The Schemes of Dragons

XXV

THE SOUND OF RUSTLING cloth pulled Elenya gently out of slumber. She opened her eyes. A beam of light shone down through a pinhole in the fabric, announcing the presence of full day. Alemar was sitting cross-legged with one of the water bags in his lap. From time to time he would sip.

She raised up on one elbow. The euphoric feeling of the night before had dimmed, but she still felt wonderful-alive, rested, tranquil. She smiled. He nodded calmly.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

"How are you feeling?"

He sipped again, held the water in his mouth, and swallowed. "What's important now is how you feel."

"What about your powers?" she insisted. "Does this mean that they've come back?"

Alemar smiled wistfully, and played with the pattern of the blanket like a boy lost in a dream. His eyelids hung half-closed. "I'm not ready to talk about that just yet. I have some… things to do, things to think about."

After the events of the preceding night, Elenya felt closer to her brother than she would have thought possible. It was a shock to be suddenly outside of him, cut off from his thoughts. She rose into a kneeling position, wearing a small frown.

"I would like you to fetch my wife," Alemar said.

She didn't want to be put off, but she wouldn't argue, not when she was feeling so peaceful. She crawled over to Alemar and kissed his cheek. He hugged her, and his firm fingers pressing into her back told her that she was not being banished-she was still loved. She, who had fretted that he had seen too much in the journey into her past, sighed and held him close.

"I'll join you soon," he whispered.

She nodded, climbed into her clothes, and left the tent.

A breeze stroked her, taking the edge off the hot sunshine. It was a clear, warm day, the perfect complement to her mood. She walked with long, easy strides, and even the sight of the ever-vigilant sentries and the fugitive demeanor of the camp could not bring her down. The rebels greeted her appearance with interest, though they were too polite to intrude.

She found Wynneth helping the camp women to sort chaff from their dwindling supply of grain. "Alemar wants to see you," she said, and chuckled out loud at her sister-in-law's bright smile. Wynneth immediately dropped her task, straightened her hair clip, and hurried toward the far side of the valley.

Elenya turned to one of the other women. "Is that porridge I smell?"

It was, still hot from the midday meal. She took a bowl to a shady spot and began to assuage the fierce hunger left by the healing. Again, the rebel company left her alone, letting her decide when to mingle. She waved at Tregay, Solint, and one or two others, but for the moment enjoyed the solitude.

As she licked the last dollop from her spoon, she noticed that the stranger from the south was putting his mount through a few paces. He was a superior rider. He ran the animal only briefly, just enough to bring a faint glisten of sweat to its deerlike coat; then he made a thorough check of its joints and hooves and wiped it down. The oeikani had clearly done some hard riding. In lesser hands such a trek might have lamed it. She waited until he had tethered the beast to let it graze, then she approached him.

"That's a Zyraii steed," she stated in Surudainese.

He patted the animal's flank and smiled. His face was smooth and open, with glittering, large-pupilled eyes. "Yes. We can speak Zyraii, if it pleases you." His accent was distinct, but he obviously understood the nomad language far better than she knew his tongue. She accepted his offer.

"You've lived among the sons of Cadra," she said.

"For the past three years and more," he replied. "Since shortly after you left."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what else do you know about me?"

"I apologize," he said quickly. "We didn't have the opportunity to be introduced earlier. My name is Dalih. I am from a small oasis near the great city of Surudain. I know you because I have lived among the T'lil and studied swordplay under the opsha."

"Lonal?" she said, her heart quickening to utter the name aloud after such a long time.

"The same. I sought him out because I had heard of his reputation with the blade. To my great joy he decided to tutor me himself. In the past few seasons we have fought side by side in the battles against the Dragon's armies."

"He is well?"

"Yes. He has more lives than a oeikani has fleas. He is an awesome war-leader," Dalih said with undisguised respect. "He is the reason the Dragon has not conquered the Eastern Deserts."

"So I have heard," she said, lost in memories.

"He speaks well of you. He has named a son in your honor. His first wife gave birth a summer past, though the midwives insisted she would never bear another child after the difficulty with the last one."

"I remember," Elenya said. "This is his first son by her, true?"

