Not a familiar face among them. ...
"I think they're very impressive," she called back, as she and her guide made their way around the edge of the pit. "But what I'd really like to know," she continued, as she came closer and didn't have to shout, "is where they came from—"
Zed laughed. "They're slaves—ex-slaves actually. The same ex-slaves that old Caellach drove away from the New Citadel by treating them as slaves rather than our fellow-creatures."
"But..." She wrinkled her brow, puzzled. "They're working just as hard—harder—than they would have if they'd stayed at the Citadel."
"But I'm not treating them as slaves," Zed pointed out. "I don't expect them to work here for the sheer gratitude of serv¬ing a wizard and getting nothing more generous than food and shelter. They each get a fair share of the iron we smelt; they can trade it back to me for whatever we Wizards have that they want, or for what I've gotten from the Traders or the Iron Peo¬ple. That way the actual iron stays in our control, but they get a fair wage for their work." He raised an eyebrow. "We're great believers in wages here."
She shook her head in admiration. "Zed, that's brilliant! Are they settled here? Do they want to stay? Can they build a village or something?" It would be wonderful to have these strong folk nearby—there was so much they needed simple laborers for, and Shana didn't in the least object to bartering for work done.
"They want to know whether Caellach is likely to poke his nose in here first, before they actually build a settlement," Zed replied with a grimace.
Shana glanced down, and saw that all work had stopped, while the former slaves all listened for her reply.
She was not at all loath to give it, pitching her voice so that the workers could hear it as well as Zed.
"Caellach Gwain is about as likely to appear here as I am to be welcomed into the ranks of the Elvenlords," she said, with a touch of acidic humor. "He's gotten so bad about having the tiniest bit of iron near him that we've taken to wearing the false-gold pendants when we aren't working magic. Lorryn calls them 'Caellach-chasers.'"
Zed's guffaw drowned anything from the workers, but Shana saw plenty of grins as they bent back to their work.
"I think you can count on a settlement going up here, then," Zed replied. "There's enough iron ore here to keep the smelter going for years and years, and more than enough work for everyone. Whoever isn't mining, smelting or hauling can be put to work on the replanting and restoration of played-out areas."
"I was afraid, after I saw that first load of ingots, that I was pushing you too hard over here," she said in tones aimed only for his ears, once he stopped speaking. "I'm glad to see that I was mistaken."
Zed patted her shoulder. "Anything but," he replied. "Ah— would you like to see the smelter? Or not—"
"Not," she said firmly. "I'm no Caellach, but this much iron kind of makes the inside of my head itch."
Zed shrugged. "Doesn't bother me as much, but then I've never had as much of the elven magic as you do. Here, I'll show you where we want to put a settlement instead. I think you'll be surprised."
He turned away from the smelter and headed into the woods. Shana followed him, glad to get out of the hot sun, away from the smelter and under the tree-shadows.
"How did the Iron People react to our first delivery?" Zed asked, with acute—and thoroughly understandable—interest.
"By throwing a festival, or so Mero tells me," she was happy to tell him. "I'm afraid that the Traders are a bit disappointed, though."
"The Traders can learn to live with their disappointment," Zed said smugly. "Now we can start doing more to protect ourselves—and we can send out the jewelry again."
"That can't happen too soon for me," Shana said fervently. "It's not just the Young Lords who need it, though the more jewelry we can get into their hands, the more disruption they'll make with the Great Lords. No, I want to get pieces to the Ladies, and I especially want to get it into the hands of the slaves."
Want was too mild a word; ever since she had last heard from
Keman and Dora, she was positively wild to get the jewelry moving out into the Elven lands again. If they could get Lord Kyrtian on their side—
The jewelry might put Lord Kyrtian on their side. If he had a way to protect his own people from Elven magic, to protect his lands from the magical attacks of other Elvenlords, there was no doubt in Shana's mind that Lord Kyrtian's own intensely loyal fighters would be more than a match for any physical force that the Great Lords could bring against him. It was only attack—magical attack—that he needed to fear.
