Elvenblood

'Shana!' The shout from the doorway echoed across the entire room. The shouter followed, scrambling in the door and across the stone floor of the Great Hall, all out of breath. 'Shana!' the little human boy gasped again, forcing his words around his panting. 'Shana, Denelor and the big dragon want you! Down by the river! There's a stranger!'

At first she didn't quite understand what he meant. Then—

There's a stranger? Here? Oh no—

Here, in the wilderness, where there should be no one but the wizards and the few humans that had fled with them? Who was it? And more important—haw had he found them!

:Kalamadea!: she called to Father Dragon with her mind. :Is there danger? Should I bring weapons?:

:No danger yet, I do not believe,: he replied the same way. :But I want you to see him and speak with him. You have more experience than Denelor or me with full humans.:

A full human? But how had he gotten here? Was he an escaped slave? Before the others could react, she had vaulted to her feet and was running out the door.

The Great Hall was the very first real 'room' in the Citadel; from there, a long and winding trail led up to the surface, leading through caverns that had been left, more or less, in their natural state. The only concessions to habitation at this end of the Citadel were the mage-lights at intervals, and the smoothing of the path. This place was like the limestone and alabaster caves that she had lived in with her foster mother and the rest of the dragons; there were hundreds of fascinating formations she had promised herself that she would examine properly one day. But not while she had so much work to do.

Not while there were strangers showing up out of nowhere!

She burst out into the pool of sunlight directly in front of the cave mouth, and flung herself down the path that led to the river, a path they had cut carefully so that it was screened and protected by the trees and bushes— hoping to avoid detection from the air. Unfortunately, this plan made it impossible for her to see Denelor and the others down at the riverside.

I wish I knew what to expect. I wish I knew how he got so close to us without any of us seeing him. I wish—No point in wishing. Just get down there, now! She pounded down the path at her fastest run, feet thudding into the dirt, breath coming hard even though she was running downhill.

When she made the last turn the river came into view, a patch of brilliant sunlight reflecting off the water, at the end of a tunnel of trees. There were several figures down there, dark against the bright light—and something, low and long and dark, in the water itself, or at the very edge of it.

As she ran closer, the shape resolved itself into a hollow object, pointed at each end, with a place to sit. She had never seen a canoe herself, but she did recognize what it was from descriptions in some of the old chronicles.

A boat? But of course—we weren't looking for anyone on the river! She could have flogged herself in vexation for not taking the precaution of putting at least one sentry above the river. Too late now.

There were only three people standing beside the canoe, which had been tied to a stake driven into the riverbank. Denelor, Kalamadea in his wizard-form, and the stranger. They were all obviously waiting for her, and neither Denelor nor Kalamadea looked at all tense—

As she took in that, she slowed to a walk, so that she would not be completely out of breath when she reached them, and so that she could get a good look at the stranger before she had to speak to him.

She got her first surprise when she realized that although he was fully human, his neck bore no slave-collar and no signs he had ever worn one. For the rest, he looked like a field hand or a caravan trader; his eyes were an ordinary enough brown, his hair black, and his hair had been pulled back into a tight braid, to show mat his ears were not in the least pointed. He was moderately tall, very wiry and muscular, dressed in a rather tattered linen tunic and trews of cloth so old and faded, it wasn't possible to tell what the original color had been. He had a bow slung across his back, a long knife in a leather sheath at his rope-belt, and what appeared to be clumsy boots made of rawhide on his feet. He hadn't shaved in several days, but despite his scruffy appearance, her first impression was that he was not dangerous.

At least, not at the moment. But what was his purpose here? Could he be a spy?

'Ah, Shana—' Denelor said genially, waving at her to come closer, and then turned back to the stranger. 'Collen, this is Lashana.'

The stranger nodded, his eyes narrowing. 'Not much t'look at, ye be,' he said to her in the elven tongue, strongly accented. 'Wouldn' hev figgered little bit lak ye woulda caused s'much trouble. Bin a mort uv tales abaht ye, though.'

