no thunderclouds overhead. The sky was horribly clear, every star shining cheerfully, and the only scent that the breeze carried was the scent of grass torn by thousands of busily chewing mouths.
Her stomach growled, cramping with hunger and revolting against the grass she had sent it. The situation was getting desperate!
If he keeps standing there, she thought frantically, the only recourse I'm going to have is to shift into a one-horn and stampede the herd myself! No matter if she would have to leave her post, and perhaps fail her trial—that hardly mattered, given that if he exposed her, she'd fail anyway!
Wait a moment—the dragon was walking toward her! He was going to accost her directly!
:Well, my friend,: a voice said cautiously into her mind. :What are the two of us to make of this situation? I can't escape—but neither can you, while I watch you.:
The voice was male—and it sounded older than she had thought. But more than that—it was no voice she recognized!
How could that be?
Where would a strange dragon have come from? The very idea of a dragon she did not know was—impossible!
:Who are you?: she asked, before she thought, her mind full of stunned amazement.
:Kemanorel, formerly of Lelanola'a's Lair,: he replied promptly. :And now of the Wizards' Lair. Who are you? What Lair is yours?:
She could not reply at first; her knees locked, and her mouth gaped as she looked up at him in his strange not-human, not-elven form. Lelanol
a'a's Lair? What was that! She had never heard of any Lair of the Kin but her own! And what in the name of Fire and Rain was a Wizards' Lair?
More than one Lair of dragons? Did that mean there had been more than one Gate that brought dragons into this world? Could there be other Lairs that her Kin had never even dreamed existed?
:Rhiadorana,: she replied weakly, after a long silence. :Of—of the only Lair I ever heard of. It doesn't even have a name. And—I believe that we need to speak!:
A long silence, just as stunned as her own, followed.
:I—believe we do,: came the slow reply, after an agonizing wait. :And perhaps the best time is now.:
Shana was not expecting another summons from the Iron Priest so late at night, so when one of the under-Priests came to fetch her, her immediate response was fear. Keman was not in his sleeping place; she saw that with a glance. Had he tried to escape, and been stopped—or worse, killed or hurt? Why else would Diric want to see her in the middle of the night?
Kalamadea and Shadow started up at the same time, but were sternly sent back to their places by the Priest—who, besides carrying a lantern, was armed, and could enforce his will, and probably had a half-dozen fellows waiting outside that he could call with a single word. They both watched helplessly as Shana crawled out of her bed and got slowly to her feet, their eyes mirroring the same fear that clenched her stomach tight against her backbone.
The Priest motioned her to follow; she glanced back at the others, shrugged, and pushed aside the tent flap, emerging into the darkness. It was late; very late. The camp was entirely quiet except for the sounds of the herds in the distance and the insects in the grass. The night air held that peculiar heaviness it only attained after the midpoint of the night; damp and still, and quite cold. She shivered, not just from fear and cold, but with reaction at being wakened out of a sound sleep; she felt unsettled, nerves jumping as she walked at the direction of the Priest and the expected half-dozen other guards. The moon was gone, and most fires were out; the only light came from the Priest's lantern. She yawned and wrapped her arms across her chest, trying to regain some of the warmth of her bed, and studied the Priest's face to see if she could learn anything from his expression.
He looked solemn, but not angry, not even terribly concerned. Perhaps this had nothing to do with Keman, then?
The Priest brought her to Diric's tent, but for the first time, he did not climb the steps to follow her inside—he simply motioned to her to make the climb herself, watching to see that she did so. The wood creaked under her slow footsteps; she reached for the heavy felt of the tent flap and pushed it aside, slipping into the incense-scented warmth within.
Diric was there, sitting on a cushion and wearing a loose robe, rumpled as if he himself had arisen from a restless sleep. A lantern burned above his head. He was not alone; there was someone else standing near the entrance in a posture of waiting.
But the person with him was not, as she first feared, Keman.
But it was a wizard, not a human, nor an elven lord. The shape of the ears and gleam of emerald eyes as he turned toward her was unmistakable. There was only one problem.
She and Mero were the only two wizards in this camp, and Mero was back in the tent.
Shana, Diric said softly into the darkness. This is Lorryn. I requested that he drop the illusion he held over himself for now. I believe that you know what he is, though you do not know him personally.
After a stunned moment, she saw past the ears and the eyes to the shape of the features, and realized who he was. You— you're one of those barbarians that came in with the Priest's scouts! she blurted.
He nodded, his mouth twisted in a wry smile. And my illusion of full human blood was not good enough to persuade Priest Diric, he replied ruefully. I was looking for you, but I didn't expect to find you like this!
Me specifically, or wizards in general? she asked, distractedly, as Diric watched them both with a certain amusement.
Wizards in general— he began, then peered at her more closely until his shock mirrored and echoed her own. No— he said then, shaking his head in utter stark disbelief. No, you can't be—there must be more than one female—red-haired—
So he's heard the description of me.
