Children of the Plains

Chapter 15

The plainsmen had a saying: “Swift water grows the biggest fish.” It was their way of saying change brought danger and hope in equal measure.

In the days that followed, Karada and Amero became brother and sister again. The cooling nights were passed at the chiefs tent, where the story of Nianki and Amero’s survival were told for all to hear. The knowledge that Karada had a family was something of a revelation to the warrior band. Many of them considered their chief almost a spirit, a demigoddess of the hunt. As they listened to brother and sister speak, the change in their chief was startling. The stern, vengeful Karada became talkative. She even laughed. Few of her people had ever seen Karada smile widely, much less laugh out loud.

Pa’alu was enchanted by Karada’s transformation. He had long cherished every line of her face — wide cheekbones, high forehead, small, straight nose, pointed chin — and every scar on it. Yet the face he knew had always been hard as fieldstone and cold as mountain snow. This new feature — a tooth-baring grin that crinkled her eyes — was totally astonishing, and he silently loved her all the more.

Yet even as he watched the reunion of sister and brother, his delight slowly gave way to something unsettling and ugly. Why did she bestow the favor of her smile and good humor on a man she hadn’t seen in more than ten years? Brother or not, Amero hadn’t fought at her side, hunted and scouted the trackless savanna with her. Was an accident of birth enough to justify this injustice? When she clapped an arm around Amero’s shoulder, Pa’alu felt as if a knife had been shoved into his ribcage.

Two days after the fight between Karada and Sessan, Pa’alu slipped away from the chiefs tent and lost himself in the crowd. It was easy to do. The people of Yala-tene were also turning out to see Karada, the famous nomad chief. Word she was blood kin to their own headman only heightened the villagers’ curiosity and relief. Surely no harm would come to them and their village now, not if the chief of the wild nomads was the long-lost sister of their founder.

Pa’alu drifted through the excited surge of villagers, buffeted this way and that as they flowed around him. He found himself behind the high cairn of the dragon altar, deposited there like a leaf in the eddies of a swiftly moving stream. He came to rest slumped against the sloping side of the cairn. Some time passed before his surroundings breached his melancholy thoughts.

The smell of soot and burned meat roused him. He looked up at the stone pile where the villagers placed their offerings for the dragon. Thinking of Duranix brought to mind Green-gall and Vedvedsica. It had been many days since he thought of the task given him by the elf priest. Digging a hand in his belt pouch now, he found the yellow stone.

This golden nugget held power, enough to affect the mighty Duranix, enough that Vedvedsica should crave the stone for himself. Why should Pa’alu give up such power? Why couldn’t he utilize it for himself?

You owe a debt to the priest, he reminded himself. The elf had saved his life. Besides, Pa’alu was no wise man, stewing herbs or plotting the courses of the stars. In his hand, it was just a piece of stone. It wasn’t the way to Karada’s heart.

Pa’alu put the nugget back in his pouch and stood up, thinking. He might not know how to use the power in the stone, but he knew how to get what he wanted in other ways. The price of the yellow stone had gone up. Once it had been worth Pa’alu’s life — cheap for so miserable a soul. If the elf priest still wanted the stone, Vedvedsica had better be willing to bargain, because the price was now Pa’alu’s happiness.

*

Amero declared a feast in his sister’s honor. Oxen would be slaughtered, fruit would be brought from the orchards across the lake, and the red wine of Yala-tene would flow. Not to be outdone, Karada organized a hunting party to provide the feast with rabbit, gamecock, and golden trout from the highest mountain streams. The day of the feast was set for Moonmeet, the night when the moons Soli and Lutar would meet at the peak of the vault of heaven — by tradition, the last day of summer. Moonmeet would happen three days hence.

His initial shock having passed, Amero was filled with excitement at finding Nianki alive. She and her trusted companions were taken on a tour of Yala-tene, the villagers proudly showing off the storage tunnels, the gardens and orchards. All went well until Nianki asked if she could visit Duranix’s cave.

“Certainly,” said Amero after a moment’s hesitation, “but only you and I may go.”

“Why’s that?”

“The cave is the dragon’s home, and though I’ve lived there for ten years, I must consult with him about the visits of strangers.” Seeing Nianki’s men look disappointed and a bit offended, he added, “You will all meet him in due course. Besides, the hoist can carry only two people at a time.”

