“You would compel her affection?”
“Yes!” The word echoed off the sun-washed canyon walls.
Vedvedsica sighed. “Elves and humans are so alike! While I search for knowledge and wisdom, others crave only petty wealth or love. I spend half my time making love philters for the nobles of Silvanos’s court.” He shook his long, narrow head contemptuously. “What a waste!”
“Will you do it?” Pa’alu said.
The priest stroked his sparse beard. He had hair sprouting between his fingers, and his nails were long and narrow, like a panther’s claws. “It would serve you right if I walked away and let the stone eat your soul, but I need that nugget far too much. Yes, I will cause this barbarian woman to love you.”
Pa’alu felt in his pouch for the stone. He could see it, yet for some reason, he couldn’t grasp it. He plainly saw his fingers pass through the yellow stone as if it were smoke. What strange things were happening!
“Concentrate,” said Vedvedsica sternly. “Use all your senses, not just your eyes!”
Sweat dripped from the plainsman’s nose as he carefully closed his fingers around the phantom nugget. At last, he felt the rough edges of the rock. Sighing deeply, he handed the stone to Vedvedsica.
“There’ll be none of that, now,” the elf said, apparently speaking to the stone. “In you go.” He placed the rock in a small agate box with a sliding lid then tucked the box in his robe.
“How will you do it?” Pa’alu asked. Already his hearing was back to normal, and the distortion in his vision was rapidly clearing.
“Do what? Oh, your true love.” Scorn dripped from his voice. “I don’t have my flasks and alembics, so I can’t brew a philter. I’ll have to give you an amulet. They’re not as precise, but you’ll have to make do.”
From another recess in his robe, the priest took out a handful of small bronze disks. They were blank on both sides, merely smooth metal. He chose one about the size of a daisy blossom and returned the rest to his robe. As Pa’alu looked on, Vedvedsica pressed the disk between the palms of his hands, holding them high over his head. His lips moved in a silent conjuration.
This went on for some time. Pa’alu grew tired and retreated to the shady side of the canyon. He mopped his brow and watched the priest stand in the full glare of the sun with not a bead of sweat on his translucent skin.
The sun was halfway to its western bed when Vedvedsica at last lowered his hands. He stared at Pa’alu, a smile on his thin face. The plainsman got stiffly to his feet and approached. When the elf opened his hands, Pa’alu leaned over to see. The disk was unchanged.
He was about to say something when the elf took out a shard of rosy rock crystal. Vedvedsica placed the shard on top of the disk and stood back. He clapped his hands five times and shouted a single-syllable in Elvish. The crystal shard vanished in a pinpoint flash of light.
Folding his arms, Vedvedsica said, “It’s done.”
Tentatively, Pa’alu picked up the disk. He expected it to be hot or at least warm to the touch. In fact, it was as cold as mountain spring water. It was also no longer blank. The whole surface, front and back, was covered with incredibly fine lines, swirling in an intricate pattern. He rubbed a finger over the images. The metal was smooth, so the lines weren’t engraved on the surface, but neither did they smear under his rubbing.
“Listen well, human,” said the priest. “This amulet works only once. You must touch it to the skin of the one whose love you desire. It must touch yours at the same time. A common method is to place it in your palm when you clasp hands with the object of your affection. Once touched to both persons, the spell discharges and cannot be repeated or repaired. Do you understand?”
“I do. Thank you, great one!”
Vedvedsica smiled unpleasantly. “Passion is easy to compel,” he said. “It may not be so easy to live with.”
But Pa’alu wasn’t listening. Exhaustion and hunger had made him lightheaded. He gripped the amulet tightly and spun around, dancing with joy. At last, at last! he exulted. At last Karada would be his!
A shadow crossed the sun’s face again. When the plainsman looked up, Vedvedsica had vanished.
Chapter 16
Preparations for the Moonmeet feast had been vigorous and were now nearly complete. Children had collected armloads of kindling, gleaning every fallen twig and branch from the valley of the waterfall. Loggers had supplied larger trees from the supply they’d floated upriver. The area between the dragon’s cairn and the nomads’ camp had been cleared, and a large bonfire laid. The fire was lit, allowed to burn down to a shimmering bed of coals, and whole oxen were set up to roast.
The nomads were astonished that the villagers chose to ruin good meat with fire. Karada, though she also found the idea shocking, allowed herself to be persuaded by her brother that cooked meat could be tasty. However, she approved Pakito’s quiet suggestion that the feast also include some animal flesh not seared by the villagers’ fires.
Apples and pears from the orchard were wrapped in clay and baked in the ashes, and smaller game — rabbits, fowl, and two wild boar — were spitted and cooked at the edges of the great fire.
Village women pounded a ring of stakes into the sand and rigged a large hide vat. Clay jugs were brought from the houses and storage tunnel and emptied into the vat. Before long it was brimming with scarlet wine, and the smell of the new vintage saturated the air.
Not to be outdone, the nomads brought out an array of drums, wooden flutes, and rams’ horns. Positioning themselves with their backs to the lake (so the setting sun wasn’t in their eyes), the nomads began to play. There was no structure to their music. They generally followed whoever displayed the most energy at the moment. If a pair of drummers were moved to pound a fierce rhythm, then the other drummers and pipers followed them. If a horn player stood up to sound a melancholy air, the drummers fell silent and let the lone player soar.
The valley reverberated with the sounds of the feast. Children — from both the nomads’ camp and the village — ran between the houses, shrieking with delight, chasing each other, engaging in mock fights, or capturing fireflies. Long trenchers made of white pine planks or pinned birch bark carried steaming ribs and cutlets to the hungry crowd.
Higher up the hill, just below the cliff face, an open tent had been raised. There, Amero and Nianki sat side by side, eating from a common tray. On Nianki’s left were Targun, Samtu, Pakito, and Hatu. An empty place was left for Pa’alu. No one had seen him for almost three days, but Nianki wasn’t concerned, and Amero was getting used to his strange absences.
On Amero’s right were the village elders: Konza the tanner, Valka, Farun the stonecutter, Hulami the vintner, and Menefer the master potter. Everyone was eating and talking. A steady stream of boys circled from the vat and firepit back to the tent bearing fresh supplies of food and drink.
“Great stuff, this,” Nianki exclaimed at one point, swirling her cup around. “Where did you learn to make this?”
“Some of our people knew how to make wine when they arrived,” Amero said. He didn’t care for it himself. It distressed his stomach. “Northerners, from Plains’ End. They brought vines with them in pots of dirt.”
“Sometimes we took drink like this from elves we captured. Theirs is lighter in color, almost clear. They call it ‘nectar,’” said Pakito. A huge pile of gnawed beef bones lay in front of him. “Drink enough of it and it sneaks up and hits you on top of your head!” He banged a broad fist against his own forehead to illustrate the sensation. Samtu and Targun laughed.
“Where is that brother of yours?” Hatu asked from the end of the row. “He should be here.”
“I don’t know,” the big man said, the edges of his words growing soft with wine. “He won’ stan’ still at all.”
“A true nomad,” said Targun, his face red as a berry.
“I’m old enough to remember growing up on the plain, moving every day, trying to live off roots and lizards and the odd deer now an’ then,” Valka said. “That life was hard. Why do you still do it?”
“Are you talking to me?” said Targun.
“You’re the eldest here, yes. Why keep roaming?”
“It’s what I know,” Targun declared fervently. “I feel nervy if I stay in one place too long, like a snared