"His heir. He says that he will teach him the High Speech, so that you may speak it with him should you ever visit the desert."

An image came to Elenya's mind's eye of dunes, eroded buttes, and goatskin tents. "May I live to see that day," she said with emotion. "Tell me, he didn't name his son Elenya, did he?"

Dalih seemed startled. "No. He used Yetem."

"That's wise. Some things do not change."

"No. Nor should they."

Elenya smiled at Dalih's seriousness. "How is it that you came to be here?"

"Your brother's former teacher, the Hab-no-ken Gast, came to the T'lil camp more than fifty days ago. He requested a warrior to carry the message you saw. Lonal chose me."

"Why? You seem as if you were valuable to him."

"He wanted someone he could depend on to reach this destination."

"How did you get to Cilendrodel?"

"I followed the Ahloorm to its source and over the mountains north of Zyraii. Gloroc's men control that land, but it is sparsely inhabited. There are still smugglers who cross the strait, knowing that the Dragon's attention is directed toward the southwest. I hired one to bring me over."

Though his summary was perfunctory, Elenya had the impression the mission had not been so simple an accomplishment. "You did well," she said. "You should be proud."

He inclined his head. "I had my own reason for coming."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Lonal thought I would benefit from it."

"How so?"

"He told me that he had taught me as much as I could learn from him. It was time to send me to someone who could teach me more. He said you were the only person he knew who could do that. I hope that you will accept me."

Elenya's evaluation of Dalih, which had already been high, moved up another notch. "How well did you do in your matches with Lonal?"

"In the past few months, I have beaten him as many as two times out of five."

Elenya watched carefully, but saw no sign of guile or boastfulness. Two out of five. No one had ever beaten Lonal that often. "Suppose I agree to teach you, does that mean you would not go back to the Eastern Deserts?"

"I will stay as long as necessary," he said firmly. "This is a strange land-more trees than I knew could grow on one world-but I will adjust. My sword is my life."

She tapped her toe into the dirt, testing the spring of her feet. The porridge lay lightly in her stomach, just enough there to give her energy without weighing her down. Her body was ready for some vigorous exercise.

"Well," she said. "First things first. Let's see how good you are."

The entire rebel camp turned out for the match, with the exception of Alemar, Wynneth, and the individuals on sentry duty. Elenya enlisted Tregay as judge. They had no practice blades, so they improvised. Both players tied a thin sack of corn around their midsections, outside of light mail shirts. The match would not be the best test of skill, since it was one thing to defend a small area from attack, and quite another to protect the entire body, but it would give Elenya an approximation of Dalih's ability. To make it more realistic, they agreed to allow pinking on the forearms, though such strikes would earn no points. She left off her gauntlet; defeating him while wearing it would prove nothing. They would spar until five total points had been scored.

They faced one another. Tregay gave the signal. Elenya plunged forward, thrusting, and sneaked the tip of her blade into the burlap just before Dalih could twist away.

"First point, Elenya," Tregay announced.

Dalih blinked. She nearly always used the tactic with an opponent who had never seen her fence before. Her lightness, speed, and the committedness of the movement nearly always caught them by surprise. It had failed only with Troy and Lonal.

Dalih bowed, and they assumed their starting positions. Elenya readied herself to repeat the maneuver, though she knew a masterful player would not give her a second chance.

Dalih did not. He changed his stance immediately, eliminating the opening, and danced in with a series of short jabs designed to draw her counter. She did not take the bait. Instead she backed away, leading him into a trap of her own. He abandoned his drive, and they stared at each other from a distance.

He had tried an attack known to Elenya as the Northern Opening. She doubted Dalih had studied classical fencing, but he had the moves. He used them naturally, instinctively, not as would a man who had been taught them by rote.

She tested him with the Southern Feint. He was not fooled, as the technique was intended to create an opening to the lower gut, which was off-limits in this contest. His counterthrust made her scamper backwards.

While she pondered what to try next, he charged. She side-stepped, leaned in, and scored. Damn, he'd been fast. Almost too fast. They backed away.

"Second point, Dalih," Tregay said, a hint of surprise in his tone.

