Elvenborn

30

Keman and Shana elected to remain with Kyrtian and his men, but only after modifying their appearance to that of ordinary humans. That was a precautionary measure, easy to maintain, but vital just in case someone came looking for Kyrtian—or decided to scry for him.

Besides, as Keman pointed out, they'd been in these woods before. They'd helped rescue a pen full of slaves from Lord Cheynar by taking them into this forest, and even if they didn't exactly know every trail and rock, at least they knew enough about the dangers to keep Kyrtian's people from walking into trouble. Or rather, more trouble. Kyrtian had already had one narrow escape from the ambush beasts.

And they were both rather good at finding things, Keman in particular. When Kyrtian explained in detail what he thought he was looking for—the place where his father had gone hunting ancient artifacts, probably within a cave-complex—and the details he'd gleaned from the ancient journals, they both volunteered their services. Shana went with Kyrtian and his people, to act as a lookout for alicorns, ambush beasts, and other un-pleasantries, while Keman went off on his own.

It didn't take Keman very long at all to come haring back to the main party with a find in his hands and a grin on his face.

"Where did you find that?" Kyrtian exclaimed, seizing the oddly-shaped chunk of metal that Keman had found as if it were made of begemmed gold. It had probably been flat, once, with rolled edges on two sides. Now it was twisted and crumpled, like a piece of paper that had been wadded up, then smoothed out again.

"Up that way—" Keman pointed. "You know dragons can tell where caves are—"

He could tell immediately by Kyrtian's expression that, no, he didn 't know that, but he continued with the explanation anyway.

"—I've just been cruising at treetop level, probing for caverns. I found a place where there had been a big entrance that led into a huge complex, but there'd been a rock-fall that blocked the entrance, and when I landed to look it over, I found that this was caught in the rocks." He tilted his head to the side with curiosity. "What is it, anyway?"

"I haven't the vaguest clue," Kyrtian replied, turning it over in his hands with every evidence of fascination. "But feel it! Feel how light it is? Is it any metal that you recognize?"

"Well, no," Keman admitted. The lightness, and the lack of corrosion, had been what attracted him in the first place. The dull grey bit of debris, twisted and distorted, had blended very well into the fallen rocks, and only a dragon would have been able to spot it at once, by the different "feel" associated with it.

"And look at this—" Kyrtian pointed to a tiny line of engraved figures, incised deeply enough that not even the mist collecting on the surface obscured them. "You see? That's ancient script—Elven script!"

Keman peered at it. "What does it say?" he asked, dubiously. He couldn't begin to guess what an Elvenlord would choose to engrave on a piece of—something that looked like nothing more than a bit of shelf, but probably wasn't. It could be anything. A bit of a poem ? "Touch this who dares ? "

Kyrtian chuckled. "It says, 'Keep this edge up.' Not what you expected, is it?" But his eyes were afire with excitement. "Ke-man, this is—must be—a piece of one of the artifacts from the Crossing! We've found the Great Portal!"

"We have?" Keman replied with surprise. He shook water off his hood with a gesture of impatience. "I didn't know we were looking for it. I thought we were looking for your father."

"My father was looking for the Great Portal, and I'm sure he found it—but something must have happened and he couldn't get back to us." The Elvenlord's expression suddenly darkened. Kyrtian didn't say what he thought the "something" was, and Keman decided that he wasn't going to ask. "How recent was that rock-fall?"

"There have been several, I think." Now Keman was on firmer ground; if there was one thing that a dragon knew, it was rocks and caves. "I managed to get this bit out from under the bottom layer, but it looks to me as if there was one large fall quite some time ago, and several since then. There's still an opening big enough for a person to squeeze inside, but the opening used to be—well—big enough for my mother, much less me! I didn't find anything like—well, bones," he added hastily, realizing only then that he might well be describing the place where Kyrtian's father had died. His addition didn't reassure Kyrtian in the least; Kyrtian's expression darkened further.

