Shana was so annoyed with him that she ground her teeth until she had a headache. That brought the whole circle to a halt; she was, after all, the strongest power in it, and without her, the others couldn’t move much more than a single pillow or so at a time. That irritated her even more, until Zed, as the oldest, called for a break so that they could all soothe roused tempers and perhaps get something to eat and drink.
It took more than bowl of soup and a cup of willow tea to soothe Shana’s temper, but at least she managed to get rid of her headache, if not her irritation. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, as she came back to the circle and took her place on a cushion with the rest, in the exact middle of the huge room. Her voice echoed quite a bit, since the roof was quite high, and had been left exactly as nature had carved it. “I shouldn’t let my temper get the best of me around him.”
Zed only snorted contemptuously, but said nothing. Shadow patted her hand, and shrugged. The rest grimaced or smiled as their natures dictated. There was really nothing to be said, after all. Caellach had been unbearably rude, but someone with the kind of power that Shana controlled had to have better control over her emotions than she actually did—at least where Caellach was concerned. She knew that, and so did they. What if Caellach had annoyed her while she was in the middle of—say—creating a defense against attackers? That would be a poor time for a headache!
“Well, we fetched the old buzzard’s things and we won’t have to deal with him anymore,” Daene, one of the older girls, said at last. She winked openly at Shana, and wrinkled up her snub nose. “He’s good for three or four days at least, fussing with his furniture and all, like some old hen with her nest and a new load of straw to put in it. We won’t see him for all that time, I’ll wager!”
The comparison, apt as it was, for Caellach cackled exactly like an irritable and irritated old hen, made even Shana smile at last as the rest chuckled. “You’re right, and we’d better be grateful for the peace while it lasts!” she replied. “Well, let’s get to work on someone who’s likely to at least thank us. Parth Agon, do you think? Do any of you remember what his rooms look like to scry for them?”
“I—” Zed began.
“Shana!” The shout from the doorway echoed across the entire room. The shouter followed, scrambling in the door and across the stone floor of the Great Hall, all out of breath. “Shana!” the little human boy gasped again, forcing his words around his panting. “Shana, Denelor and the big dragon want you! Down by the river! There’s a stranger!”
At first she didn’t quite understand what he meant. Then—
There’s a stranger? Here? Oh no—
Here, in the wilderness, where there should be no one but the wizards and the few humans that had fled with them? Who was it? And more important—haw had he found them!
:Kalamadea!: she called to Father Dragon with her mind. :Is there danger? Should I bring weapons?:
:No danger yet, I do not believe,: he replied the same way. :But I want you to see him and speak with him. You have more experience than Denelor or me with full humans.:
A full human? But how had he gotten here? Was he an escaped slave? Before the others could react, she had vaulted to her feet and was running out the door.
The Great Hall was the very first real “room” in the Citadel; from there, a long and winding trail led up to the surface, leading through caverns that had been left, more or less, in their natural state. The only concessions to habitation at this end of the Citadel were the mage-lights at intervals, and the smoothing of the path. This place was like the limestone and alabaster caves that she had lived in with her foster mother and the rest of the dragons; there were hundreds of fascinating formations she had promised herself that she would examine properly one day. But not while she had so much work to do.
Not while there were strangers showing up out of nowhere!
She burst out into the pool of sunlight directly in front of the cave mouth, and flung herself down the path that led to the river, a path they had cut carefully so that it was screened and protected by the trees and bushes—hoping to avoid detection from the air. Unfortunately, this plan made it impossible for her to see Denelor and the others down at the riverside.
I wish I knew what to expect. I wish I knew how he got so close to us without any of us seeing him. I wish—No point in wishing. Just get down there, now! She pounded down the path at her fastest run, feet thudding into the dirt, breath coming hard even though she was running downhill.
When she made the last turn the river came into view, a patch of brilliant sunlight reflecting off the water, at the end of a tunnel of trees. There were several figures down there, dark against the bright light—and something, low and long and dark, in the water itself, or at the very edge of it.
As she ran closer, the shape resolved itself into a hollow object, pointed at each end, with a place to sit. She had never seen a canoe herself, but she did recognize what it was from descriptions in some of the old chronicles.
A boat? But of course—we weren’t looking for anyone on the river! She could have flogged herself in vexation for not taking the precaution of putting at least one sentry above the river. Too late now.
There were only three people standing beside the canoe, which had been tied to a stake driven into the riverbank. Denelor, Kalamadea in his wizard-form, and the stranger. They were all obviously waiting for her, and neither Denelor nor Kalamadea looked at all tense—
As she took in that, she slowed to a walk, so that she would not be completely out of breath when she reached them, and so that she could get a good look at the stranger before she had to speak to him.
She got her first surprise when she realized that although he was fully human, his neck bore no slave-collar and no signs he had ever worn one. For the rest, he looked like a field hand or a caravan trader; his eyes were an ordinary enough brown, his hair black, and his hair had been pulled back into a tight braid, to show mat his ears were not in the least pointed. He was moderately tall, very wiry and muscular, dressed in a rather tattered linen tunic and trews of cloth so old and faded, it wasn’t possible to tell what the original color had been. He had a bow slung across his back, a long knife in a leather sheath at his rope-belt, and what appeared to be clumsy boots made of rawhide on his feet. He hadn’t shaved in several days, but despite his scruffy appearance, her first impression was that he was not dangerous.
At least, not at the moment. But what was his purpose here? Could he be a spy?
“Ah, Shana—” Denelor said genially, waving at her to come closer, and then turned back to the stranger. “Collen, this is Lashana.”
The stranger nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Not much t’look at, ye be,” he said to her in the elven tongue, strongly accented. “Wouldn” hev figgered little bit lak ye woulda caused s’much trouble. Bin a mort uv tales abaht ye, though.”
“I take it you’ve heard about me, then,” she replied dryly, concealing her agitation from him. She still had no idea what he was doing on the river—or who, if anyone, he served.
He nodded, and his thin lips curved in a reluctant smile. “Hardly thought, when I seen smoke on th’ ridge, I’d be passin’ greetin’s wit’ sech troublesome an’ savage rebels, lak.”
“Collen is a scout for a trading party, Shana,” Denelor said easily, and her eyebrows rose with alarm as she stepped back an involuntary pace. “Oh, not a bondling party,” the wizard amended hastily, as Collen’s grin turned into a chuckle. “Can’t you see? He’s got no collar, no elf-stones about him.”
Shana flushed with chagrin. As she had seen for herself, the neck of the man’s tunic was open to his breastbone, and he wore absolutely nothing else that could have served in place of the collar that could have bound him to an elven overlord. His belt was rope, the sheath of his knife was leather, the knife itself had a plain, wrapped handle with none of the dangerous spellcarrying beryls set into it. And in any case, if he’d been a bondling, she, Denelor, or Kalamadea would surely have sensed the blankness that meant there was a spell on him that blocked all the purely human powers of magic. They all knew the “shape” of that particular blankness.