inhabitants of the Golden City, though they did all seem to be enjoying themselves. He felt something that wasn’t exactly homesickness—as this was entirely outside his experience—but he still felt as if he’d lost something that he didn’t have any words for and was only now discovering it. The sensation frightened him.
But the food was hot and plentiful, and Grander kept encouraging him to eat more, and for the first time since that dreadful night in the cellar when the Stone Golems had come for him and his friends, Cilarnen discovered that he actually had an appetite.
After what Sarlin had said back in the room, he’d expected to be interrogated about the City and its plans, but to his relief, nobody asked him anything. And tomorrow he and Hyandur would be gone from this disturbing place.
After the meal was eaten, Hyandur suggested he go off to bed, and Cilarnen was glad enough to get away from the Centaurs to accept the Elf’s suggestion readily, even though it still bothered him when the Elf gave him orders. When he returned to the room, he found that the bath-things had been cleared away, and two large piles of furs and blankets had been carefully laid out on the floor. Not proper beds, but after having slept for so long on the frozen ground, a soft pallet out of the wind and the snow seemed like paradise. Cilarnen chose the one nearest the window, rolled himself up in a couple of blankets, and was instantly asleep.
He awoke to the sunlight streaming through the slats of the shuttered windows and sat up groggily. He looked around, expecting to find Hyandur still asleep on the other furs.
But Hyandur was gone—as were his packs and everything he had brought with him.
Cilarnen’s own City clothes were there—clean and neatly folded. He dressed quickly and ran from the room.
The first person he encountered was Sarlin. She was working on a piece of embroidery at a large standing frame.
“Good morrow, Cilarnen,” she greeted him cheerfully, just as if nothing were wrong.
“I— He— The Elf— Hyandur— Where is he?” Cilarnen gasped out.
Sarlin looked faintly puzzled. “Why, he left at first light. Grander urged him to stay, of course, but he said he had news to carry that would not wait.” She regarded him for a moment. “Surely you did not expect to go with him?”
Cilarnen stared at her in shock, realizing that, somewhere deep inside, he’d expected exactly that. “He left me here,” he said flatly.
“Well, you couldn’t expect him to take you into the Elven Lands, now, could you?” Sarlin said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “But he made sure that you would have a place in Grander’s house. He says you are good with horses. You can work in the stables. He said you won’t know much, but don’t worry, we can teach you. Come spring, you can help with the plowing—and at Spring Fair, if you want to go to another village, why, no one will stop you. What could be fairer? Marlen is even making you a chair. Hyandur said you like chairs.” She smiled encouragingly.
Cilarnen took a deep breath as his world crumbled around him once more.
But he was a Volpiril. Even here, even now. His father had taught him that it was important not to make enemies without cause, and to be courteous to one’s inferiors, because they could not help being inferior.
Of course, Lord Volpiril had not meant those teachings to apply to Lesser Races. But Sarlin could not help being a Centaur.
“Thank you,” he said, though those were the hardest words he’d ever had to say. His headache was back full force, making it hard to see. He rubbed at his eyes, wishing everything weren’t so bright.
“Come into the kitchen. I’ll get you a bowl of porridge—I’m sure there’s some left over from breakfast. Then I’ll take you to the Healer—Hyandur said we should do that, too. Then you can go to the stables, and Marlen can get you started on your work.”
Cilarnen nodded, barely hearing her words. It hardly mattered what these creatures did to him.
Hyandur had left him here alone. And now he truly knew what that word meant.
—«♦»—
AS far as Vestakia could sense, they were no longer even being followed, and that made no sense to Kellen. Why would Shadow Mountain go to so much trouble to kidnap Sandalon and the other children, and then not even try to recapture them? It made no sense at all—and that made Kellen feel as if he was missing something important.
The storm blew over after a day or two, and the weather cleared again, and after that, everyone could see Ancaladar flying overhead.