Kyrtian handed the artifact to Shana, who examined it curiously, but paid more attention to the Elvenlord than to the piece of metal. It suddenly seemed very quiet, in their little camp under the trees. Quiet enough to hear water dripping everywhere, to hear the far off calls of bell-birds. His face shadowed now, all excitement gone, the Elvenlord stared off into the trees for a moment. "How far is this? Can we get there soon?"

"Two days, I think, over the trails," Keman told him, after a moment to try and gauge distances. "I could fly you there, one at a time—"

But both Shana and Kyrtian shook their heads. "I don't want to divide the party," Kyrtian said first. "And Lashana, I know that you can use magic to bring us there, but—"

"But I'll fall on my nose afterwards," Shana said bluntly. "And if you need me, I won't be able to do anything. No, overland it is." She sighed, then smiled, and tried to make light of the situation. "Ah well. I haven't gotten nearly enough hard exercise lately, and you do have horses to help. Keman and I will be the only ones who have to walk—"

Keman burst into laughter, as she hit her head with the heel of her palm.

"I don't think you'll be walking, Shana," Keman told her. "If you'll just give me a chance to 'change' into something more suitable—"

Kyrtian got the hint immediately. It was only a moment of work—as Kyrtian hastily averted his eyes—and an "extra" horse stared at Shana mockingly.

"What color would you like, foster-sister?" he asked shaping the mouth and larynx a bit off the horse-form, so he could talk properly. "Roan? Bay? Black?" With each suggestion, he changed his color to match. "How about a nice buckskin? Or spots? Stripes? Checks?" The changes flashed across his hide in bewildering succession.

"Ew!" Shana wrinkled her nose at the last. "Brown. Please. Brown will do very nicely."

"Not even alicorn-white with pretty blue eyes?" he teased, fading out the checks into a uniform brown. And, for good measure, making the hair much better at shedding water. By this point he had concluded that he should have taken to the guise of a horse a lot sooner—no need for rain-capes and, in fact, the rain felt rather good! It certainly kept the biting flies away.

Their exchange had lightened Kyrtian's mood a little, but it was very clear as he gave his men their new orders to move out that he was tense. Keman didn't have to ask why; it had been clear when he'd told them of his missing father that he didn't expect to find his parent alive. After the initial burst of excitement faded, how could you possibly look forward to finding a body—or what was left of one?

He hurried them all into packing up the camp; it was interesting to Keman that even under the press of urgency, Kyrtian's people worked efficiently and without fumbling. In far less time than Keman would have thought possible given his experience even with the Iron People, everything was packed properly, stowed on the horses, and they were ready to leave.

The others looked to Kyrtian for orders; he gestured to Keman, who obviously was the only one who knew where they were going, and Keman and Shana took the lead. Kyrtian rode behind them, and everyone in his party gave him a respectful distance. With a stony expression, and his mouth set in a grim line, it was pretty clear that he didn't want to talk to anyone, and it seemed best to leave him alone.

It was a very, very quiet ride. None of the men wanted to break the silence, and even Shana didn't talk. The rain started up again shortly after they took to the trail, obscuring the distance behind a veil of grey, but Keman wasn't worried. Dragons couldn't get lost; he knew where he was, exactly in relationship to where their goal was. The only thing standing between them and that rock-covered cave entrance was the trifling matter of several leagues.

It would have been funny, if it hadn't been so important that Triana keep the presence of her party secret, not only from Ael-markin, but from Kyrtian as well. As it was, when everyone else suddenly packed up for no apparent reason and began to move, Triana's group had to scramble to clean out their camp and move deeper into the forest.

It was a near thing. Kyrtian's party didn't ride in on top of where Triana's camp had been, but they came closer than Triana liked, and Aelmarkin's bunch did just blunder on through. If his foresters had been half as good as Triana's slaves, they'd have spotted the signs of recent occupation for certain.