Hatu fingered his eyepatch. “Don’t go, Karada,” he said warily. “This is the valley where my father died, and that dragon is the one who killed him. You can never trust a monster.”

She laughed caustically. “What, after ten years the dragon is going to go berserk and bite our heads off? Too much food and wine has made your head soft!”

He bristled, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders. “I speak what I feel to be the truth, Karada,” he said stiffly.

“You need exercise,” she said, laughing. “Join Kiopi’s fishing band. Use your vivid imagination to catch us some trout.”

Amero shifted his feet, embarrassed by his sister’s taunting. He didn’t like her high-handed, insulting manner with other people. He tried to think of something soothing to say to Hatu, but the one-eyed nomad departed in mute anger. Nianki didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care.

At the hoist Nianki grabbed the frame and levered herself into the cramped basket. Her brother tugged on the ready lines and the counterweight started down. With a jerk, the basket began to rise.

“Karada!” Targun called up to her. “Don’t forget! The time of mourning is past. Sessan will be buried at sunset!”

She leaned both elbows on the basket rim and looked down at him. “So?”

“You should be there!”

She waved the notion away. “I’ve no time for traitors,” she replied.

As they rose out of voice range of the ground, Amero said, “It will cause bad feeling if you slight Sessan’s funeral, Nianki.”

“He was a fool and a coward,” replied Karada shortly.

“He fought bravely. You killed him. You should go.”

She lost the smile that had been on her face since their reunion. “Amero, I killed Sessan because he tried to steal my people from me. He paid for that with his life. I won’t dignify his burial with my presence.”

There was no budging her, so he let the matter drop. As they climbed out of the basket underneath the waterfall, Amero pointed out the system of pulleys he and Duranix had mounted in the sheer cliff face. The pulleys allowed the basket to rise, descend, and even traverse sideways a distance of a few paces to clear the waterfall.

Nianki looked where he pointed and nodded when he spoke, but the mechanism didn’t interest her. As the basket slipped behind the thundering falls, she put out her hand and let the edges of the torrent briefly tear at her fingers. She smiled again. Here at least was a force she could admire.

Amero tied off the basket, and they entered the cave. The thick stone walls muted the roar of the water enough to allow for normal conversation. Nianki, gazing upward, boldly walked into the center of the cavern. Hands clasped at his back, Amero followed her.

“The dragon made this?”

“He clawed this room out of solid sandstone,” was Amero’s proud reply.

“Amazing. I wish we’d had him with us at the Thon-Thalas.”

She wandered here and there, admiring the water pool and hearth and examining his various tools and experiments with polite curiosity. Amero watched her explore for a while, then said, “Nianki, we have to talk.”

She turned his copper sheet over in her hands. “About what?”

“We’ve found each other after all these years. You have a life on the plains, while I — ”

She dropped the copper carelessly. It clanged on the floor. “Why don’t you join us? It’s a great life — riding, hunting, seeing the wide plain unroll beneath your horse. There’re the elves, of course. I’ve not given up the fight to free the south and east from Silvanos’s hands.”

“Nianki, my life is here.” Amero sat on the edge of the stone hearth. “This is my place. These are my people.”

Her smile faded. “I thought you’d say that.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks, brother. We may stay a while to gather supplies and our strength before we move on.”

Amero looked away to where the stream flowing down the wall pattered into the pool. They’d found each other after almost eleven years, and already they were speaking of separating again.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

She considered a moment. “North. The hunting’s better there, come winter. We’ll cover the northern plain, maybe even follow the coastline to the far northeast. I hear tales of other humans there, living in treetops. They also say the black-skinned folk cross the sea in great dugout canoes and trade along the shore. Maybe some of them will join us.”

“I think you should stay here, Nianki,” Amero said urgently, “We’ll combine our people into a single band. We’ve a lot to teach each other. Why, I’m close to learning how to make my own copper tools! Once I’ve mastered that, I’ll make bronze. The mountains are full of minerals, and the valleys are good for crops and flocks. Your people can teach us your way with horses.”

She dipped a hand in the cold pool. The hard face of Karada had replaced the smiling visage of Nianki.

