by Dragon Lance
“Always more things,” Lyopi agreed.
He tilted his head back until he was seeing her face upside down. “Shall we declare ourselves mates tonight?”
Nonplussed, she said, “There’s no hurry. Whenever suits you —”
“What better time than this?” he said earnestly, sitting up. “Could you ask for a grander mate-day feast, or finer guests?”
Quietly Lyopi said, “Think of your sister.”
It hadn’t occurred to him that Nianki might not like to see him mated. Feeling bold (and a little stubborn now that he’d made up his mind), he called to her, sitting a few steps away between Pakito and Samtu.
“Nianki! Will you stand by me tonight and see me mated to Lyopi?”
Pakito looked stricken by Amero’s words, and Samtu rolled her eyes, but Karada merely bowed her head slightly and said, “I will.”
There was little set ceremony to mating. The man and woman simply stood before their friends and kinsmen and announced their union. Fired with enthusiasm, Amero jumped up, eager to get the attention of every soul in the valley for his declaration.
“Wait here,” he said, giving Lyopi’s hand a squeeze. “I’d like Balif and Farolenu to be here for this. I’ll find them!”
He dashed off, darting between singing and drinking revelers like a child after a firefly. Lyopi shook her head and smiled ruefully.
“Thirty-nine years old and still a boy,” she said, speaking chiefly to Karada and Samtu.
“Aren’t they all?” Samtu replied.
“No. Truly, he is. Amero’s always bringing home the oddest things. He collects sacks of rocks from all over the valley and sits by the fire cracking them open to see what’s inside. Sometimes he brings home animals, too.”
“He still hunts?” asked Karada.
“No. He brings them home alive! One autumn he brought back an enormous bullfrog from the fens on the west side of the lake. Big as a chicken it was.”
“Why?” Samtu asked. “Does he like to eat frogs?”
“No! He wanted to measure how far it could jump!”
The women burst out laughing. After a moment’s pause, Karada asked, “How far could it jump?”
Lyopi raised her hands and dropped them again in an exasperated gesture. “We never found out. It wouldn’t budge, even when Amero prodded it with a stick!”
“Must’ve been a male frog,” said Karada. That set them off again.
Pakito studiously stayed out of the conversation, until their laughter subsided. Then he asked, “Where are the Silvanesti? I haven’t seen them all day.”
“They’ve taken to lingering by Amero’s old foundry,” said Duranix. He’d sated his hunger and moved a bit closer to the fire. By its light, his massive bronze head seemed to float in the air all by itself, his body masked by the deepening shadows. “They were there when I left the cave at sundown.”
“Wonder what they’re up to?” said Pakito.
“Be calm,” Karada said. “They won’t cause any trouble. I have Balif’s word.” She drained the weak wine mixture from her cup. “You know elves. They’re up there gabbing at each other, using more words than any decent human would.”
“Any decent human but Amero,” Lyopi observed dryly. The laughter started anew.
*
Amero found the Silvanesti, as Duranix had told the others, at the old foundry. When he arrived, still brimming with enthusiasm for his mating day, the elves were busily cleaning and packing their gear.
Balif returned Amero’s greeting but declined his invitation to join the feast. The elf lord knew there were still many in Karada’s band unwilling to share a cup with a
Silvanesti. As he pointed out, the converse was also true. Few were the elves in Silvanost who would willingly dine with a human. In any event, he and his soldiers were busy preparing for the next day’s departure.
The Silvanesti were certainly diligent and organized. Four elves were doing nothing but polishing bronze – sword blades, knives, buckles, gorgets. Others were down by the lake, washing mantles and leggings, while another half-dozen carefully packed their loose gear in bundles.
“Would you and Farolenu come just for a short time, to see me mated?” asked Amero. “It would be a great honor to me.” He explained their custom.
“I would be happy to attend,” Balif said, bowing. Farolenu likewise accepted.
Amero was ready to lead them back right then, but the elf lord begged for time to change into clean attire. It was agreed to delay the mating declaration until Soli appeared in the southwest. That would give Balif and his bronzesmith time to prepare themselves.