And treachery. There was that. And the Great Lords were past masters at treachery.
"You think it might nullify the collars?" Zed asked with in¬terest, "Remember, if we can't do that, we might as well not give the stuff to them."
"I think I know how." Eagerly she outlined her idea, which had come to her just that morning. "If we make a sort of clamshell device that closes over the beryl in the collar, back and front—" she mimed the idea with her hands "—something that will lock in place, tight, even if we can't get the collar off, we keep commands from getting to the elf-stones and the stone from actually doing anything to the wearer."
Zed considered the idea. "Interesting. It doesn't help some¬one like a concubine, who might have a collar studded with beryls, but a common worker won't have more than one. So un¬less the Lords start replacing all the collars on all their slaves, which would be expensive, even for them, we could free whole groups at a time!"
Shana grinned with glee. "That was my idea—the clamshells wouldn't be big, and it wouldn't be hard to distribute them. For instance, we could smuggle a whole bagful out to the workers in a field, the slave taking the water-bucket around could pass them out, and the whole group could bolt at once."
Or the shells could be passed around an army, at night, un¬der cover of darkness. And when the morning comes, and coer¬cion no longer works on the fighters and they are safe from magical attack, how many of them will remain to fight for their masters?
"Tricky," Zed said with admiration. "It's too bad that collars are usually metal, not leather; we could incorporate cutters into the edges of the clamshell, and nullify the beryl and remove the collar all in one go. Well, this is where the camp is, and where the men would like to put in a permanent settlement."
There wasn't much there at the moment, and it was a good thing that not only was it high summer but there had been re¬markably good weather, for the shelters were barely enough to keep off the rain. Shana could see how it would make a perfect spot for a settlement, however, and she made all the right sounds of enthusiasm for Zed and his people. There was no doubt in her mind that she and Lorryn had made the right deci¬sion in putting Zed in charge of mining, smelter, and crews to man both operations, although she would not have pictured him as a leader. And Caellach Gwain had, of course, argued against the mere thought of putting someone as young as Zed in charge of anything.
She completed her inspection—if that was not too official a word for merely looking the situation over—in short order. Things could not possibly be better; at the moment, she really didn't want production going any faster. It wouldn't hurt trade to keep the Iron People waiting for their ingots just a little be¬tween each shipment; she didn't want them to start thinking that the supply was unlimited, and she had a long talk with Zed on just that subject. He was disappointed in one way, and re¬lieved in another. He wouldn't have been unhappy to be asked to find more ex-slaves to recruit, but on the other hand, he didn't want his workforce growing past the point where he could handle everything himself.
In the end, Shana and the latest load of crude iron ingots re¬turned overland to the New Citadel by pack-mule, arriving just about sunset.
Just in time for Caellach Gwain to run straight into them.
He stared; he began to shake with anger. In a matter of mo¬ments, he was practically beside himself with rage.
"What are you doing, girl?" he screamed at the top of his lungs, drawing everyone within hearing distance to the mouth of the cavern where the unloading was taking place.
"I should think that was perfectly obvious," she retorted. After the long walk—for she was not going to ride when she had two perfectly good legs, and her weight-equivalent in iron bars could be loaded on a mule in her place—she was hot and tired, and not in the mood for the temper-tantrums of irascible old men.
"You idiot!" he shrieked. "Bringing that—filthy stuff here? Bringing it inside the caves? You're mad! You're crazed! How is anybody supposed to work magic with that foul garbage practically on top of us?"
There were some grumbles and mutterings from the older wizards in the crowd that had gathered around them, but this time Shana stood her ground. It was about time that the recalci¬trant wizards adapted to the situation, instead of expecting someone to work around their reluctance to change.
"You'll work magic around it the same way we youngsters do," she said firmly, hands on hips, glaring at him. "I should think you'd be grateful to me! The more iron there is around here, the safer you are! Haven't you at least figured that out by now?"
Usually she made some pretense of politeness to the old man, but she was in no mood for him at the moment, and her at¬titude sent him into an incoherent frenzy.