“And who will lead this united band?” she scoffed. “You? Me? Both of us? Think again, brother. Your villagers won’t stand for orders from a wanderer like me, and my plainsmen won’t listen to a soft-handed foot-walker like you.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she said more softly, “Even

I wouldn’t follow your orders, Amero, and I don’t think you would follow mine.”

He nodded sadly. “Will you come to visit now and then?”

She grinned. “Every Moonmeet, if I’m able, I’ll come — so long as you hold a feast each time!”

He rose and embraced the sister he once thought he would never see again. As she felt his fingers tighten against on her back, scarred Karada was briefly big sister Nianki once more. “Cheer up,” she said. “Knowing you’re alive makes a difference.”

“And to me,” he said.

A shower of water announced the return of Duranix. Amero and Nianki stepped quickly apart, embarrassed by their mutual affection, and to escape the torrent of water flung off by the huge dragon. Duranix shook his head. His barbels jangled metallically against his chin and muzzle. Nianki was taken aback. She had never seen Duranix in his true form, and her hunter’s instincts were aroused by the looming creature. She tensed to fight or flee.

“Ha,” said Duranix, grinning. “I leave for a while and Amero brings a mate to my cave. What next? Pups?”

Nianki threw back her head and laughed. She laughed all the harder at seeing her brother’s face turn brilliant crimson.

Furious and more than a little embarrassed, Amero exclaimed, “This is my sister! The one I thought long dead!”

“Ah,” Duranix said. “Karada is your sister. How can that be?” Duranix studied them. His pupils narrowed to slits. “I don’t see the resemblance.” Amero’s face showed anger again and the dragon added, “Humans look so much alike to me, you might all be siblings. I’m sure you know your own sister.”

Nianki gave a snort of smothered laughter.

Duranix clomped heavily to his platform, each ponderous step intended to shake the water off his back. He climbed smoothly onto the dished-out ledge and idly picked up an ox leg bone lying nearby. All the flesh had been eaten off already, but the dragon gnawed the ends of the bone. His wickedly curved teeth scraped against the bone.

“Does he always eat like that?” Nianki muttered.

Amero rolled his eyes and climbed the steps at the front of the platform. He cleared his throat. Duranix bit through the bone with a single snap of his jaws. Nianki flinched. Amero, used to his companion’s habits, said eagerly, “Did you find anything?”

The dragon’s casual manner vanished. He tossed the bone aside. “Sthenn was here. I could smell his trail from five thousand paces high.”

“Who’s Sthenn?” asked Nianki.

“Is he still around?” Amero asked gravely.

“No — or if he is, I can’t find him.”

Amero’s anxiety was evident and Nianki demanded again, “Who’s Sthenn?”

Her brother explained about the green dragon, the yevi, and his ongoing rivalry with Duranix. She listened with a grim expression.

“This green dragon created the yevi?” she said. Amero nodded. She made a fist, pressing it to her lips. “Elves in the east, dragons in the west… Is there anyone who doesn’t want to drive us off the land?”

Duranix exhaled sharply, and the resulting whirlwind blew Nianki’s hair across her face. She regarded the bronze dragon warily and said, “I have to wonder — maybe I’m fighting the wrong foe. The elves, arrogant as they are, are beings not unlike us. Some of them have notions of honor. This green dragon sends packs of unnatural beasts to do his dirty work for him. Maybe he’s the one Karada’s band should be fighting.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said Duranix. “Sthenn is more than two thousand years old, by human reckoning. He’s clever, cruel, vindictive, and unpredictable. He never forgives a transgression, no matter how slight. As long as you are nomadic savages, wandering the plains, he will take little notice if you kill his pets. But if you show up at his lair with an army, he’ll use every trick and tool at his disposal to destroy every last one of you in the most unpleasant fashion he can think of, and in his long life, he’s thought of many.”

Amero felt suddenly cold. Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Duranix.

“You talk like you’re afraid of him,” Nianki said to the dragon.

Duranix raised his head. “I am afraid of him. He killed my mother and my clutchmates — my siblings, as you would say — for no other reason than it pleased him to do so.”

“How did you escape?”

Duranix’s claws flexed, scratching loudly on the stone platform. “I didn’t,” he said. “Sthenn spared me on purpose. He deliberately killed my family then let me live.”

“Why?” asked Amero. Duranix seldom spoke of his own past, so this was rare information to him.

