Idalia excused herself and came outside. It took a few minutes before they could find a place that was reasonably private.
'It's Cormo,' Kellen said before Idalia could say anything. 'I heard him arguing with Haneida. He's saying he won't leave with the last of the other Centaurs when they go. I know Merana's still here, but that's because Master Eliron's going and she's going with him. But Haneida says she won't leave, and Cormo says he won't leave without her.' His brow furrowed with worry; it didn't seem right that Cormo should do all the improving he had only to be punished for trying to keep his word and his pledge!
'I think he's worried about what will happen if he doesn't pay his part of the Price for the Healing you did for him, and that's why he won't leave, so if you could just talk to him…'
Kellen's voice trailed off. Idalia was smiling and shaking her head.
'Brother mine, I love you dearly, but sometimes you can be as sweet and dim as a—as a toffee-covered lantern! I've already spoken to Cormo, days ago—the Gods would never punish someone by forcing them to keep to the terms of a bargain when a situation had changed so drastically. Cormo knows nothing will happen to him if he doesn't stay and pay the price he agreed to—and just between you and me, what he's done for Haneida in the last fortnight has been payment in full! No. The reason he doesn't want to leave her is because he's afraid of what will happen to her when she's left all alone; she still refuses to move down into the village, even though half the houses are standing empty now. He isn't wrong to worry, but she's right, too: she's far too frail to survive the journey into the High Hills with winter coming on.'
That put a different complexion on things, but it didn't make things any better, at least from where Kellen was standing.
And Haneida wasn't the only one… There were so many old folks in the village, too old to move. How would the Militia and the Mages treat them?
For that matter, what would happen to Cormo? 'Oh, Idalia, what are they going to do? What are they all going to do?' Kellen asked helplessly.
'Their best,' Idalia said grimly. 'That's all anyone can do. You, me,
Cormo, Haneida… all any of us can do is our best. Now come. You're the one who told me that a party was the best medicine for future ills. Smile. It's the least we can do for them. And we owe them that.'
BY late afternoon the farewell party had begun in good earnest, when the musicians began tuning up and the much-awaited cold dishes were finally set out on the long tables. The roasted meats would not be ready for several hours yet, but that hardly mattered. The drinking and feasting would go on all night, from what Kellen could tell.
There would be some speeches of Well-wishing, but as Master Badelz had told Kellen when he'd arrived an hour before, it was only a fool who attempted to catch the attention of a hungry crowd. People who had been working or traveling all day were looking forward to food and gossip and lively tunes, not speeches, the Mayor of Merryvale said. A few hours of that, and they'd be ready to listen to the likes of him!
Kellen hadn't seen so many people in one place since he'd left Armethalieh. They filled the entire clearing and spread into the woods beyond—not only humans and the few Centaurs who hadn't yet left, but the Otherfolk that anyone could see: Fauns and brownies, pixies and gnomes. Even those folk invisible to those without a touch of the Sight were here: dryads clustered among the trees, sylphs in the air above them, flower-sprites and forest-fae flitting among the leaves.
Now the musicians, having fortified themselves with a quick visit to the kegs, were tuning up and preparing to play.
One of them was a Centaur, one of the few who had remained. He was the oldest Centaur Kellen had ever seen. His hair and beard and tail were quite white, and his chestnut coat had faded with time to a very pale pink. He moved with the slow certainty of age, and a young blacksmith had to lend his shoulder to help the ancient one gain the musicians' stage, for Centaurs, like the horses they partially resembled, were clumsy around steps of any kind. The crowd watched in hushed expectancy; even Idalia, standing beside Kellen in the crowd, seemed excited.
'Oh, I never thought I'd get to hear Verlin play one last time! You're in for a treat, Kellen,' she said happily.
Once settled on the stage, Verlin carefully removed a carry-bag from his shoulder, and extracted the strangest item Kellen had seen. It must be a musical instrument, but what kind? It had strings, but it was too small to be a lute, and the wrong shape besides. Besides, he had a bow in his other hand, and the only instrument Kellen knew that used a bow was a psaltery.
Then Verlin tucked the flat paddle-shaped not-a-lute beneath his chin and began to play.
A wail of unfamiliar sound assaulted Kellen's ears. He'd never heard anything like it in his life, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to now; the sound made him think of riding Shalkan through the midnight forest during his escape and drinking a pint tankard of mead both at once. It took his breath away and made him want to yell and run in circles—at the same time, if possible. The drum and pipe sharing the stage with Verlin joined in, and so did the spectators, stamping and clapping to the rhythm of the music. Some stepped back to watch, others came forward to dance.