That was just about the last straw.
"Shut up, you stupid old man!" she screamed—and since her soprano was considerably more piercing than his hoarse howls, even he heard her, and stared at her, mouth agape.
"Ever since we arrived here, all you've done is complain!" she shouted, her face flushed. "We've fed you, clothed you, seen to it that you got your creature comforts, and you have done nothing, nothing to help the rest of us! You're a parasite, Caellach Gwain, you're as useless as a second nose and you aren't even half as entertaining! Now shut up and learn to work magic around iron like everyone else, or—or—"
"Or what?" Gwain sneered. "You'll turn me over to the El-venlords? That's just what you would do, isn't it? Elvenbane?"
As hot as she had been the moment before, now she was cold. "No," she said flatly. "But only you would think that I could. No. If you won't learn to adapt to our new life here,
Caellach Gwain, I will see to it that no one else will cosset you from this moment on. You will find your own food or starve, clean your own clothing or go dirty, cut your own firewood or freeze. Sooner or later, you'll figure out how to live like a re¬sponsible adult, and high time, too."
And with that, she turned on her heel and stalked off, push¬ing her way through the surrounding crowd of mingled young and old wizards.
Someone grabbed her elbow; she started to pull away blindly, when she realized it was Lorryn. "Don't run off," he muttered. "Not now. This isn't over yet." He turned her back to face the crowd.
"I've heard the mutters and the complaints," he said loudly. "I've heard them from the moment that I arrived here. I couldn't help but notice that most of them came from the same set of mouths—so let's just address this situation once and for all. I'm calling a convocation of all Wizards."
"Here?" someone gasped. "Now?"
"Here and now," Lorryn agreed. "I give you all a quarter-candle to get everyone assembled; whoever isn't here by then I'll assume has no interest in the way things are run in the New Citadel, and doesn't feel the need to have his voice heard."
About half of those present shot or lumbered off in every di¬rection to gather friends and enemies from every part of the Citadel. Shana looked askance at Lorryn.
"Is this a good idea?" she asked doubtfully.
"It had to happen sometime soon," Lorryn replied. "Better that it comes as a surprise to both sides; Caellach and his cronies won't have a chance to prepare themselves."
"And we're prepared?" she replied, staring at him incredu¬lously.
"More than they are—and what's the besetting sin of every one of the Whiners?" he asked, and answered himself tri¬umphantly. "Laziness! That's why I only gave them a quarter-candle. How many will think it's too much trouble to drag themselves away from whatever they'd planned or were in the middle of?"
"Maybe enough to make a real difference," she said slowly—
for already the young wizards were coming up to the clearing at the entrance, brought in by the youngsters who had scattered like quail to bring the message to everyone within reach of a pair of fleet feet.
With the help of a couple of their friends, Lorryn prepared the area. This was also the spot where firewood was chopped and stored, and the young wizards got to work, rolling in some logs for the less-than-healthy to sit on down in front, and set¬ting up sawn sections of trunk for himself, Shana, and presum¬ably Caellach to stand on so everyone could see them. Caellach, of course, merely stood about and observed them sourly. More and more people were arriving with every passing moment, and by the time the allotted span was gone, the only Wizards not present were a scant handful of the oldest or lazi¬est. The biggest surprise was the number of pure humans who had come as well; virtually every full human in the Citadel.
With a great deal of overacted infirmity, Caellach bullied a couple of human youngsters into helping him up onto one trunk-section, as Shana and Lorryn took the other two.
"Now, settle down!" Lorryn shouted, very loudly, so that those who were chattering and milling about obediently stopped talking aloud and turned their attention to where the three of them stood. "All right, then. I am going to moderate this convocation since I'm the one who called it."
"But you're Shana's lover!" Caellach sputtered, red-faced.
Shana was going to protest, but Lorryn beat her to it. The fu¬rious look that Lorryn turned on him sent him from red to white, and he even shrank back a little. No one had ever seen Lorryn angry before—and he looked positively murderous.