“I spent a few centuries wondering that myself. I believe Sthenn let me live so that he could terrorize me. Over the course of his long life, Sthenn has grown jaded. One thing he still savors is fear. He loves being the object of dread and goes to elaborate lengths to instill it in others. It’s easy enough to frighten lesser creatures, but there’s little for dragons to fear except another dragon. Making me afraid of him is a powerful pleasure.”

“Why don’t you seek him out and kill him?” said Nianki.

“Eighty-six years ago I tried to bring him to battle. He set fire to an entire forest and escaped under cover of the smoke. For all the years since, he has taunted me. His avalanches made my first home uninhabitable. He drives off herds of game in hope that I’ll go hungry. He attacks humans and elves to make them fear all dragons and hunt me.”

Nianki pounded a fist into the palm of her hand. “If I were you, I’d find this green monster and settle him once and for all!”

Duranix glanced at Amero. “Are you sure you two are related?”

Amero ignored the gibe and told Nianki it was time they departed. He had work in the village below. Nianki bid the dragon good-bye, but as her brother tugged at her elbow she continued to urge Duranix to deeds of bloody vengeance against his mortal enemy, Sthenn.

“Yes, yes,” the dragon answered her dismissively. “Amero, have the elders set up an ox or two for me, won’t you? I’m famished.”

While they descended in the hoist, Nianki shook her head saying, “With an ally like Duranix, I could defeat the elves in a single season!”

“He won’t fight elves for you,” Amero replied. “The struggles of we lesser creatures are not his concern.”

“He helps you.”

“I’m his friend. Also, our village is a thorn in Sthenn’s claw. The more humans settle here, the harder it will be for Sthenn to harm Duranix.”

Nianki considered this as the basket emerged from behind the waterfall. Below, Samtu and her retainers were waiting.

“Nianki, I understand why the villagers listen to me,” Amero said. “The dragon protects them, and I speak to Duranix. Living here has made their lives easier. But why do these people follow you? Why do they obey you?”

“I give them a name,” she said, her voice almost inaudible against the roar of the falls. “They are Karada’s band. It’s something to belong to, to believe in, to be proud of. There are so many enemies in the world, brother — faceless ones like hunger, cold, storms, sickness, wild beasts. We fight them every day, knowing we can’t really win. I gave my people a new enemy: the elves — an enemy we have a chance of defeating. So my people have something to belong to, an enemy they can defeat, a leader to fight for. For that they will follow me to the end of my days.”

The basket came to rest with a thump. Karada climbed out and was immediately surrounded by her comrades, all eager to hear about the lair of the dragon. She strolled grandly back to the camp with them hanging on her every word.

Amero stood in the wicker basket and watched his sister — no, she was not Nianki any more, but every bit Karada, leader of her band. Though life had taken them down different trails, Amero realized he and his sister were not so far apart after all.

In a cleft in the mountains a quarter-league from Yala-tene, the plainsmen buried Sessan. As the sun sank lower in the western sky, Nacris made the burial party wait while she selected a spot for her mate’s final rest. The soil was too hard and stony for them to dig a proper grave. They would have to pile rocks atop Sessan’s body. Nacris chose a wide ledge near the crest of a hill. As the diggers covered her mate, she stared out at the expanse of hills and valleys laid out before her.

It wasn’t right, she thought dully. They didn’t belong in this place. The sky seemed closer and smaller than it did on the vast grasslands she was accustomed to. At least here, near the top of this mountain, Sessan’s spirit might not feel quite as imprisoned as it must in the narrow confines of the valley.

As soon as their task was done, the nomads sent by Karada to bury the dead man promptly departed. The few plainsmen who cared enough to grieve remained a short while, then one by one, left the melancholy scene. Soon only two remained, Nacris and Hatu.

After a period of silence, Hatu said softly, “A terrible loss.”

Nacris glared at him, the red light of the setting sun giving her face a ruddy cast. “What? Why are you here?” she demanded coldly.

“To pay homage to a brave warrior,” the one-eyed plainsman replied.

Nacris reached out to touch the heaped-up stones. “You’re one of Karada’s,” she spat.

“When it comes to fighting elves, I’ll follow Karada, but this village, this dragon… it’s a dangerous sham.”

Nacris raised her reddened eyes.

“Did you hear? The village headman is Karada’s brother.”

