Kelyan nodded all through Mero’s explanation. “Exactly right, halfbreed—” He paused, and tilted his head in inquiry. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name. You’re very quiet—”
“Mero,” the wizard supplied, and smiled. “They called me Shadow; I am very good at making myself ignored.”
Kelyan gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “Mero, then. Yes, exactly right. There were plenty of Dyran’s slaves who would look at me with pity in their eyes—and my father, too, before he worked himself into a premature senility.” He sighed. “Well, needless to say, there are—or at least there were, when last I walked civilized lands—plenty of younger elves who would be only too happy to find a way to limit the High Lords’ magic. And given enough time to think about it, there are probably any number of them who could find it in their hearts to sympathize with the wizards. And actually, now that I’ve had a taste of being a slave myself, I even find it in my heart to sympathize with the humans.” He quirked another of his ironic smiles. “At least Dyran met a nasty end. I will sleep very peacefully tonight, knowing that.”
He would have said more, but another of the warriors appeared at the door to the tent, pushing the flap aside and gesturing peremptorily. Kelyan made a face, and got to his feet, prodding Haldor with a toe. “Come on, old thing,” he said with resignation. Time for our performances. Our masters are awaiting us.”
Haldor just grunted again, got to his feet, gathered up his chain, and followed Kelyan out.
“Want to watch?” Shana said to Mero in an undertone. “I really have got to see what it is they’re doing. Especially if we’re going to be expected to do the same.”
He shook his head.
“I’ll go with you,” Keman offered.
“I’ll stay with Mero,” Kalamadea said. “You two go see what you can see; we’ll see if we can come up with any plans.”
Shana didn’t need a second invitation; she gathered up her chain and followed the two elves, Keman on her heels.
Just as Kelyan had told her, no one tried to prevent either of them from following the two elves as long as it was obvious they were not trying to escape. The elves didn’t go far, only to about the third circle. Their destination was a tent—a real tent and not a tent-wagon, the kind Shana remembered the caravan-traders using, only much, much bigger. She reflected that it must have taken a dozen people working together to put this up. As they neared it, colored lights played on the tent walls from inside, and music drifted through the quiet night air.
The elves went inside; Shana and Keman followed them.
They stopped just inside the tent flap, which was tied open. Inside, it had been furnished much like Jamal’s tent; there were painted hangings decorating some of the walls, rugs forming a floor, and large piles of cushions for people to sit or recline on. At one end was a group of musicians; at the other, someone dispensing food and drink. Servers brought both to the men and women who were dispersed about the tent. Most of them had the look of fighters; most were relatively young. Some sat or reclined, eating, talking, or playing games of chance. Some danced to the tune the musicians played.
But most were drifting toward the musicians’ end of the tent where the elves had just arranged themselves.
“What do you suppose they’re up to?” Shana wondered aloud.
“I haven’t a clue,” Keman told her. “But we ought to see if we can’t get nearer.”
They worked their way through the crowd; carefully, trying to attract no attention to themselves. They managed to get into a corner where they had a good view, but were out of the way.
The musicians finished their current piece, and stopped, clearly waiting for the elves to settle themselves. There were six musicians: two drummers, two with string instruments, one with a horn, and one with something Shana couldn’t identify. Kelyan took a comfortable position, and nodded to the head musician, the one with the horn, who started a new piece. He played the first phrase alone, and the others joined in after a few beats.
That was when Shana understood why the riders were so intent on keeping the elves as their captives.
Kelyan spun a complicated illusion of fantastic birds and creatures with the bodies of lithe young females and males, but with butterfly wings. He danced them around each other in time to the music, to the evident pleasure of the watching riders. It wasn’t a very good illusion; the birds and butterfly-creatures were quite transparent, easy to see through, impossible to believe in. But as an artistic piece, and as entertainment, it was excellent.
Certainly it was something the riders would never have been able to produce for themselves.
When the piece ended, the illusion faded. Haldor sat up, face full of resignation, as the next piece began. His illusion, like Kelyan’s, was a frail thing and quite transparent, but his tiny horses of flame, darting and rearing and galloping in the air, were quite mesmerizing to watch.
Shana tapped Keman on the elbow and inclined her head toward the less crowded part of the tent as Haldor’s piece ended. He nodded agreement, and they made their way to the end nearer the open doorway.
“Before you ask—I can’t work any magic on the collar itself, and I’m not certain I can shift,” Keman said quietly. “Kalamadea and I have tried; I think it may be something in the collars.”
She made a face of distaste. “Well, the elves manage it; I don’t see why these people couldn’t, too. Oh, fire and blast it! At least none of them know our tongue; it’s easier talking man thinking at you.”
“We are going to have to convince this Jamal that we aren’t fullblood elves and we can’t do illusions,” Keman continued urgently. “Otherwise they’ll have us sitting there making butterflies and flowers, for the rest of our lives—”
“Unless Collen runs into them and arranges a trade or a ransom or—yes, well, that isn’t very likely at the moment.” She chewed her lip. “Let’s sit here and watch the people for a while. Maybe we can find out more about them, something useful.”
They didn’t learn much, except that the riders worked the elves to sheer exhaustion—and that both Haldor and Kelyan grew depleted of magic and weary a great deal faster than either Shana or Mero would have under the same conditions.
Even then, the riders didn’t seem disposed to let the elves go for the evening. Instead, they were plied with food and drink, allowed to rest for a bit, then put back to work.
This did not bode well for the four of them, if ever the riders discovered their real abilities, Jamal would not want to let them go, ever.
It was interesting, though, that although the warriors did not wear their armor here, they did retain their iron neckpieces and armbands, and sometimes added a browband as well. The women wore truly exquisite jewelry of black filigree, some of it faceted and polished in places until it sparkled like gemstones. All of the people here favored bright costumes of light, flowing fabrics; oranges, reds, and golden yellows, in more elaborate versions of the garments Shana had already seen them wearing during the day.
“Who’s that?” Keman whispered suddenly, as there was something of a stir at the entrance to the tent. She peered through the half-lit darkness and made out a familiar face among the crowd pushing in through the entrance.
“That’s Jamal,” she whispered back, as the War Chief and his entourage were offered a hastily vacated set of cushions by those who had scrambled to their feet. “But who’s that beside him?”
An older man with the physique of a blacksmith, his short hair as white as sheep’s wool, had entered at nearly the same time, with his own entourage. While Jamal’s followers were all clearly warriors, though none of them actually carried weapons here, this man’s followers were all of his type; they all wore an odd headdress of folded fabric, and all wore spotless leather aprons. They differed from Jamal’s group in one other striking way: They all wore iron torques from which a stylized flame-shape was hung as a pendant, formed out of the same filigree as the women’s jewelry.
“Don’t know,” Keman answered, “But he seems to be just as important as Jamal!”
Indeed, there were as many people waiting to talk to the older man or hastening to serve him. He and his entourage got the same deferential treatment. Shana didn’t detect any open animosity between the two groups, but she thought there was a certain undercurrent of tension when the two men glanced at each other.
If she were to hazard a guess about it, she’d say that the Iron People had two leaders, not one, and that this older man was the second of them. And that it was just possible that neither of them was entirely happy about sharing power.