was covering ground in the bounding deerlike leaps that were the unicorn's fastest gait. The rest of the herd seemed to take inspiration from Shalkan, for in an instant, every single unicorn, from the flame-red stallion to a pair of leggy hornless foals, was bounding along after Shalkan, as smooth and flowing as a flight of birds. In moments the herd had vanished among the trees.
Kellen stared after them, feeling disgruntled. Every time he thought he was about to get an answer, he ended up being sent off down another blind alley, it seemed to him.
'Kellen! Kellen!'
He turned back in the direction he'd come just in time to grab Sandalon out of the air and spin him around as the boy leaped toward him.
'Where did you come from?' Kellen asked, too late to keep himself from asking the question.
But Sandalon didn't seem to notice—or mind. 'I came with the water cart—see? They're coming to Songmairie where the unicorns drink to fill it so they can water the trees and the flowers. I get to help,' the boy finished importantly. 'Everyone gets to help. Lairamo says that if we don't give them drinks, the trees and flowers will wither and die.'
He pointed behind him, and Kellen saw the water cart coming slowly toward them along the stone path. It looked like an enormous wine-vat on wheels, much wider than it was high, drawn by four patient horses, nearly as ordinary as any Kellen might see on the streets of Armethalieh, though beautifully groomed and matched. Walking along with it were six Elves, all carrying buckets. Two walked at the horses' heads, while the others followed behind.
'Then I'll help too,' Kellen said, 'if your friends don't mind.'
'They won't mind,' Sandalon said positively.
And in fact, the Elves seemed to welcome Kellen's help, for filling the water wagon from the spring was backbreaking work, and all had to be done by hand. The drovers backed the wagon into position—it would be much harder to turn and move once the barrel was full—and then unhitched the horses, turning them free to graze while the work was done.
Then all that remained was the simple but far from easy work of dipping each bucket into the spring, carrying it to the cart, lifting it to whoever sat on the edge of the barrel top to pour its contents within (all took turns at that, even Kellen), taking the empty bucket back, and doing it again.
Over and over and over.
Sandalon carried a bucket as well, though his was a much smaller one than the others, suitable for a child's strength. Every once in a while, instead of pouring their water into the barrel, one of the Elves would take a bucketful a little distance from the spring and pour it onto the grass instead of into the vat. Kellen supposed that made sense: the meadow wasn't getting any more water than any other place in Sentarshadeen, and there was no way to water all of it.
As they worked, the Elves talked quietly among themselves. Kellen caught scraps of the conversation: the pulley system that hauled water up the south wall had broken, and it would be several days before it could be fixed. Another spring in the outer forest had gone dry, so water would have to be brought from within Sentarshadeen instead. The forest creatures had suffered badly over the long dry summer, and had been driven to raid the Elves' crops in ever-increasing numbers to feed themselves. This was bad enough, but with winter coming on, the predators were following their food supply closer to Sentarshadeen than ever before. Where mice and rabbits and deer had come, wolves and lynx and bear would follow—perhaps even ice-tiger.
Kellen wondered how much the Elves' problems had been added to by the Scouring Hunt, but he didn't want to say anything before talking to Idalia. Beneath its fine clothes and fancy manners, Sentarshadeen was a city under siege, and everyone shared the same fears.
Everyone in the water party was dressed similarly, in the form-fitting leggings, low boots, and close-cut tunics that Kellen was coming to consider to be Elven working clothes—though there was hardly anything about them, from their color to their exquisite decoration, that was the least workaday—and Kellen had been surprised, on first glance, to find that two of the group were women. Aside from their clothing, it was very difficult for Kellen to tell any of the Elvenkind apart, and impossible to guess their ages, though one of the two women had a sort of aura about her that made Kellen think she must be, well, mature by Elven standards. All the time they were working he kept finding her regarding him critically, as though something about him displeased her.
Sandalon had tired of the labor a while before, though he'd kept at it far longer than Kellen had expected before going off to play near the horses, returning every so often to fill his bucket again. Kellen thought the young Prince must be very lonely; he'd seen no other children at all, let alone any near Sandalon's age.
When the Elves stopped to rest and refresh themselves, Sandalon came eagerly back to Kellen's side—and to Kellen's unease, the woman who'd been watching him ever since she'd arrived took the opportunity to draw near as well. She smiled at Sandalon, but studied Kellen in expressionless silence for a long moment before she spoke to him.
'Those colors do not suit you at all, Kellen Tavadon. Come to my shop, and I will make you more suitable clothing.'
Kellen blinked. He'd been expecting something else—maybe a veiled insult about how a short-lived round-ear
