Dave Smeds: The Schemes of Dragons

He glanced to the side. Elenya was ducking the third rider. The man sliced viciously, contemptuous of her thin blade. The cut would have killed a slower opponent, but it missed her entirely, and Alemar saw the glint of metal from her return blow. The rider continued on for several paces, and abruptly fell from the oeikani. A dark stain spread across his midsection. He didn't move again.

The first rider, having circled, plunged toward Alemar in a slightly less headlong fashion. He pulled up, parried Alemar's thrust, and harassed him from his superior position. As Elenya turned toward them, the rider pressed, hoping for a quick victory. Alemar avoided the oeikani's hooves, slipped his dagger out of his belt with his left hand, and flung it. The rider blocked the dagger with a small shield bound to his empty hand, but wasn't fast enough to catch the thrust that followed. He fell from his mount, partially disembowelled.

The moaning of the man with the broken arm turned their attention toward the east. There, twenty riders waited at a standstill only fifty paces away, where moments before there had been none. Their robes and the markings on their oeikani were the same as the three attackers. As a group, they raised their scimitars and lifted reins to whip their animals forward. One man in the center held back.

"Na tet," he shouted. Abruptly, the other men lowered their weapons. He gave a few more terse commands, and the group rode quickly forward to surround the twins.

When the circle was complete, its center well within range of the throwing daggers that all the warriors bore, the leader spoke again. "Ai natt dor kem?"

"We use the High Speech," Alemar answered.

The man regarded them. He was taller than most of the group, a bronzed, handsome forehead showing above the veil. He bore himself like a man accustomed to authority.

"The tongue of the Calinin is seldom spoken here," he said. His inflection was wrong, but his construction was excellent. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"I am Tebec."

"And your brother?"

Before Elenya could answer, Alemar said, "He is Yetem. We come from Cilendrodel on our father's business."

"You have come a long way." The leader pointed to the water hole. "Here, among Zyraii lands, the penalty for stealing water is death."

"We are not dead."

To Alemar's surprise, the leader smiled, the expression visible in the creases around his eyes. "That is true. And you say you came from the west?"

"Yes."

"God has indeed been merciful to bring you through the eret-Zyraii." He waved at the wasteland. "Even we do not go there."

The last two days had not seemed merciful to Alemar.

"Foreigners are rare in the steppes. Where are you bound?"

"Setan."

An animated murmur spread immediately through the riders. The leader laughed momentarily without amusement. "You and every bastard child of ten nations. At least you're honest about it."

Alemar hesitated.

The leader said, "I am Lonal, and these are my brothers. We are of the T'lil tribe. You have taken our water without permission." He toyed with his knife hilt, but his expression seemed to soften, the aggressiveness replaced by curiosity. "Nevertheless, I offer you an alternative to death."

He gestured toward the dead and wounded. "I have never seen anyone deal with mounted attackers quite so efficiently."

Alemar inclined his head at the compliment, for he could see that this was the appropriate response. Lonal did not seem overtly angry that his men had suffered. He pointed to the two riderless oeikani that had been rounded up during the conversation. The man from whom Alemar had stolen the scimitar was being shoved onto his saddle, arm tucked in front of him. "The laws of the So-de'es allow me to use my discretion in certain cases. You have taken our water,"-he shrugged-"but the rains have been good this year. The T'lil need all our fighting men, and you have deprived us. If you will take their places, and become our brothers, holy law may yet be observed, without requiring your deaths."

Alemar searched the leader's face three times over, wishing the veil didn't hide half of it. He had already begun to detach himself, preparing to die, and it was difficult to shake the mood. He hadn't expected this. There were hidden motives at work, but if it were a trap, Alemar couldn't fathom it-their lives were already in the hands of the desert men.

"How many of them understand the High Speech?" Alemar asked of Lonal's companions. "Do they know what you propose?"

"I am Lonal," the leader said simply. "They will do as I say."

"What of Setan?"

Lonal scowled. "Does greed dull your wits? You were rational enough to wear Zyraii robes as you tried to pass our borders." He fingered his own garment. "Foreigners are not allowed in Setan."

"It's not treasure we're after."

"Now you mock me. Are you going to accept my offer or not? The sun climbs…" Already since the fight, the temperature had increased.

Abruptly Elenya slipped her rapier into its scabbard and climbed into the saddle of one of the oeikani. Alemar paused a moment longer. He was not angry at her impulsiveness; it merely meant that she had already thought of what he was just realizing-in their circumstances, they shouldn't question luck.

Lonal traded words with his companions after Alemar had mounted. Two of them asked short questions, which the leader answered even more briefly. He told the twins, "Forget whatever life you had in the world that is outside Zyraii. This land will never let you live unless you are committed to it, and to its people. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you profit." It was hard to tell if this were advice, or a command. He ordered them to the middle of a double column, and the group set out.

As soon as they were away, carrion birds began circling the bodies of the two dead men. Alemar looked back at one point. Lonal noticed the hesitation.

"Those who die in battle need no ceremony," he said. "God will care for them."

THE FOREST OF CILENDRODEL stretched entirely across the northern edge of the Dragon Sea. The village of Eruth hid within the silent giants that made up the wood, buildings interspersed between the boles of the largest trees, the underbrush and smaller trunks removed to make way for the community. Even then the forest attempted to reclaim its own; many of the house yards were swamped in berry bushes and decorated with vines that sometimes concealed all but the windows and doors. The late hour had doused the lights of most of the houses, but lantern glow paraded out of the larger of the town's two taverns, full of belly laughs and the scent of rich woodland ale.

The main room contained heavy beams of wood set high and many rough-hewn tables and chairs. Approximately half were occupied by villagers wearing brightly colored clothing made of the durable quarn silk for which this part of Cilendrodel was famous. They took little notice of Keron as he entered, dressed as he was in an identical manner. Eruth was on the trade road and accustomed to newcomers. He strode to the bar, and the barkeeper recognized him.

"Hello, Ampet," Keron said.

If the man was surprised, he hid it. He gestured toward a door just to the side of the bar. "Wait in there. Have you eaten?"

"Not recently."

"I'll see that something is sent in. He'll be with you when we close-it shouldn't be very long."

Keron did as he was told. The room behind the bar was small, containing a table, four chairs, and a narrow bed. A rear door led to the compost pile, outhouse, and forest. A stairway from the inn on the second story ended just to the left. Even next to the building, the overhead foliage was thick, and stole the starlight.

Keron stood in the rear portal and whistled-a single, quick note. Soon the same note, sounded twice, came from somewhere in the nearby underbrush. Satisfied, Keron reentered and secured the door with a heavy bar.