Elenya hesitated, then looked down. A kernel of corn was jutting through a tiny rent in her sack.

He had been too fast. Her counter had come too late. He had used the same strategy that had given her the first point. Perhaps the lack of her gauntlet had caused her to misjudge, but she thought not. Dalih was simply quicker than she had given him credit for.

She acknowledged him with a nod. It would be interesting to see what happened now that they each had a measure of the other's speed.

Their next exchange was furious. They travelled all across the sward, forcing observers to back-pedal out of the way. They clashed until sweat broke out on their brows and they began to draw deep breaths. In a sport where points are typically determined with a single exchange, they continued a long time indeed. Part of it was the small target area, but mostly, Elenya knew, it was that they were closely matched.

Finally she pinked him near an elbow. Though he covered himself and prevented a follow-through, her success seemed to break his concentration. During her next charge she scored.

They rested for a few moments, while one of the camp women tied a strip of cloth around Dalih's cut.

The fourth round began as intensely as the third, but Elenya sensed a subtle difference. Dalih was pushing harder than before, and not being as careful. She stayed on the defensive, pacing herself, letting him tire.

He began to pant. His drives, though they made her retreat, did not score, though once Tregay stopped the round in order to see if there was a second hole in Elenya's sack. A crease appeared in the Surudainese's forehead.

Finally he slowed his pace, to gather his stamina. She chose that moment to press, and narrowly managed to score. Dalih stared down at the burlap as if he could not believe the new slice existed. His lips drew into a thin line as he bowed to Elenya.

The sight of his frustration nearly made Elenya smile. She had nurtured that reaction, in order to take advantage of the effect. She caught herself. She was doing as she had done in every match for the past ten years-making sure she won.

But that was not the point of this contest. How well did she know Dalih? What sort of good could come from humiliating him? As Tregay gave the word to begin the fifth and final round, she decided to change tactics.

Dalih came in aggressively, but cautiously, intent on avoiding his earlier mistake. He was a quick learner, she noted, able more than ever to evaluate him since she was no longer as intent on her own performance. Her concern over his feeling humiliated had been unfounded. They engaged five times to stalemate. Both came close.

The next time she pressed, Elenya deliberately left a small, momentary opening.

Dalih took it so fast that she could not have countered even if she had tried. His sword punctured the exact center of the sack, deep, almost to her mail shirt. Her eyes went wide.

"Point five, Dalih," Tregay said instantly, excited by the clarity of the technique.

The contestants sheathed their blades and reached out to clasp hands.

"Excellent swordplay," Elenya said.

"The last round was a little easier than the others," Dalih said meaningfully, though he did not seem displeased.

"To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure you would see that opening, much less take advantage of it. Lonal taught you well."

"You will accept me as a student, then?" he asked humbly.

"If you will accept me as a teacher."

"I would be honored."

She untied the burlap sack and dropped it on the sod. The audience waited with interested gazes, reminding her that she and Dalih had been speaking in a language that none of them could understand. She placed a hand on the southerner's shoulder and said, "Dalih is going to stay in Cilendrodel, and be a member of our company."

They cheered. She introduced the rebels to Dalih one by one. He, of course, had no words with which to respond to his welcome, but he rose to the occasion with a warm smile and a firm grip on the hands that were offered to him.

Elenya guessed he was perhaps twenty-more than five years her junior. Still coming into the prime of his physical abilities, while she was perched at the pinnacle. As good as he was now, he would get stronger and faster. She might not. Greater experience and a keen sense of strategy might keep her on top for many years, but sooner or later, the student might surpass the teacher.

The thought, much to her satisfaction, did not alarm her. In fact, it was like a saddle being lifted off her back. She was drawn back into the warm, soothing frame of mind she had felt at dawn, just after the healing. What better way to step down, than to shape one's own successor? She finally understood some of Troy's motives, saw why he had used her stubbornness and anger to make her a better fencer. Fortunately, Dalih, with his quiet confidence and genuine modesty, seemed the type who wouldn't need to be tricked into excellence.

The final person in the line to be introduced proved to be Wynneth. Elenya was startled. Her sister-in-law smiled and tilted her head toward a nearby tree. Alemar was leaning against the trunk.