“No!” Nacris exclaimed.

Hatu nodded. “It’s true. She was grinning like a panther when she found out. Sessan wasn’t even cold yet, and Karada was laughing.”

“Someday I’ll kill her,” Nacris whispered.

“Not an easy task,” said Hatu. “For one person, that is.”

Nacris stood up. The last of the sun’s light vanished behind the high peaks and a chill wind whistled across the ridge. She drew her sheepskin vest close around her. “Are you turning against her?”

Hatu walked slowly around the pile of stones. Nacris began moving too, keeping her distance from the one-eyed warrior. He paused at the head of the grave, and she stopped at the foot.

When he spoke, Hatu avoided her question. “Did you notice the pile of stones in the village?” he asked. “That’s where the people of Arku-peli sacrifice oxen or elk to the dragon, twice a week. In return for his meals, the dragon supposedly protects Arku-peli from attack.”

“So?”

“Did anyone try to stop you and Sessan from leading half a hundred riders into the valley?”

Nacris rubbed her cheek, trying to remember. “No, no one. The headman — Arkuden? — he met us unarmed.”

“Some protection the dragon gives, eh?”

Hatu started walking again, circling the grave. Nacris continued to keep her distance. When he reached the foot of the grave, he halted.

“I tell you what I think,” he said finally. “I think these people have sold themselves into slavery. They feed this dragon out of fear, not because he protects them. And what happens when the oxen run out, and no elk can be found? How long will it be before the villagers are setting their own beloved children on that altar?”

Nacris laughed. “What a mind you have! No plainsman would — ”

“No plainsman would sacrifice his child to a dragon? Do you really believe that? Our own comrades abandoned a good warrior, Sessan, out of fear of Karada. You saw how few of them came to honor his death. Do you think these strange, settled — ” he sneered as he said the word — “folk of Arku-peli would be any better?”

The scorn faded from Nacris’s face. “What do you propose?”

“Nothing for now. I will speak to others, quietly. You should too. Start with Tarkwa. He’s a clear-thinker. Then, when the time comes, the band will leave that accursed valley, but it won’t be led by Karada.”

He picked up a stray stone and placed it on Sessan’s grave. “And if the Arkuden tries to defend his sister, he will be destroyed, too.”

Pa’alu placed the golden nugget in the hole Vedvedsica had made in the rock. Since there was no way to know when the priest would appear to claim his prize, the plainsman settled down to wait.

Night fell. The canyon was draped in deep shadows, and still Pa’alu kept his vigil. He stayed awake the entire night, sometimes singing out loud to keep his mind alert, other times striding around the perimeter of the canyon and stamping his feet on the rough ground until they were bruised and sore. His only companion was the sound of his own voice. Any night creatures that lived in the canyon gave the noisy human a wide, wary berth.

At last, the milky wall on the west side of his prison took on a tinge of pink as the rising sun finally made an appearance. The indigo sky lightened to azure. Still, there was no sign of Vedvedsica.

Near midday, his stomach empty and his patience exhausted, Pa’alu picked up the stone and prepared to leave. A shadow passed over the sun. Strange, since the sky was cloudless. Pa’alu looked up, shading his eyes. The sun’s glare seared his vision, and for several heartbeats he could see nothing. The air grew heavy, dense. It was hard to force it into his lungs. When his eyesight resolved again, he saw the priest standing by the rock, probing the hole with his slender fingers.

“Where is the stone?” asked Vedvedsica. “Give it to me.”

“I have it,” Pa’alu said, his voice sounding oddly distant and flat.

The priest held out his hand. His arm elongated in a weird fashion, extending all the way from where he stood to where Pa’alu was, a good three paces away.

The plainsman recoiled in shock. “The price has gone up,” he said.

Vedvedsica came closer. His outstretched hand remained near Pa’alu and the rest of his body caught up to it. He looked concerned.

“The stone is more powerful than I thought,” the priest said. “It is affecting you. It wants to remain with you, but you must give it to me. Only I can control it. If you keep it, it will control you.”

“I’ll give it to you, but you must do something for me,” stated Pa’alu, anxious now that the elf priest was so near.

“Wasn’t saving your life enough?”

