1 The Outstretched Shadow.3 (56 page)

 While they were eating, Kellen braided the charms into their manes. Coalwind was easy; the only difficulty was getting her to hold still while he did it, for she seemed to have the idea firmly fixed in her head that if she could just investigate every bit of his clothing, she'd find a treat (which was often the case on other occasions). But he got the charm securely braided into her mane at last. And the warm glint of the amber against her dark coat was a very pretty sight.

 But Prettyfoot, as Idalia had predicted, was much harder to attach the charm to. The mule's mane was more like Shalkan's—a short stiff brush running the length of her neck—and there was no possible way he could braid anything into it.

 At last he settled for tying it onto the halter to dangle down her forehead. He'd thought about tying it into her tail, but she'd probably eat it, and even if amber wasn't going to do the insides of a mule any harm, Idalia would be annoyed to lose a nice big piece of amber as a mule-treat. He thought that would hold, at least for tonight.

 And tomorrow they'd be gone.

 A peculiar sadness filled Kellen at the thought. Not homesickness precisely, because he hadn't really been here long enough for this place to become home. But it might have become home, given a little more time, and he felt an unsettled grief at the lost opportunity.

 Kellen pushed the thought aside. There were others whose suffering and loss were far greater—both now, and in the moonturns to come.

 Had the High Council lost its tiny collective mind? He knew the regular citizens of Armethalieh didn't question the Mages' decisions—hell, they didn't even know about half of them—but surely they'd notice that the City had suddenly decided to claim hundreds—no, thousands—of miles of new territory for no particular good reason? The Mages would have to tell them. It wasn't something that could be done out-of-sight, like so many of the Mages' dealings. The City might claim there would be an increase in wealth for the City, but there would also be an increase in cost to the City—both magickal cost, which maybe the common folk wouldn't notice, but also the cost in people to send to hold those new lands, which was why the people would have to know: those Militia troops he'd seen in Idalia's vision were going to have to come from somewhere, after all.

 And troops had to be paid and provisioned—fed and clothed and given horses and armor and weapons—and the money for all of that had to come from somewhere. New taxes, which maybe the common folk wouldn't notice, but also the cost in people—drawn from the Home Farms, of course—sent to hold the new territory; those Militia troops he'd seen spoken of in Idalia's vision.

 And if the villages fought back… ? More troops would surely be sent.

 Then the cost goes up. And they'll notice that, that's for sure, Kellen thought bleakly. Everywhere he'd ever gone in the City—outside of the Mage Quarter, of course—taxes had always been a major topic of discussion. But what would the people do about it?

 He had no idea.

 But—probably nothing. So long as nothing changes for each of them personally, they probably won't care. The Council has kept other things secret, why not this?

 It wouldn't be that hard, so long as the Mages were able to keep the fact that there was actual fighting going on a secret. If they actually sent non-Mages outside the walls—Kellen supposed it was possible; he wouldn't put anything past the Council at this point—all they had to do was just remove those inconvenient memories from the soldiers once the men returned, and, oh, tell them they'd been to the Out Islands, or something. Even if people from Armethalieh actually died, it could be covered up. Tell grieving relatives that their sons died of a snakebite, or sudden fever, or an accidental fall. All those things could happen in the City. Just make sure that relatives of the dead didn't get together and discover how many "accidents" there were. The bodies would be given back to the Light, and the Mages would be able to keep their dirty little secrets.

 With careful management, no one would ever find out what was really happening, at least, not in Armethalieh.

 Not that anyone ever did know what was really happening.

 "Not in Armethalieh," Kellen said aloud, watching the mule's ears swivel around to catch the words.

 When the animals had finished their breakfast, Kellen took them down to the stream for a drink.

 HE was standing beside them, not thinking about anything in particular, when there was a splash at his feet. He looked down.

