Rega was sitting on the edge of the moss bank, huddled up in a ball very much like a bristle-back squirrel, her back hunched, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. He could see her face from the side and, by her dark and stormy expression, could almost imagine the quills standing up all over her. His sister’s “lover” stood as far from her as possible, on the other edge of the bank’s lip. The elf was leaning at rather an odd angle, Roland noticed, almost as if favoring some tender part of himself.
“Strangest damn way to conduct a love affair I ever saw!” Roland muttered. “What do I have to do for that elf-draw him a picture? Maybe baby elves are slipped under the cracks of the doors at night! Or maybe that’s what he thinks. We’re going to have to have a little man to man talk, looks like.
“Hey,” he called aloud, making a great deal of noise plunging out of the jungle, “I found a place, a ways down, where there’s what looks like a rock ledge that sticks out of the moss. We can lower the baskets onto that, then drop ’em down the rest of the way. What happened to you?” he added, looking at Paithan, who was walking hunched over and moving gingerly. “He fell,” said Rega.
“He did?” Roland-who had felt much the same way once after an encounter with an unfriendly barmaid-glanced at his sister in some suspicion. Rega hadn’t exactly refused to go ahead with the plan to seduce the elf. But, the more Roland thought about it, he recalled that she hadn’t exactly said she would, either. He didn’t dare say anything more, however. Rega’s face might have been frozen by a basilisk, and the look she cast him might have turned her brother to stone, as well.
“I fell,” agreed Paithan, voice carefully expressionless. “I-uh- straddled a tree limb coming down.” “Ouch!” Roland winced in sympathy.
“Yeah, ouch,” repeated the elf. He didn’t look at Rega. Rega wasn’t looking at Paithan. Faces set, jaws rigid, both stared straight at Roland. Neither actually saw him.
Roland was completely at a loss. He didn’t believe their story and he would have liked very much to question his sister and worm the truth out of her. But he couldn’t very well drag Rega off for a chat without making the elf suspicious.
And then, when Rega was like this, Roland wasn’t certain he wanted to be alone with her anyway. Rega’s father had been the town butcher. Roland’s father had been the town baker. (Their mother, for all her faults, had always seen to it that the family was well fed-) There were times when Rega bore an uncanny resemblance to her father. One of those times was now. He could almost see her standing over a freshly butchered carcass, a bloodthirsty gleam in her eye.
Roland stammered and waved his hand vaguely. “The . . . uh , . . spot I found is in that direction, a few hundred feet. Can you make it that far?”
“Yes!” Paithan grit his teeth.
“I’ll go see to the tyros,” stated Rega.
“Quin, here, can help-”
“I don’t need any help!” Rega snapped.
“She doesn’t need any help!” Paithan muttered.
Rega went one way, the elf went the opposite, neither looking at the other. Roland stood in the middle of the empty clearing, rubbing his stubbly brownish blond growth of beard.
“You know, I think I was mistaken. She really doesn’t like him. And I think her hate’s beginning to rub off on the elf! Things between them were going so well, too. I wonder what went wrong? It’s no good talking to Rega, not when she’s in this mood. There must be something I can do.” He could hear his sister pleading, flattering, trying to get the reluctant tyros to move. Paithan, hobbling along the edge of the moss bank, cast a disgusted glance in Rega’s direction.
“There’s only one thing I can think of to do,” Roland mused. “Just keep throwing them together. Sooner or later, something’s bound to happen.”
CHAPTER 17
IN THE SHADOWS, GUNIS
“ARE YOU SURE THAT-S ROCK?” PAITHAN ASKED. PEERING DOWN INTO THE