Elvenborn

hides, and the rather lovely horns of alicorns, but the best they were able to do in the way of agriculture was a bit of vegetable-gardening. Shana, one of the few Wizards to manage the trans­portation spell that enabled her to move living creatures intact, had been able to bring the flock of sheep that had been at the old Citadel, and had purloined some chickens that had strayed and so were technically not Elvenlord property. Keman and Kalamadea had brought them goats, and even horses, but the terrain around the caves they had taken to live in was simply unsuited for cultivating grain.

And as for crafts, well, at some point they were going to run out of cloth, and there weren't more than a dozen of the fully-human ex-slaves among them that knew how to spin and weave. There was one single potter, and no glassmakers. As for metal-smiths, well, the less said, the better. True, the Iron Peo­ple had smiths in plenty, but they were down in the plain, and thus far there hadn't been a great deal that the Wizards could provide that the Iron People wanted in trade.

At least three quarters of that lack of skilled workers was due to the attitudes of Caellach Gwain and his cronies. What sensi­ble wild human or even a former slave, especially one with skills and a trade, would care to settle among people who re­garded him as an inferior peon who should be happy to serve his 'betters' with no thought for compensation? No few of the slaves that had escaped during the Young Lord's initial revolt had settled briefly with the Wizards then drifted off with the Traders to settle elsewhere.

They're as bad as the Elvenlords, Keman thought, not for the first time.

For now they were relying on the things that had once been stockpiled in the Citadel; they hadn't been able to carry those things away with them, but the Citadel had somehow remained unpenetrated—or at least, no one had bothered to loot it or de­stroy what was in it. Shana had teams of the younger wizards working together to transport everything possible out of there and into the hands of those who actually owned the things or into the storage-rooms of their new home. Some things were in surplus—anything that didn't get used up or suffer much from

wear and tear. Nevertheless, they had more—many more— bodies to clothe and mouths to feed than they'd had back when only halfblooded Wizards lived in the old Citadel.

But if they could set up a trading-agreement with a real El-ven estate ... well, then their transportation magics could be used to swap hides and meat, raw lumber, even the gems and precious metals that were so easy for the dragons to coax up out of the earth, for most of those things that they now depended on the Traders and Iron People for.

Don't depend on that egg to hatch just yet, Keman, he warned himself. Report to Shana first. It's more important to get to the point where we 've got an agreement with this Kyrtian that will prevent him and the army from coming after us!

Their relief party arrived just then, two stripling humans that had been recruited from the ranks of the gladiators and looked it—muscled everywhere, including between their ears. They presented themselves with the proper password, and he and Dora gratefully surrendered their arms to the new sentries and plodded down the hill to their own campsite. They had man­aged to make themselves unpopular, not by unpleasant behav­ior, but simply by being unfriendly and taciturn. No one disliked them, but no one wanted to associate with them either. Humans, in Keman's experience, when away from their famil­iar surroundings, needed to socialize. When any particular hu­ man offered a cold shoulder, he was generally shut out tacitly.

So Keman and Dora had a little fire to themselves; they un­dertook their duties in silence, and now they collected their ra­tions from the common camp-kitchen without comment beyond a grunt or a nod. They brought their food back to their camp, and to all appearances settled down to their belated dinners.

Ah, but beneath the surface, thoughts were flying between them. They were, in fact, mostly finished with that rather mea­ger (by draconic standards) meal, before the exchanges got be­yond incredulous :Can you believe what he said?: and similar exclamations of astonishment.

:How soon tonight do you think Shana will try and make contact with us?: Dora asked at last. :We have to tell her about

this! If we can somehow get this Kyrtian on our side, it will make all the difference!:

Keman's face showed no expression, but there was nothing but glee in his thoughts. :It's what we've needed all along, re­ally—what Shana has needed—: he amended.

:Oh, we dragons have thrown our lot in with the Wizards now, no matter what some of us think,: Dora said cheerfully. :It's what we need, an ally and a person inside the ranks of the Elvenlords.:

Keman thought a chuckle. :It wouldn 't hurt the Trader clans to discover they've got some competition, either.: He was be­ginning to resent the casual way in which the Traders had as­sumed that the Wizards were totally at their mercy now when it came to things that the Wizards couldn't produce. His persis­tent fear was that the Traders would learn that the Iron Folk most valued and needed the metal that gave them their name, and would find a way to supply it in quantity, thereby giving the Iron People no reason to continue their alliance with the Wiz­ards. That could be a disaster; without the Iron People, the Wiz­ards didn't have a lot of fighting-types if it came to real combat.

:But if we can get this new commander on our side, we won't need any fighters!: Dora reminded him excitedly.

:I wouldn't want to abandon the alliance, though,: he replied with caution, as he took her tin plate and his own, and scraped coals into both of them to burn off the remains of their stew— the most common way any of these humans here cleaned their dishes when they were done with them. Even the cooks cleaned their great pots this way sometimes. Especially lately, with Kyrtian moving the army from dawn to just before dark, chas­ing the Young Lords' army.

:Well, do you think you've sufficiently calmed down enough to help me reach Shana?: he teased, as he sat down across the fire from her.

Her reply was not translatable, but was rude. He almost cracked his disguise with a grin, then they settled into their task—looking from the outside as if they were two middle-aged, weary men dozing by their fire.

Shana had hardly been able to believe what Keman told her; in fact, the moment he'd told her what Lord Kyrtian was plotting with his aunt Morthena, she'd asked him to wait for a moment. Then, her blood singing with excitement, she ran to get Lorryn so that he could hear and verify it before it actually sank in as truth.

She pounded down the rough stone corridors, red hair streaming behind her, from her chambers to the common-room, where he was sitting with Zed and one or two others, practicing working in concert and using gemstones to focus and amplify their powers. These were the skills that the younger wizards had developed that enabled them to do so much more than their elders—abilities which Caellach Gwain and his cronies re­sented without actually troubling themselves to learn.

'Keman has some news,' she said breathlessly, as the little group looked up with some surprise at her hasty entrance. 'I'd like to hear what you think about it, if you can spare the time, Lorryn.'

'Certainly; we were just about finished anyway.' Lorryn stood up, and handed the basket-full of baby chicks he'd been cradling in his lap to Zed with a grin. 'I never thought that I'd find myself purloining chickens with magic when I ran off to join the Wizards!'

'Hah. Can you think of any better way to practice the 'safe' transportation spell?' Zed countered, with his own wide grin splitting his tanned and swarthy face. 'If you flatten a chick or two, it's no great loss.'

'But they're so—well, cute—I'd feel guilty,' Lorryn protested, looking down at the yellow balls of fluff while they cheeped sleepily.

Zed only grinned wider. 'All the more incentive, then,' he pointed out.