 There was a selkie in the water. Kellen had seen them only rarely; the sleek, dark-furred, big-eyed creatures were shy of humans, preferring deep woods and twilight, although once they got over their shyness, they were as playful as otters and twice as amusing, because of their keen senses of humor. Many of them lived in or near the ocean, where they were usually mistaken for seals by those humans who managed to glimpse them. This one blinked up at him, its large silver eyes a startling paleness in its dark-furred face.

 "Kellen isss leaving?" the selkie asked, its long whiskers bristling as it spoke. "Idalia isss leaving?"

 "Yes," Kellen said. He was surprised to see it at all. He'd thought all the river-folk, selkies and undines and water-sprites, were already safely gone, warned by Shalkan and the others who carried his message. "And you should leave, too. The City is coming. The Mages don't like your kind. They're sending a Scouring Hunt." And even if stone mastiffs couldn't swim very well—not at all, in fact—that hardly mattered, since they didn't need to breathe. Land or water, no place was safe.

 "I go," the selkie agreed, speaking slowly and carefully. Its short sharp-toothed muzzle wasn't well shaped for forming human speech—the selkies' own language consisted of guttural barks and high-pitched chittering—but selkies loved all things new and strange, and found the effort of speaking to humans in their own language enormously entertaining. "Take fissshhh, too. AW fisshhh. We take." Its round silver eyes crinkled in merriment, inviting Kellen to share the joke.

 Kellen blinked, slowly understanding what the selkie was telling him. All the fish? From all the rivers? Gone?

 He began to laugh. "You do that, friend. Take the fish. All the fish. And good luck to you."

 The selkie reached up out of the water, extending its paw to Kellen, fingers spread wide. Kellen could see the thick webbing between the digits, the long curved gleaming nails that could shear through the toughest scales. He clasped the hand gently, and felt an answering pressure in return.

 "Good-bye," Kellen said. "Fare you well."

 The selkie released his hand, and slipped beneath the surface of the water, invisible once more.

 Shaking his head in amusement, Kellen led Coalwind and Prettyfoot back into the woods to fresh grazing. In a few hours he'd come back and lead them in closer to the cabin, tying them up securely for the night so they couldn't wander. He had no desire to spend several hours come tomorrow's dawn trying to find them!

 "No fear of that," Shalkan said, stepping daintily out of the woods, hidden until that moment, though how something the size of a pony and whiter than new velum could hide that easily, Kellen could never figure out. "I'll keep an eye on them."

 "Will you?" Kellen regarded the unicorn with relief. "Thanks. That'll be a great help."

 Shalkan dipped his horn, acknowledging the thanks. "I was waiting for you to ask."

 Kellen shrugged. "I didn't want you to miss the party if you were in the mood for it. It just seems like I'm asking you for so much already."

 "You mean, being your noble conveyance to the Elven lands?" The unicorn snorted. "I'd be going there anyway. If it's a choice between that and facing another dozen packs, I'd say it's no choice at all, my friend. And you'll find the Elves… interesting. Humans do."

 Kellen would have dearly loved to ask Shalkan more about the Elves, but this was no time to get into one of the unicorn's elliptical conversations. Idalia already blamed him for springing the party on her. If he disappeared for most of the day, she'd probably arrange to have him drowned in a keg of cider. So he abandoned the interesting topic in favor of telling Shalkan what the selkie had told him.

 "They'd take the fish from the lakes as well, if they could, as the dryads would take the fruit from their trees," Shalkan said. "The City will find no welcome in the Western Hills when it comes, nor do I think the farmers who remain will have an easy life. They will not thank the City for that."

 "No," Kellen agreed glumly. He hobbled the mare and the mule once again, and turned them out to graze, retrieving the bucket from where he'd left it.

 "Well, see you later. I'll save you some honey-cakes."

 "See that you do," Shalkan said with mock severity, switching his tufted tail. "And if anyone's brought any of those maple-syrup candies, and I find out you didn't save me at least two…"

 "At least!" Kellen promised, and hurried back toward the cabin.