"He's ready to see you now," Wynneth said. Elenya could not help but notice the satisfied glow on her face.

The princess excused herself, letting Dalih get to know his new friends as best as he could manage. Even before she stepped into the shade, she knew that Alemar had seen the end of the match.

"You walk with a lighter step, sister," he bespoke, grinning.

"I have you to thank."

"Thank Gast. Tell me, does this mean you will let me win if we spar?"

"If it will help your technique. But you don't practice much these days."

"I will now."

Her shock threw her back into mindspeech. "What? Why?"

"It has to do with my power," he replied calmly. "It was never gone, though it was temporarily drained healing the wounds Enns gave you. It's as Gast once told me-I have more of it than any man since Umar, the legendary Zyraii healer. It's long since been reaccumulated, but now it's blocked, except for certain specific channels such as the one I used with you yesterday. You could say that I am hoarding it."

"I don't understand. Why didn't you know?"

"I could ask why you didn't know the things you learned about yourself yesterday. I am not consciously blocking it. It is being held back by an inner reflex, something I suppose must be called self-preservation. That reservoir of energy can be used for other purposes. My inner guide knows that, and it is forcing me to save it. It knows I may need it."

Suddenly Elenya understood. "For the fight against Gloroc."

"Yes. Until that is resolved, I will not be able to heal others, except in mundane ways. Gast was right. No amount of Retreat would have restored me, because the fundamental conflict would have still been there. I will get my power back when the threat of the Dragon no longer hangs over me and my family."

She pinched a bit of bark off the tree. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you."

He shrugged. "It's not so bad. I'm disappointed, yes, but now, for the first time in many months, or maybe years, I have no doubt of which direction my life will go. I was wrong to have taken us all into hiding for so many weeks. We need to consolidate our gains before the Dragon sends serious reinforcements. As soon as I meet our new ally, I'll give the order to break camp. We're heading south."

The announcement was met with grateful sighs, animated murmurs, and the particular glint in the eyes of warriors who have been held in check for too long. That night they held a celebration-a carefully inconspicuous one-and at sunrise the next morning every man and woman stood ready to ride and march.

They hugged a small tributary of the Thank River, using its trees, thick stands of marsh grass, and brambles as cover. As twilight neared, with a pair of moons promising a bright night, they reached the edge of the great forest. They had not gone far when they heard a subtle, pleasant song. It seemed to glance off every leaf.

The column halted. "Do you recognize it?" Alemar asked Elenya.

"The rythni canticle of well-being."

Alemar nodded, a small tear hovering at the tip of an eyelash. "Wait here," he told the company. He rode just out of speaking range.

Hiephora stood on a limb at his eye-level. When he drew near she stopped singing, but other, unseen voices carried on, spreading tidings of welcome through the foliage.

"Greetings, Prince Alemar," the queen said.

"Well met, Your Highness," he murmured. "I am very glad to find you here."

"And how could I stay away? You have the aura of a man who believes in himself." She laughed merrily. "I brought someone to see you."

"Who?"

Another rythni crawled out from behind a leaf. It was Cyfee.

"Greetings, my lord."

Alemar stroked the young rythni's body. She was real.

"It is truly me," she said cheerfully, and spun a slow pirouette. Her flesh was white and vibrant. The only trace of damage was where her wings had been anchored, where there were two long scars. "My queen returned in time to save the four of us who were injured."

"My prophecy was true after all," Hiephora stated. "Not a single rythni was lost in the battle."

"But your wings," Alemar said solemnly, leaning over Cyfee. "They won't grow back, will they?"

"No, they won't," Cyfee replied. "But that is not so great a thing compared to my life and health. Our menfolk have no wings. I had none when I was a child, and I would have lost them when my childbearing years were over. It is not so bad. Now I look old and wise a millennium early."

"Alas that she could not be wise as quickly," Hiephora added impishly.

Alemar chuckled.

"We came to warn you," Cyfee said, turning serious. "Omril's troops are only three leagues to the west. He has lost your physical trail, but he seems able to track you without it, given time."

Alemar made a sour face. "It's the gauntlets. It's hard to dampen their energies, and the wizard knows their pattern. We'll ride east, then, and camp only briefly tonight."