Can't I? she replied, grimacing a little at her own plight, and the embarrassment of being caught in it. Why not? Because the Elvenbane couldn't be so stupid as to get caught on a simple scouting expedition? Well, maybe the 'Elvenbane' couldn't, but Lashana is quite stupid enough to make any number of ridiculous blunders, I'm afraid. I'm just usually a lot more clever about getting out of them!
Lorryn just stared at her, and Diric resumed control of the situation and the conversation with the aplomb of one used to control.
Now I am convinced, he said at last. Neither of you children are old or crafty enough to have feigned any of your reactions just now—and the tales I have heard from both of you are a match for one another. You are not green-eyed demons; you are something else entirely. He motioned to a set of cushions near his own. Sit, he ordered. I spent most of this night sleepless, pondering the difficulties that you present. We must talk.
Shana yawned, unable to help herself, as she dropped heavily down onto a cushion. Couldn't this have waited until morning? She thought, a bit resentfully.
I could not wait until morning, Diric said, as if divining her thoughts. In part because in the morning Jamal's eyes will be watching, and his ears stretched to hear what I say. By rousing you both from your dreams, I can, if I choose, claim convincingly that the First Smith sent a night-portent into my sleep that forced me to interrogate you both, here and now.
Shana nodded reluctantly. Lorryn waited to hear more.
I do not have the power here that I once held, Diric continued, with a candor that shocked her. And more of my power ebbs with every passing day. If it were my choice, my decision, you would all walk free of this place at dawn, to return to your own peoples, and bring to us an alliance and a new trading partner. But Jamal rules here, particularly where prisoners are concerned, and it is his will that you remain forever, visible signs of his power and prowess as War Chief. He has convinced himself that all green-eyed demons are of the ilk of the two we hold; he is certain that this clan can conquer them all and take the riches of their lands from them.
Lorryn shook his head violently at that. Sir, forgive me, but you have no idea what the really powerful elven lords can do! he exclaimed urgently. Please, believe me, if your people come up against them directly, you might kill some of their human soldiers, but you'll never get near one of them! Even without being able to use magic against you directly, there is plenty they can do! They can open chasms up under your feet to swallow your warriors, they can—
Diric held up a hand, forestalling him. You speak to one who is already convinced, young one, he said softly. I know this, as well as one can who has never actually seen such things with his own eyes. It is Jamal who must he convinced, and it is Jamal who never will be convinced save by a slaughter of our clan.
Then what are we supposed to do? Shana asked, only too well aware of how helpless they were. You didn't bring the two of us here in the middle of the night to tell us that you can't let us escape and you know Jamal is leading your people into a war they can't win.
Diric gave her an approving glance. No, indeed, I did not, he said easily. I brought you here to include you in my—conspiracy, if you will. Or to be included in your own wish to see you free. I wish to have a trade alliance with your people. I wish to avoid a conflict with the demons. Each springs from the other—so I believe we need to begin our discussion with thoughts on how we may engineer your escape.
For the second time in the past few moments, Shana felt faint with relief. She concentrated on the spicy scent of the incense-laden air, of the texture of the soft fabric under her hands, of her own weight resting on the cushion to steady herself.
We'll need to work this out in such a way that no blame falls on you, obviously
, Lorryn said, while she was still recovering.
She snapped herself out of her dizziness at that. More importantly—if we want to throw some immediate doubt on the wisdom of Jamal's war plans, shouldn't we make it look as if the escape was easy for us? she added. Shouldn't we make it look as if we could have gotten up and walked out of here any time we pleased, and we chose not to?
Diric blinked, as if her words surprised him, and he nodded. That would be a very good thing to have happen, he replied solemnly. A very, very good thing indeed. It would discredit Jamal's assumptions of our superior powers; discredit anything so fundamental to the heart of his power and we might begin to weaken it
Lorryn's brows knitted. Can I assume you can't offer us much in the way of overt help? he hazarded.
Diric nodded, which didn't surprise Shana particularly.
Covert help, then, she suggested. The key to these damned collars, for instance? They are interfering with some of our powers, and if we want to make it look as if they have no effect on us, you'd better give us a way to get rid of them so we can act.
Diric considered that for a moment. I do not have the key, he said, after a moment, then smiled. But I am a smith, after all. I believe I can either make a key, or pick the locks and jam them, so that the collars look functional but can be removed at your will. Is that sufficient?
That will do, she said with satisfaction. We'll also need to get Lorryn to us covertly, so that he can learn to use wizard magics to their fullest. Mero and I know some tricks I'm sure he never picked up on his own.
To her pleasure, Lorryn gave her a half-bow. I never doubted that, he replied. The best I can manage is elven magic, and thought-reading. I may have some elven-learning that may prove new to you, however. I have been well schooled in those powers. I lived as Lord Tylar's acknowledged son and heir until a few short weeks ago, after all, and I have all the training of an elven son.
Shana felt her eyebrows shooting so high, her forehead cramped. Now, that is a story I'd like to hear! she exclaimed.
