“Oh, I’ve been in favor all along,” Denelor replied quickly. “The—ah—storerooms won’t stay full forever.” He said nothing about the complete lack of crafting or farming ability among the wizards; he didn’t have to. Parth Agon knew that lack as well as he. Eventually the wizards were going to have to learn to work with their hands, but the longer it took to come to that eventuality, the better off they would all be.
The more time we have, the more time we have to get some practice in. I’d really rather not trust my soup to a wizard’s first pot.
“A very good point.” Parth Agon actually turned to Shana before he checked with Kalamadea. “Shana?”
“You could—if you want—ask him mind to mind,” she said forthrightly. “Collen has the human mage-craft, and you know he won’t be able to lie mind to mind. But I don’t think that will be necessary. He has a great deal to gain by dealing fairly with us, and a lot to lose if he doesn’t.”
“The only question is—what have we got at the moment that we can trade that wouldn’t be traced back to wizards?” Parth Agon mused aloud.
Shana’s mind ran to the metals and gems that Keman said lay in these mountains—would the dragons be able to get enough out at this short a notice to make it worth the traders’ while? And would it be wise to divert them from the important work of shaping the Citadel? It took a long time to bring up gold, and longer to extract gems; that much she recalled from her years of living among them. How much of the dragons’ precious time could they all spare?
Keman coughed shyly, and they all turned to look at him. “You know,” he said, ducking his head a little, “you could say that our troubles started over that bit of—of hide that the elves called ‘dragon-skin,’ the stuff Shana’s tunic was made from when she was taken captive. The elves wanted that stuff, they sent out all sorts of expeditions looking for the source of it—and we have more of it right here.”
“Dragon skin?” Collen looked very puzzled. “Can ye show me what ’tis ye be callin’ ‘dragon skin’?”
“Just a moment—” Keman slid out of his seat and ran off, returning in a few moments with a strip of his own shed skin, wide as a human’s palm and about as long as a man’s arm. Since it was Keman’s, it was a brilliant blue, overlaid with a shimmer of rainbow hues. Collen bit off an exclamation, and reached out involuntarily to touch it, then pulled back.
“Go ahead,” Keman urged, handing it to him. “It’s pretty tough.”
Collen took the strip of skin gingerly, testing the strength and suppleness, and running his hands down the smooth scales. “Where ye get this?” he asked, his eyes filled with wonder.
Evidently, although he had heard of the second Wizard War, he had not heard of the existence of real dragons. Had the elves decided they were illusions? Or had they made up their minds that the dragons had been constructs, artificial creatures made by some of the strongest wizards?
If they had, that certainly eased some of Shana’s guilt about the situation. She still felt bad that the dragons had been forced to abandon their long-held secret to help her and her friends. She hadn’t wanted the elves to know about the dragons, any more than the dragons had, and for good reason. The elves would never tolerate a race as powerful as the dragons or allow them to continue to exist in the same world—and as Keman had said, they wanted the dragons’ skins. They would quite happily kill every dragon alive for the sake of the skins.
:He can’t know about you, Keman,: she told him. -:Make something up, quick.:
“It’s from a lizard, and we use magic to make it prettier,” Keman lied blithely. “We can make a lot of it, and we have quite a bit on hand now. It’s very useful.” He glanced over at Kalamadea, who nodded agreement “It’s tough, besides being pretty.”
“If that be so—then ye’ got th’ bargain!” Collen exclaimed, his hands closing possessively on the piece of skin when Keman showed no interest in reclaiming it. “We kin get ’bout all ye mot need wi’ this as the trade goods.”
“What about our settling here?” Denelor asked. “Is that going to be a problem? We didn’t see any signs of habitation in this valley, and we plan to be as discreet as you would, in our place. I think we can make sure the elves don’t find us.”
Collen shrugged, as if it was a matter of complete indifference to him. Maybe it was. “I think ye got yersel’s a fair home. Sure, an’ we won’ be disputin’ it wi’ ye, an’ there’s none I know of that hev a claim here. ‘Tis all yours fer the claimin’, lak. Be nice t’ know that his part ‘o th’ river’s safe from cat-eyed spies, eh?”
‘So we could say that—this is a kind of welcoming, then?” Parth Agon said, mildly.
“Oh, aye!” the human trader laughed, as if Parth had told him a joke. “Oh, aye, an’ well-come indeed!”
Chapter 4
SHEYRENA COULD HARDLY believe her luck when, the day after the fete, absolutely nothing happened. She had spent the day in a state of dulled dread, expecting—at the least—to be called into her father’s presence and interrogated about just whom she had spoken and danced with, and what they had said. Worse were the fears that Lord Tylar would somehow discover her lack of “conquests,” and call her to account for that.
Instead, there was no summons, not even a note. She was, as usual, ignored. With the sole exception of the fact that she was permitted to sleep late, her day passed precisely as any other day. She walked in the garden and tended her birds, had her lessons in music and etiquette, and made her daily call upon her mother in her mother’s bower. Only there did she have any reminders that this was not quite an ordinary day. She and Lady Viridina discussed nothing but the gowns the other elven ladies had been wearing—speculating on how they had been made and of what materials, deciding whether or not the particular style would be suited to Rena or the Lady herself. In other bowers, with a collection of elven ladies, there would have been other comments, too, of course—comments on how poorly suited the gowns of certain ladies (absent from the current group, of course) had been, either in terms of style or in terms of the wearer’s endowments. Lady Viridina did not encourage gossip, however, so none of that entered the discussion in her bower.
Nor were there any discussions of which young lords seemed to have paired off with young ladies. That, in Lady Viridina’s opinion, was also gossip, and of no one’s concern except the parties involved.
The truth of the matter in the bower today was that Lady Viridina discussed the gowns, and her slaves-of-the-wardrobe murmured appropriate comments. Rena simply listened, and not very attentively. Oh, normally she enjoyed the topic as much as anything except riding with Lorryn, but today she had rather not be reminded how wonderful the other ladies looked—not when she had suffered in all ways by comparison. She had thought until last night that she had no pride left to bruise, but that was simply not true. It had hurt to look into the mirror and see a laughingstock. It still hurt this morning.
I wish there were a way to destroy that horrid gown, she thought resentfully. I don’t ever want to see it again!
Viridina didn’t seem to notice her silence, though, which was just as well. As she rattled off details of trains and trimming, it occurred to Rena that her mother was oddly distracted, as if Lady Viridina also had something weighing heavily on her mind, and was trying to disguise the fact with idle chat.
She’s probably worried about Lorryn, I suppose. I rather doubt it has anything to do with me.
After what seemed like half the day, Viridina finally dismissed her daughter, and Rena was free to return to her garden and her books. There, with two of her birds sitting on her shoulders, she carefully worked out the spell that had been used on the birds at the fete, the one that made them fly off to make their droppings, then return. That was the most useful spell she had ever seen, and it was definitely going to come in handy here!
She set it on only one of the birds, at first—she didn’t want to hurt them by getting the spell wrong, after all—but when it worked perfectly, she quickly made it part of every flying thing in her garden. Now she could pet and play with them to her heart’s content, and never have to worry about the results!