"That is best, my prince."

"And will you watch over us?" he asked.

"Yes. Sleep safely and well."

The rebels slept in a thicket without benefit of a campfire, their bedrolls scattered over a wide area where they could not easily be surrounded, sheltered by loosely hung tarps and shawls that could be taken down and packed within moments, should the alarm be sounded. Four of the company hid within the brush, keeping sentry duty. And, of course, from their vantage points on limbs or in their cleverly constructed bowers, the rythni held vigil.

The moons' light filtered only weakly through the canopy of leaves, leaving deep shadows, turning the clumps of trunk fungus into ghost-white specters. Crickets and nocturnal rodents made their discordant music. A male rythni, dozing in the grass near the camp, awoke suddenly, feeling a vibration in the ground on which he lay, as from the tread of a man or large animal. But he could see nothing on the path, nor did he hear any suspicious sounds. He closed his eyes and nodded off.

Had he been lying three paces to one side, he might have seen a bootprint form in the soft forest loam, then another and another, leading into the rebel camp. Perhaps he would have noticed a fern bend out of the way or a strand of spider web snap. But he still would not have seen the owner of the boots, nor heard any sound as twigs broke under foot.

The intruder stopped near one of the sentries, who glanced up at a moonbeam, oblivious to the surveillance. The stalker continued into the center of the area, weaving through unsuspecting sleepers. He did not harm them, because even if they died silently, their auras would change and the rythni would be disturbed.

Slowly but with few detours, the bootprints created a path to the fallen broadleaf tree where the twins had fashioned their shelters. The stalker approached Elenya first, but as he did, the amulet on her throat gave off a bright green flicker. She stirred. The intruder backed away, so quickly that for the first time, his tread was audible.

The flicker was not repeated. None of the sentries or rythni seemed to have noticed it. The stalker stood still for many moments, then inched toward the den where Alemar and Wynneth huddled.

On the prince's throat, another amulet glowed in warning. This time the trespasser backed up immediately, cancelling the effect before anyone had a reasonable chance to see it. Alemar slept on.

The intruder stayed where he was for a long time, all the way through the changing of the guard. The last watch of the night began. A daylark roused briefly and serenaded the grove.

Finally Wynneth opened her eyes, crossed and recrossed her legs, and sat up, grumbling softly about the curses of pregnancy. She crawled out of the shelter without waking her husband, and found a convenient spot several paces down the length of the fallen tree, where she raised her skirt and, using a spur of the trunk to brace her awkward body, relieved herself.

She emitted a small sigh of refreshment, stood, and took one step toward her bedroll. Abruptly her eyes glazed, and she slumped. Something caught her under the arms, and then she vanished.

A few moments later one of the guards, who had noticed her rise, turned and, finding her gone, assumed she had already crawled back into the shelter. The rythni, who had glanced away to give her privacy, whispered among themselves, but seeing no sign of violence, reached the same conclusion. However, more than one increased the vigilance with which they watched the area around the fallen log.

Meanwhile, the bootprints, concealed by the dimness of the night, formed one by one along the trail where they had first appeared, except that now they pointed the other direction and sank deeper into the soil. They continued out of the camp, beyond the many watchful eyes. A hundred paces from the perimeter, the sound of strained breathing and the scuffing of soled feet arrived out of nowhere, frightening the shrews in the underbrush and launching an owl into sudden flight. A pair of rythni scouts heard, and worked their way through the plant life toward the source, but, finding nothing there, were mystified.

Crossing a small creek, the stalker and his prize came upon a sturdy battle oeikani well-concealed within a thicket. The beast, with the aplomb of a fine breed meticulously trained, was unperturbed at the sudden appearance of its master beside it, remaining just as silent as it had been all night.

Omril groaned and lowered Wynneth to the ground. He straightened up, grimaced, and rubbed his back. He swayed, as if fighting off an attack of dizziness, and held onto the saddle while he regained his breath. As soon as he had, he gathered his strength one more time, picked up his prisoner, and draped her over the oeikani's withers. He climbed up behind her, settled her into a position from which she would not fall, and rode off toward the west.