When the Arkuden had hurried away, Balif turned to his nearest elves. “Did you get them?” he asked, keeping his voice low, even though he was speaking in his own tongue now.
“Yes, my lord,” said an elf, on his knees packing.
“Show me.”
Making sure no humans were in sight, the fellow unrolled the bundle he’d been working on. In it were four bowstaves, bowstrings, and ten arrows.
“How did you acquire them?”
“As you suggested, my lord. We traded bronze and gold to some nomads for them. We have seven complete weapons and twenty missiles.”
Farolenu, already pulling on his best tunic and mantle, asked, “My lord, do you think what we’re doing is honorable? Aren’t we betraying the humans’ trust?”
“We are,” was Balif’s candid reply. “But we have given the Arkuden the secret of bronze. It seems only fair we take something in trade – something in addition to our lives, I mean.”
Every elf knew what was at stake. The nomads’ bows and arrows could devastate any Silvanesti army in their path. To avoid this disaster, the elves had to learn to use the new weapons themselves. Balif had agonized over his subterfuge, but he felt he had no choice.
“By maintaining a balance, we shall endeavor to keep the peace,” Balif promised. “Come, Farolenu, we have been honored with an invitation. Let’s do our duty by the Arkuden.”
Suitably attired, the two elves departed for the humans’ feast. The rest of the Silvanesti worked to complete preparations for their journey home.
*
A lone figure lifted its head from the soot-blackened ruins of the foundry. Driven out by Karada, fearful of the Arkuden and his supporters, Mara had tucked herself away in a forgotten corner of the foundry. She’d watched Amero converse with Balif but was too far away to register their words. When the Arkuden left, she crawled forward to overhear the elf lord speak to his followers.
Her time as a Silvanesti slave had given Mara only a rudimentary comprehension of the Elvish language, but she understood bits and pieces of what Balif said, and she had glimpsed the cache of nomad weapons. The words whirled confusingly through her head like a dust storm on the plains, coalescing with what she had seen, forming a realization dark and terrifying: The Arkuden must be in league with the elves. He had traded the secret of making bronze for the nomads’ bows and arrows. He was a traitor, not only to the human cause, but to his own sister.
Karada must be told. The knowledge would cause her pain, but ultimately she would be grateful to know the truth. Mara would be forgiven and restored to her rightful place at Karada’s feet, a beloved daughter of the great nomad chief, and together they would drive the rapacious Silvanesti from the plains forever.
In the midst of this satisfying vision, Mara frowned. The Arkuden had seemed in a great hurry just now. He was obviously bent on some urgent scheme. Silvanesti treachery knew no bounds. They could be planning anything with the Arkuden. Anything at all. Quick action was needed.
Her heart pounded. Resolution flowed through her limbs.
She would do it. She would spare every human on the plain from enduring what she had suffered at the hands of the elves. Most of all, she would save her beloved Karada.
Chapter 20
Plainsmen say Soli, the white moon, is a messenger of change. It hugs the horizon when it first appears and rises into
the open sky reluctantly. In spring and autumn it ascends modestly and in winter hardly appears at all above the mountains rimming the Valley of the Falls. Because of its habits, the plainsmen say Soli brings rain in the spring by climbing higher in the sky to pour water on the thirsty soil below, and it carries the green leaves away in the fall (sinking to the its low, winter-time position). Only in summer did Soli linger near the zenith of heaven, keeping temperatures high. It never made sense to Amero that a cool moon rather than the hot sun should be blamed for summer’s heat, but that was the lore he’d learned from his mother, a long time ago.
Now, standing with Lyopi between two bonfires, surrounded by the whole of Yala-tene, the nomad band, former raiders, a highborn elf, and Duranix, Amero found himself sweating. It was the fires, he told himself, or maybe all the wine he’d drunk —
Be honest, Duranix’s silent voice said inside his head. You’re nervous!
I guess I am, Amero replied.