But after that, it was a simple enough matter to trail behind Aelmarkin. He was leaving a trail as broad as a highway and making no effort to hide it—but interestingly enough, Kyrtian wasn't going to any effort to conceal his trail either.

He must have found something. That was the only possible explanation. Triana wished she knew what it was.

Only when they pushed on past dark was she certain that it couldn't be Wizards—because Kyrtian kindled mage-lights and sent them up above their heads to illuminate the trail. Her own scouts reported it—and when her group was on the top of a hill, she could often catch a glimpse of the lights flitting among the branches of a valley below, like impossibly huge fireflies in the distance.

He wouldn't have betrayed his presence this way if he thought he'd found signs of the Wizards he was supposed to be looking for. At least, she didn't think he would.

The trouble was, he could use lights, but neither she nor Ael-markin dared.

That had her gritting her teeth in frustration, until it occurred to her that there was one thing, at least, that she could do. She could make mage-lights of a different sort. Not powerful enough to light their path, but tiny things that would mark where Kyrtian's horses, and Aelmarkin's, had gone by following the scent in the air. If the others saw them, they'd either assume they were ordinary fireflies or were some bizarre creature native to these forests.

It took her the better part of an hour to get the magic right, but in the end it was worth it; the trick was to set the spell to seek "horse," but with the specific exclusions of the horses she and her group rode—otherwise, all the little motes did was cluster around her. So even if they were stumbling down the path in the darkness now, they had something to follow. What a miserable experience, though—wet, cold, the endless mizzle in the face, and it seemed as if there were entire trees just waiting until they passed beneath to drop a load of water on their heads. They didn't have to worry about moving quietly, though—there were so many frogs calling in a dozen different tones throughout the woods that they could have blundered about thrashing through the bushes and never been heard.

Presumably Aelmarkin came up with something that worked equally well, since they didn't run right into the back of his group. Triana was dreadfully afraid for some time that Kyrtian was going to ride all night, for he showed no signs of wanting to halt. The rain poured on past dusk, and only slackened to the usual mist long after dark, but still Kyrtian road on.

By this time she was convinced that Kyrtian had gone quite mad, but her best forester assured her that no, not even someone as driven as Kyrtian was going to be foolish enough to press himself and his men that hard. And the slave was proved right; after what seemed like half the night, her foremost scout came back with the intelligence that both Kyrtian and Ael-markin were settling in for the night, and with the profoundest relief, Triana directed her own men to do the same.

But the moment that the first thin light showed among the trees, the scouts who watched the camps came back and roused them, and they were out of bedrolls that had just gotten comfortable and off again into the fog of pre-dawn. Kyrtian was pushing hard, and Triana needed to make a decision. She called her best man to ride alongside her.

"Can we outflank my cousin—get ahead of him without him realizing that we're out here?" she asked. Not for the first time, she was glad she had bought these men from Lord Kyndreth. Whoever had trained them had done such a good job that she didn't have to give them exact instructions—she had only to ask for what she wanted done, and they worked out a way to accomplish it if they had the skills. Unfortunately there was one thing that they did not have the skills for. They weren't very good cooks. They didn't seem to mind eating squirrel and hare that was half raw and half burned, but she had begun eating the leathery journey-bread in preference to the game they provided.

The slave pondered her question, then nodded. "I believe so, my lady, but—" he looked uneasy, and wiped a film of moisture from his forehead that wasn't from the mist. "—it isn't the forest that's the problem. It's what's in the forest. We know of al-icorn herds at the very least, and the outriders have seen signs of other things. Worse things, my Lady, than alicorn stallions."

"Worse things?" She wrinkled her brow. "What sorts of signs?"

"One of them came across signs that something had killed and eaten several alicorns in the past week or so." He grimaced. "I would not care to encounter anything that could do that."