 Shalkan, of course, stayed out of sight with the mule and the horse— he wasn't at all comfortable, Kellen had noticed, with so many people about, most of them (probably) not virginal—and Kellen was just a little bit curious about how Shalkan and Idalia were going to handle traveling in close proximity together, though both of them agreed it was necessary. Finally he decided there was no sense worrying about it. He'd be finding out. And soon, too.

 KELLEN spent the rest of the day helping with the preparations for the party. His own and Idalia's arrangements for leaving were all but finished, and there was really nothing left for him to do there. Besides, working kept him from thinking. And there was plenty of work to do: helping to put up the poles that would hold the various awnings and canopies, climbing trees to hang lanterns (knowing he—or someone—would have to climb them again later to light the lanterns), fetching and carrying kegs and bundles, all the while sniffing glorious smells and stealing tastes of delicacies that would be unveiled later.

 And hearing people talk about the days ahead, which sometimes meant hearing more than he wanted to.

 "I'M not going without you, you damned foolish old besom," Cormo rumbled, in what was—for him—a quiet undertone. It was entirely audible ten feet away, where Kellen was digging a new firepit.

 "And I'm not going," Haneida said peaceably. "These old bones are much too old to be bundled up like a goosedown mattress and hie themselves up into the mountains like someone's luggage. And what would I tell my bees? I'm staying."

 Cormo stamped his hoof. "Then I'm staying too, you senile old halfwit."

 Haneida tsked. "Such love-talk! Cormo, your mother fell in love with a donkey. You can't stay, and I won't go," Haneida said reasonably.

 "I promised," Cormo growled in dangerous tones. "And I'm not leaving you with nobody to take care of you."

 Suddenly Kellen realized that there was more at stake here than one stubborn old woman, and an equally stubborn Centaur. Cormo had promised the Wild Magic to haul Haneida's cart to market for a year and a day. Very quietly, Kellen set down his shovel and went looking for Idalia.

 He found her inside the cabin, with several of the village women. All the furniture had already been taken outside, even the bed, and the doors had been removed to serve as tables. Their equipment was in the bedroom; they'd sleep on their bedrolls on the floor tonight and get an early start in the morning. The main room was filled with more provisions; stacked hampers and sturdy boxes, making it look less like a cabin and more like a small supply pantry.

 "Idalia, can I talk to you? Alone?"

 Idalia excused herself and came outside. It took a few minutes before they could find a place that was reasonably private.

 "It's Cormo," Kellen said before Idalia could say anything. "I heard him arguing with Haneida. He's saying he won't leave with the last of the other Centaurs when they go. I know Merana's still here, but that's because Master Eliron's going and she's going with him. But Haneida says she won't leave, and Cormo says he won't leave without her." His brow furrowed with worry; it didn't seem right that Cormo should do all the improving he had only to be punished for trying to keep his word and his pledge!

 "I think he's worried about what will happen if he doesn't pay his part of the Price for the Healing you did for him, and that's why he won't leave, so if you could just talk to him…"

 Kellen's voice trailed off. Idalia was smiling and shaking her head.

 "Brother mine, I love you dearly, but sometimes you can be as sweet and dim as a—as a toffee-covered lantern! I've already spoken to Cormo, days ago—the Gods would never punish someone by forcing them to keep to the terms of a bargain when a situation had changed so drastically. Cormo knows nothing will happen to him if he doesn't stay and pay the price he agreed to—and just between you and me, what he's done for Haneida in the last fortnight has been payment in full! No. The reason he doesn't want to leave her is because he's afraid of what will happen to her when she's left all alone; she still refuses to move down into the village, even though half the houses are standing empty now. He isn't wrong to worry, but she's right, too: she's far too frail to survive the journey into the High Hills with winter coming on."

 That put a different complexion on things, but it didn't make things any better, at least from where Kellen was standing.

 And Haneida wasn't the only one… There were so many old folks in the village, too old to move. How would the Militia and the Mages treat them?