The nomad pipers finished their tune, and silence fell over the assembly. No one seemed quite sure what to do next, so Balif, playing the ignorant foreigner, asked, “What happens now?”
“We declare ourselves mates before the oldest person present,” said Lyopi. “That would be Jenla.”
The gardener, leaning on Tepa’s arm, said mischievously, “I’m not the oldest one here.” She stared pointedly at Balif.
“But I’m not a human,” Balif objected. “Besides, Farolenu is older than I – by two and a half decades.”
Amero cleared his throat. “If we’re going to be truthful, there’s one here older even than the elves.” He looked up at the dragon, smiling. “You’re past two hundred, aren’t you?”
“Well past,” agreed Duranix.
“Will you hear our declaration?”
The bronze dragon nodded, a habit he’d acquired since knowing Amero. His scales rang with the gesture.
“Come forward and face us,” Amero said.
Duranix clomped toward them, scattering villagers in his way. Framed by the twin bonfires, his metallic scales took on the color of fire itself. He opened his wings to their fullest extent, some forty paces from tip to tip and inflated his broad chest with air.
Amero winked at Lyopi. His old friend was showing off.
“I am Amero, son of Oto and Kinar,” the Arkuden shouted, “brother of Nianki and Menni, called the Dragon’s Son!”
There was some muttering at the mention of Menni, but the declaration went on.
Lyopi, her chestnut hair free of its usual braid and falling in shining waves to her waist, spoke. “I am Lyopi, daughter of Bydas and Ensamen, sister of Unar.”
Her voice broke on the name of her murdered brother, and Amero took her hand, squeezing it gently.
In unison they said, “Know all that we are mated, that all we have belongs to both of us!”
They bowed together to Duranix. “Such a lot of trouble just to breed,” he said in his booming voice. Some of the nomads laughed.
“You should say, ‘I know you, Amero and Lyopi’” Amero prompted.
“I know you, Amero and Lyopi,” the dragon repeated dutifully. “Stubborn, curious, passionate, and loyal are you both. Salute!”
He threw back his head and let his jaws gape. Blue-white lightning erupted from his mouth, crackling straight up into the starry sky. The crowd shifted and exclaimed at the display of power.
Amero’s own awed expression, as he stared up at the bolt lancing into the stars, dissolved into a frown of characteristic curiosity. Where did it go? he wondered. Did the bolt travel forever until it struck something, or did it fade out in time, like a spark carried aloft from a campfire?
Lyopi tugged at his arm and whispered, “Remember me? I’m your mate.”
They embraced and kissed to the cheers of the crowd. The flute players found some drummers among the villagers, and they struck up a fast melody. Round dances sprang up in the crowd as well-wishers flowed past Amero and Lyopi.
Balif was one of the first. “Good fortune to you,” the elf said sincerely. “It’s been quite an experience for me, coming here. Remind me to thank Karada for capturing us!”
“Peace to you, Lord Balif,” said Amero. “Peace in the truest sense. I hope the war between you and my sister is over for good.”
“We shall see. Farewell to you both.”
Farolenu clasped hands with Amero and presented Lyopi with a small golden charm on a length of woven grass twine. It glittered in the firelight. Amero tied it around Lyopi’s neck as she examined it.
“It’s pretty,” she said, pleased. “A beetle?”
“A spider,” said Farolenu. “The symbol of my smithing guild.”
He and Balif were soon swallowed in the crowd. Old friends streamed past, wishing the newly mated couple well – Adjat the potter, Montu the cooper, Hulami, Targun, Pakito, and Samtu. The amiable giant all but wrung Amero’s hand off, he was so enthusiastic.
“Being mated is the best thing in the world!” he enthused. “Better than a fine horse or a straight spear!”
“Good to know you rate so highly,” Lyopi said to Samtu.
The stout nomad woman eyed her towering mate. “He didn’t say it was better than elk steak. That’s what he loves most, you know.”
“Now, Sammi —” Pakito began. Laughing, she pulled him away so others could approach.
