puffy.
Daylan fought back a chuckle. Siyaddah had only just met the woman, but already sounded as if she had mastered the art of driving a wyrmling crazy.
Kan-hazur inhaled deeply, as if trying to think of an appropriate curse to hurl, but just growled.
“Don’t snarl at me,” Siyaddah warned in a more abrasive tone. “I won’t tolerate it. I know how angry you must be. I too, am a princess, and have lost my home.”
“Not lost,” Kan-hazur said. “It was ripped from your warriors’ dead hands. It was stolen because your people are weak and stupid.”
Siyaddah gritted her teeth. It looked as if she were considering a dozen insults, trying to decide which first to hurl first.
“Speak up,” Kan-hazur challenged, “or are you so slow-witted that you can think of nothing to say?”
“I’ll keep my thoughts to myself,” Siyaddah said.
Kan-hazur’s face contorted with rage, and she clenched her fists tightly, as if she so wanted to hear Siyaddah’s taunts that she planned to beat them out of her.
Siyaddah smiled at the small victory. When it came to self-control, she was obviously the stronger of the two.
“There now,” Daylan said, hoping to defuse the situation. “Look at you-the two of you have only just met, and already you’re sparring like sisters.”
Kan-hazur fought back her anger, apparently deciding that she wanted to beat Siyaddah at her own game. “Why…why do you treat me like this?”
“Daylan here teaches that we should show kindness to all living creatures,” Siyaddah said gently, “including toads and wyrmlings.”
“Then he is a fool,” Kan-hazur growled dangerously.
“And yet, it may be that only his foolishness has kept you alive,” Siyaddah countered. “When you were first captured, there were many who wanted your blood. But Daylan here argued against it. He argued that you should be set free.”
“I owe him nothing,” Kan-hazur objected. “If he argued for my freedom, he argued in vain-and he did it for his own…obscure purposes.”
“He did it out of compassion,” Siyaddah said. “He spoke of you as if you were a bear cub that had been lost in the woods. He said that you should have been returned to your own kind.”
Where she would have been trained for war and given command of troops, Daylan thought. And having seen our defenses, she might well have led some devastating raids against us.
That is what King Urstone had argued, and though Daylan’s stand was morally sound, there was much to be said for Urstone’s more pragmatic approach: keep the princess as a prisoner, safe and unharmed-but more importantly, keep here where she could do no harm.
There came the sound of singing down the road, some bumpkin torturing an old folk tune.
Daylan threw the sacks back over Kan-hazur, looked to Siyaddah. “Will you come with me? We do not have to go far.” He didn’t want her to return to the castle, not now. He was afraid that she would have an attack of conscience, tell the guards what she knew. It would be better if she stayed close.
“You’re going to make the exchange now?” Fear and excitement mingled in her voice. If the exchange took place as planned, it would be talked about for years. And Siyaddah would be the one that ears would lean toward as the story was told.
Daylan did not tell her precisely when or where, lest she warn others. But he nodded just a bit.
“Will there be wyrmlings?”
Daylan nodded again. She glanced down at his side, saw his long knife strapped to his boot. He was acquitted for battle, if need be, and Daylan’s skill with weapons was legendary. And he had weapons at his disposal that she could not see, could not even begin to understand.
“All right,” she said. “I will come.”
AN EXCHANGE OF HOSTAGES
The enlightened man is incapable of plumbing the depths of a darkened mind, yet he places himself in danger if he does not try.
In a more perfect world, Fallion thought, my father and mother are still alive.
He sat in the sun beneath the alder trees and dared to dream of this as he peered up. The sun beating down through layered sheets of leaves created a complex tapestry of shadow and light, all in shades of green. The day was only now beginning to really warm, and the air smelled sweet and fresh after a night locked in the stone box.
Fallion drew heat from around him and warmed himself and his friends, so that they quickly dispelled the bone-numbing chill.
They’d been so close to death, and now he felt that it was a miracle to be alive.
“Can you believe it, Jaz?” Fallion asked. “We’ve met the shadow of our grandfather, and we are going to see father again.”
Beyond all hope, Fallion thought, beyond my wildest dreams.
Talon frowned. “We might see him,” she warned. “The wyrmlings have been holding him captive.” But Fallion could not think in those terms right now. Mights and maybes weren’t enough.
No, I will see my father, he promised himself. I have come so far, been through so much, it is only fair that I should see him.
He held the hope in his heart, pure and clean and undefiled.
The soldiers were busy around the old fortress, taking the heads off of the enemy, preparing the dead. Some were taking lunch before heading back toward the garrison at Cantular.
But the king was preparing for a longer journey, hand-selecting the troops who would come.
Fallion peered up into the trees, noticed that the edges of the alder leaves were turning gold. Though it felt like high summer, as it had been at home, he realized that perhaps winter was coming on here, in this new world. Or maybe they were high enough into the mountains so that winter came early.
But no, at the edge of hearing, in a tree high above him, he could hear the peeping of birds in a nest. He watched a fluttering shadow until it disappeared in the crook of the tree, and the peeping became loud and insistent for a moment, and then fell silent. The birds were nesting.
No, it was early summer, Fallion decided. But the leaves were going already. There was a blight upon the land.
Fallion peered at Jaz, who merely sat with a bemused expression. He was off to dreaming, imagining what it would be like to see his father.
One of the big folk approached, a young man whose narrow face made him look almost childlike. He wore a blood-soaked rag around his head, and his brown hair was a riot, with a cow-lick in the back.
He muttered something, handed out their packs full of clothes, somehow managing to hand each of them the wrong pack. By the weight alone, Fallion knew that his forcibles were all gone, probably fallen into the hands of the enemy.
Fallion searched his pack, found that it was stuffed with some of Jaz’s clothes and Talon’s tunic. A bracelet fell out, one made of pale green stones and a single pearl upon a string. Fallion had never seen it before.
“That’s mine,” Rhianna said, snatching it before he could get a good look at it.
“Where did it come from?” Fallion asked.
“A suitor,” she said.
“Who?” Fallion asked, amused to discover that he was jealous. Many young men had smiled at her back home, especially at the fairs and dances. But he hadn’t realized that she had a suitor bringing her gifts, gifts that