'I take it you've heard about me, then,' she replied dryly, concealing her agitation from him. She still had no idea what he was doing on the river—or who, if anyone, he served.

He nodded, and his thin lips curved in a reluctant smile. 'Hardly thought, when I seen smoke on th' ridge, I'd be passin' greetin's wit' sech troublesome an' savage rebels, lak.'

'Collen is a scout for a trading party, Shana,' Denelor said easily, and her eyebrows rose with alarm as she stepped back an involuntary pace. 'Oh, not a bondling party,' the wizard amended hastily, as Collen's grin turned into a chuckle. 'Can't you see? He's got no collar, no elf-stones about him.'

Shana flushed with chagrin. As she had seen for herself, the neck of the man's tunic was open to his breastbone, and he wore absolutely nothing else that could have served in place of the collar that could have bound him to an elven overlord. His belt was rope, the sheath of his knife was leather, the knife itself had a plain, wrapped handle with none of the dangerous spellcarrying beryls set into it. And in any case, if he'd been a bondling, she, Denelor, or Kalamadea would surely have sensed the blankness that meant there was a spell on him that blocked all the purely human powers of magic. They all knew the 'shape' of that particular blankness.

'Oh, aye,' Collen said agreeably. 'No collars, no leashes. We be jest as dangerous a lot of savages as ye, I 'spect, an' the cat-eyes knew we was here.'

Her eyes widened. This was the one thing she simply had not expected. 'You mean—you're wild?' she exclaimed, her voice shadowed with disbelief. Oh, she'd heard that so-called 'wild' humans existed, but after tasting the efficiency and ruthlessness of elven rule for herself, she hadn't believed they were capable of anything more than scrabbling out a bare and brutish existence. And that was only allowed so that the elven lords would have something to hunt, now and again, that ran on two legs rather than four.

Then again, she chided herself, as Collen's grin widened at her reaction, the wizards existed for hundreds of years without the elves knowing. There are wild humans beyond their lands; we already knew that. Why not wild human traders to serve them?

'Oh, aye,' Collen repeated. 'It's none so bad a life, lak. Call oursel's outlaws, though. Has a better soun' t' it.' He shrugged. 'Some on' us be 'scaped, some born free, lak. Got no land, no set home, an' we rigger we hev' t' move about a bit, but got no overlor' neither.'

'Collen would like to talk trade with us. I think we should invite these people to come talk to us, Shana,' Kalamadea said gently, breaking into her daze. 'I think we might have something we can offer each other.'

:And since he already knows we're here, there's no point in trying to hide the Citadel,: the dragon added, deep inside her mind. :The more we show them, the more impressed they are likely to be, and the less likely to betray us.:

'Ah, of course, Kalamadea,' she said, to both statements. 'How far away are the rest of you?'

'Not far. Be here 'fore sundown, lak,' he replied with a nod. 'Lemme put out flag, they'll pull in here.'

Without waiting for their consent, he pulled a faded red rag out of the canoe and tied it to a branch where it would be seen by anyone passing on the river itself. 'There she be,' he said with satisfaction. 'Now—we jes' wait, lak.'

She itched to touch his thoughts, to see for herself if he was telling the truth. Did she dare? If she did, would he know, and how would he take it?

'Fine,' Denelor said, easily. 'I'll just go up and tell the others to fix a meal for our new—allies?' He raised an eyebrow on the last word.

Collen shrugged. 'Canna speak fer the lot,' he replied laconically. 'Could be. For sure, an' ye got stuffs t' trade, we'll be 'greeable t' tradin' for 'em.'

That, apparently, was enough for Denelor, who strode back up the path at a much brisker pace than he would have been able to set a year ago. Collen folded his arms and leaned back against the trunk of a willow, watching both Shana and Kalamadea.