Beramun emerged from the press with Harak. Her left arm was in a sling, and she looked wan. Amero had heard about developments between them from Karada, but this was the first time he’d seen them together.
“Thank you for everything,” Amero said to Beramun. “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you.”
“I only did what others tried to do. Fate and the Great Spirits let me find Karada.”
“I didn’t mean that, though you were wonderful on your mission, too. I meant you refused me, and for that I’m grateful.”
“As am I,” said Harak with a grin.
“Will you be joining Karada’s band?” Lyopi asked.
“I go where Beramun goes,” he said simply. “I don’t much care where that is.”
Beramun said, “I don’t know what we’ll end up doing, but we are leaving with Karada tomorrow.”
She and Lyopi kissed each other’s cheek, then she did the same to Amero.
They exchanged words with Bahco, Hekani, and almost the entire crowd present. The only conspicuous absence was Karada. To Amero’s query, Bahco said he hadn’t seen his chief since before moonrise.
Amero realized it was hard for his sister to see him mated and happy. She herself would likely never know a moment such as this.
“I must find Nianki,” he said in Lyopi’s ear. “I need to see her.”
She understood. “Try dark and quiet places. If I were Karada, that’s where I’d be right now.”
He promised to return to Lyopi’s house – their house – before too late. Giving his hand a squeeze, she let him go. Amero slipped into the happy throng and worked his way away from the noise and fire.
He called silently to Duranix, Have you seen Karada?
Not lately, but she’s near. I can sense her presence.
Amero stopped in his tracks. You can?
My senses have grown sharper with the years. Nowadays, her thoughts seem as loud as yours were when we first met.
Dust swirled over the festive mob. Amero looked up and saw Duranix had taken wing.
Going home? he asked the dragon.
Hunting. The trifles you served at your feast only teased my appetite. There’s a great herd of elk a few leagues from here. I’m off to roast a few....
Good luck, thought Amero. Let’s talk tomorrow. I have new ideas for Yala-tene I need your help to accomplish.
Of course you do. Till then.
“Until then,” Amero murmured aloud.
The vast bulk of the dragon blotted out the stars as he winged away to the southwest. Amero felt great gladness as he watched the departure. Duranix’s responses were m
ore like his old self. Once he became involved in daily life in the village again, the wanderlust of recent days was sure to leave him.
Since Bahco said he hadn’t seen Karada in their camp, Amero started his search with the lakeshore from the west baffle back to the old foundry. He saw the Silvanesti sleeping on their bedrolls outside the broken foundry walls, but he found no sign of his sister. Doubling back, he went as far as the old raider camp and the stone towers of the fallen bridge. His feet crunched over the dross of battle – broken spears and throwing sticks, scraps of leather armor. Compared to the life and noise of the feast, the site of Zannian’s camp was like a graveyard. Nianki wasn’t there, so he quickly left.
The only remaining possibility was the nomad camp. Perhaps she had returned there after Bahco left for the mating ceremony. Amero skirted the fringes of the celebration, as he didn’t want to be delayed by well-meaning greetings.
The camp itself was calm. A few dogs tied in front of their masters’ tents barked at him as he passed. At one spot he saw something he hadn’t seen before – a willow rack laden with cured yevi hides. The yevi pack that had accompanied the raiders to the valley had been devastated during the siege, and before Karada’s arrival most had been killed or run off. Nomad hunters searched the neighboring valleys after the final battle, killing every yevi they found. Their gray, shaggy skins were too coarse to wear, but Amero knew why Karada’s people saved the hides. Posted in the high passes, yevi pelts served as a potent warning to other would-be marauders.
Amero walked through the camp. Arriving at last at her tent, he found Karada. She was seated by the fire and draped in her white wolfs robe. Their blind brother sat a few steps away, a trencher of meat before him. Amero smiled. Karada must have brought him the food.
“Nianki,” he said. She didn’t look up, but Zannian tilted his head and turned sightless eyes toward his elder brother.
“Is it done?” she asked, poking the low flames with a stick.