Pa’alu had a strange urge to laugh. He opened his mouth and tiny crystals, like snowflakes, flew out. When they struck the rocky ground, they shattered, and the sound of a hundred tiny chuckles escaped. Shocked, he looked at Vedvedsica. The elf seemed to see nothing amiss. He regarded the plainsman with obvious vexation.

“What does my life matter?” Pa’alu continued warily. No crystals flew out of his mouth this time. “What does anything matter without Karada?”

“The woman? She loves you not.”

The elf’s words were like blows. Pa’alu lifted his chin and said, “No, but with your power you can change that.”

“You would compel her affection?”

“Yes!” The word echoed off the sun-washed canyon walls.

Vedvedsica sighed. “Elves and humans are so alike! While I search for knowledge and wisdom, others crave only petty wealth or love. I spend half my time making love philters for the nobles of Silvanos’s court.” He shook his long, narrow head contemptuously. “What a waste!”

“Will you do it?” Pa’alu said.

The priest stroked his sparse beard. He had hair sprouting between his fingers, and his nails were long and narrow, like a panther’s claws. “It would serve you right if I walked away and let the stone eat your soul, but I need that nugget far too much. Yes, I will cause this barbarian woman to love you.”

Pa’alu felt in his pouch for the stone. He could see it, yet for some reason, he couldn’t grasp it. He plainly saw his fingers pass through the yellow stone as if it were smoke. What strange things were happening!

“Concentrate,” said Vedvedsica sternly. “Use all your senses, not just your eyes!”

Sweat dripped from the plainsman’s nose as he carefully closed his fingers around the phantom nugget. At last, he felt the rough edges of the rock. Sighing deeply, he handed the stone to Vedvedsica.

“There’ll be none of that, now,” the elf said, apparently speaking to the stone. “In you go.” He placed the rock in a small agate box with a sliding lid then tucked the box in his robe.

“How will you do it?” Pa’alu asked. Already his hearing was back to normal, and the distortion in his vision was rapidly clearing.

“Do what? Oh, your true love.” Scorn dripped from his voice. “I don’t have my flasks and alembics, so I can’t brew a philter. I’ll have to give you an amulet. They’re not as precise, but you’ll have to make do.”

From another recess in his robe, the priest took out a handful of small bronze disks. They were blank on both sides, merely smooth metal. He chose one about the size of a daisy blossom and returned the rest to his robe. As Pa’alu looked on, Vedvedsica pressed the disk between the palms of his hands, holding them high over his head. His lips moved in a silent conjuration.

This went on for some time. Pa’alu grew tired and retreated to the shady side of the canyon. He mopped his brow and watched the priest stand in the full glare of the sun with not a bead of sweat on his translucent skin.

The sun was halfway to its western bed when Vedvedsica at last lowered his hands. He stared at Pa’alu, a smile on his thin face. The plainsman got stiffly to his feet and approached. When the elf opened his hands, Pa’alu leaned over to see. The disk was unchanged.

He was about to say something when the elf took out a shard of rosy rock crystal. Vedvedsica placed the shard on top of the disk and stood back. He clapped his hands five times and shouted a single-syllable in Elvish. The crystal shard vanished in a pinpoint flash of light.

Folding his arms, Vedvedsica said, “It’s done.”

Tentatively, Pa’alu picked up the disk. He expected it to be hot or at least warm to the touch. In fact, it was as cold as mountain spring water. It was also no longer blank. The whole surface, front and back, was covered with incredibly fine lines, swirling in an intricate pattern. He rubbed a finger over the images. The metal was smooth, so the lines weren’t engraved on the surface, but neither did they smear under his rubbing.

“Listen well, human,” said the priest. “This amulet works only once. You must touch it to the skin of the one whose love you desire. It must touch yours at the same time. A common method is to place it in your palm when you clasp hands with the object of your affection. Once touched to both persons, the spell discharges and cannot be repeated or repaired. Do you understand?”

“I do. Thank you, great one!”

Vedvedsica smiled unpleasantly. “Passion is easy to compel,” he said. “It may not be so easy to live with.”

But Pa’alu wasn’t listening. Exhaustion and hunger had made him lightheaded. He gripped the amulet tightly and spun around, dancing with joy. At last, at last! he exulted. At last Karada would be his!

A shadow crossed the sun’s face again. When the plainsman looked up, Vedvedsica had vanished.