"And I suppose he didn't see it? Had no clue as to what it was?" If she knew what they needed to guard against, she could perform some specific magics—magic that would either repulse the creatures or at least give warning of their presence. But without knowing what it was she was trying to ward off— she could waste her energy and skill shooing away spiders, only to have a giant slug descend on them.

"Nothing we've ever seen or heard of, my lady—the scout didn't get near; he said the place looked like an ambush in the making. From what he told me, the alicorns were torn in pieces, and I wouldn't even expect one of those dragons we've heard about to do that." She gave him a suspicious glance, but he didn't look as if he was exaggerating.

Well, that did fit in with what she'd been warned about this place. Kyndreth himself had been none-too-eager to go looking for purported Wizards in these hills, and had jumped to accept Kyrtian's offer to track them down. She'd probably lose some men in this. Now she was glad she'd bought them outright from Kyndreth instead of borrowing them. When an accident happened to a borrowed slave, it was amazing how the value of that slave suddenly increased....

"Do it," she ordered him. "Send the outriders ahead, find us a clear path so we can get around Aelmarkin and run alongside Kyrtian. You're supposed to be Lord Kyndreth's best, aren't you?"

He bowed. "Yes, my lady," he said. No hesitation, no excuses, no objections. Just obedience. Exactly what she had paid for.

Well, not all that she had paid for. She'd also invested in excellence; so far, these slaves had been most satisfactory, but now they had better well prove that they could go beyond "satisfactory."

Or when she got back, she'd be having some words with Lord Kyndreth.

But right now, she had better keep her own mind on the job at hand. If these slaves couldn't rise to the challenge, she might have to abandon them to their fate and narrow her goal to getting her own self out intact.

They'd just paused long enough to pass around rations for lunch, eating in the saddle, before the afternoon downpour arrived on schedule. By nightfall, they should be at Keman's cave-complex. As rain drummed on the hood of her cape and a few cold drops slipped around the collar and got down her neck, Shana was grateful that her "mount" was Keman, and not a real horse. She couldn't have fallen off if she'd wanted to, not even on the steep trails he was taking, and at the moment, she needed to be able to concentrate on holding the mental line of communication with Lorryn as tightly as possible. There was a lot of distance between them—and something unexpected had happened, something that made all the discomfort she felt completely irrelevant.

Caellach Gwain had vanished from the Citadel.

:... so when he didn 't turn up for breakfast, either, Hala thought it was more than odd,: Lorryn told her. :He's pulled sulks before, usually when he's managed to squirrel away food in his room, but missing three meals in a row was exceptional. The door was bolted from the inside; it wasn't hard to get it open, not with a half dozen Wizards working on it—but he wasn 't there when we opened it.:

Caellach Gwain gone! It was so tempting to allow herself to wallow in sheer relief, but—Caellach Gwain vanished out of his own room was a puzzle that only promised more trouble.

She wiped rain from her face and closed her eyes, concentrating. :You don't suppose he's learned the transportation magic, do you?: she asked, apprehensively.

-.That's exactly what I'm afraid has happened,: was the grim reply.

Well, that made perfect sense. You didn't have to attend lessons to get the advantage of them. The miserable old toad could simply have sat in his room with a scrying glass and learned everything any of the other Old Whiners was learning.

:You've got a good reason, I'll bet.:

She felt Lorryn's nod. :His room was full of things from the old Citadel—a good many of them not his property, so many of the Old Ones tell me. By the way, that's put him beyond the pale, if that's any comfort to you. Even the Old Whiners who were his most vocal supporters were wild with rage when they found their property in his room. There's no way he could have known where some of those things were without going back in person, because there were a lot of small, valuable trinkets that were hidden away in drawers and chests he 'd never seen the inside of:

Her heart sank. :So he could be anywhere.: If he knew the transportation spell, all he had to do was be familiar with a place to go there. She supposed it was even possible to become that familiar using simple scrying.

