“Of course he has,” Merisashendiel said firmly. “Nobody tells us anything here.” She dragged over a low stool for Kellen to sit on, and the other children all picked up cushions and arranged them so that they were all sitting in a circle at Kellen’s feet. They all regarded him expectantly.
For a moment he had no idea what to say, but then all the teaching stories he had heard so many times at the House of Sword and Shield came back to him.
“I will begin by describing dragons and their natures,” he said, feeling for one odd moment as if he were back at the Mage College of Armethalieh—as a teacher this time, instead of as a student. “And then I will tell you how I met Ancaladar.”
He spent most of the afternoon telling the children tales, letting them guide him in what they wanted to hear. He was surprised to find that what they wanted to hear about most was the story of their rescue—who had come for them, and how they had been tracked, who had actually found them, and what it had been like down in the caverns. Since the Healer in the room did nothing to interfere, though Kellen watched her closely, he answered all their questions as well as he could—though always keeping in mind the ages of his audience.
“But the evil creatures are far away, and can never find this place,” Tredianala said.
“No,” Kellen said firmly. “And soon you are going to the fortress—in a safe way, a way that nothing bad can possibly happen to you.” He had no doubt of Jermayan’s ability to eventually persuade Ancaladar to carry the children to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns—if “stubborn as an Elf” wasn’t a proverb, it ought to be.
“But not by caravan,” Merisashendiel said. She looked up at him with pleading in her gaze, and a hint of a shiver.
“How you will go,” Kellen said firmly, “is a surprise—and a nice one, so I’m not going to spoil it.”
Eventually Vestakia came in, announcing it was time for the children to take their medicine and their naps. Kellen, feeling quite as tired as if he’d spent the last several hours in practice bouts at the House of Sword and Shield, got to his feet and headed for the front door.
The aged Elven Healer followed him out.
“That was well done of you, Knight-Mage,” she said simply.
“Huh? Me?” Kellen said, surprised, turning to look at her.
She smiled faintly.
“There is nothing children fear so much as the unknown. But now there is no longer anything mysterious to them about their ordeal. Now all their terrors can become nothing more than a strange adventure—a frightening one, perhaps, but the fear will fade with time. Fare you well, Kellen Knight-Mage.”
“Um… thanks.”
He’d helped.
It felt very odd. Almost as if he’d done a healing, but… not quite. He’d gone through so much of his life trying not to be noticed—and trying not to notice everything around him. Finding the three Books had forced him to change. It had hurt at first. It had driven him out of the City. But here, it didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it felt good.
—«♦»—
“IT would make things so much easier,” Jermayan said, reasonably. Reason, however, did not seem to make as much impression on a dragon as he might have hoped.
“I am not a horse.”
The land beyond the House of Sword and Shield was a series of pocket canyons, similar to those that made up the city of Sentarshadeen itself, though these had been allowed to remain in their natural state. The horses had adjusted to the intruder in their pasturage easily enough. Ancaladar had agreed not to bother them—his tastes, he assured Jermayan, ran to fat cattle and tasty sheep; even pigs and goats in sufficient quantity. Fortunately, Jermayan was wealthy enough to provide for Ancaladar’s needs—though the dragon did not
Ancaladar had found a canyon that suited him—a relatively small one— and—with Jermayan’s help—roofed it over, using those trees from the forest that had not survived the Great Drought. It was a crude shelter, but effective, and the dragon said it was comfortable enough. Come spring—assuming the time and labor were available—a more permanent and pleasing roof could be added to the canyon, and perhaps even a doorway of sorts constructed.
“A new caravan would take a sennight—perhaps two, in this weather—to reach the Fortress of the Crowned Horns. It would be vulnerable to another attack. Idalia is still recovering from her injuries, and tracking the creatures last time took a great toll on Vestakia. She is still not fully recovered. And each time she ventures forth