:The old Citadel, some new hideaway of his own, even out spying on you,: Lorryn replied, and there was apprehension in his thoughts. :You know what would happen if people found out where you are right now, what you were doing, and who you were doing it with.:

Never mind that Lady Moth was clearly the Wizards' friend, that Lorryn's own mother and sister were fullbloods. This was different. This was consorting with the Great Lords' chosen general. She could try to explain until her face was blue, but if Caellach Gwain broke the news at an inopportune time, well—

:That's my worst fear, because there are some of the youngsters who think that there was a second burst of transportation noise right after you and Keman left.: She sensed Lorryn's worry, and she more than agreed with it.

:Fire and Rain!: she swore angrily. :That would be just like him, wouldn 't it!: Even through her anger, she tried to think if she'd detected anything since she'd arrived. :He might be here. He might not. If he came in far enough from us, I wouldn't have heard the arrival. :

:Look, I'm going to do two things, and the first is that I'm going to turn his room into an iron cage,: Lorryn told her. :And when he tries to transport back in—he'll get a shock. Zed tried it with a rock, and what happens is that you bounce back to where you came from.:

:With a demon of a headache, I can only hope,: she said sourly. :He'll try to go to another part of the Citadel, of course—:

-.Maybe, maybe not. Because the next thing I'm going to do is start planting iron wedges all over the Citadel except in designated 'magic rooms,' and those will be brand new ones that Father Dragon is going to carve out for us.: He sounded—well, rather pleased with himself for coming up with a plan so quickly, and she didn't blame him.

:Zed can pour simple wedges for us easily enough, can't he?: she asked.

:With no problem at all; he's already pouring them, the children are planting them, and Father Dragon has the first magic room carved out. I've been wanting to do this for a while, anyway. It's one more defense against the Elvenlords, even if it is a nuisance for us to confine doing magic to those special rooms.: He sighed. :Still, it'll be worth it, and we can have the whole Citadel protected by tomorrow. Caellach Gwain will have no way of knowing where the safe rooms to transport to are or what they look like. So to get back here, he 'II have to apport to somewhere he knows.:

Her anger faded as she considered that. .7 don't think he's set foot outside the caves more than a dozen times since we arrived. There can't be that many places where he can apport back.:

-.And I can have all of them watched by people we trust. That leaves only the old Citadel for him.: Lorryn sounded absolutely smug when he said that, and she didn't blame him.

:He can go live there and rot for all I care,: she said maliciously. Maybe the Great Lords will decide that our fictitious Wizards live there. That would serve him right, if they find him sitting there like an old toad in a hole.:

.-Well, just keep alert for any sign of him, love,: Lorryn cautioned. :He's a twisty old beast. I'm not sure I can think of every way he could think of to cause us harm.:

.7 will,: she promised, and gave him a wordless, loving farewell that she hoped remained untainted with her anger at Caellach Gwain.

"Well, that's not good," Keman muttered up at her, shaking the rain from his mane. He had, of course, been listening in.

"No, it's not. Should we tell Kyrtian?" She was of two minds on the subject. It wasn't as if Kyrtian didn't already have enough on his hands—and it wasn't as if his men weren't perfectly capable of catching one old man who was anything but woods-wise if he was spying on them.

Unless, of course, he was using the transportation spell to get him away each time it looked as if he was going to get caught.

But she hadn't heard the distinctive "noise" associated with that spell!

"I wouldn't," Keman replied after a moment. "It's not his business. It's wizard business. Let Lorryn take care of things at the Citadel; you and I will just have to be very vigilant from now on."

"I hope an ambush beast gets him," she grumbled.

Keman shook his head. "I wouldn't wish that fate even on Caellach Gwain. And you shouldn't, either."

"Well—maybe not an ambush beast. But I wouldn't mind seeing him treed by an alicorn," she relented.

"Nor would I, foster sister," Keman replied. "Maybe we'll have the privilege. And maybe he'll just get into trouble he can't get out of, all on his own, without our ill-wishing him. That would be best of all."

"I suppose it would," she sighed, and left it at that.