"Oh, please," said Caellach Gwain, waving a hand languidly. "This is an old tale, and we're weary of hearing it. We haven't seen any signs of this so-called mustering of troops you've been ranting about."
"That's because" she snarled impatiently, "the troops are all being mustered on the estates of three of the High Lords who you have been afraid to watch!"
"And who is this informant of yours?" Caellach asked shrewdly.
She didn't answer at first. They wouldn't believe her, even though they had seen Rena themselves, if only briefly. They would never believe Rena could keep her head long enough to be of any use as a spy. "I'm not about to blurt out any names when there might be a traitor among you!" she snapped.
"Oh? This is nothing more than a ruse to take our minds off the important matter of a treaty negotiated with dangerous barbarians—negotiated without permission of the Citadel as a whole, might I add." Caellach looked disgustingly proud of himself. She glanced over at Denelor and Parth Agon; the former shrugged helplessly, the latter cast his eyes up to heaven. Caellach Gwain did not have enough votes to cause her serious trouble, but he did have enough of the wizards on his side to embroil them in this nonsense until the elven armies were at their very door!
Once again, as she gazed out at those fat, fatuous faces, she heard Mero's voice in her mind, giving her the bad news he had in turn heard from Sheyrena. In' a panic, she had spent all of the energy she dared in trying to send that same message on to Keman, but she had no real idea if he had heard, nor where he was if he had.
It would be just her luck that he and that lady friend of his had decided to flit off somewhere together out of reach of everything and everyone. Or perhaps they had gone back south to her Lair, to gain "courting consent" from her parents…
Now, as she listened to the same idiocy that had kept her penned in this chamber, day after day, unable to accomplish anything productive, her temper snapped.
She stood up, right in the middle of one of Caellach's speeches, slamming the palm of her hand on the table. He stopped in midsentence, shock on his face at her rudeness.
"You can blather about this from now until you're cut down by elven blades, if you want," she spat. "I am going to try to do something about it."
"With what?" Caellach sneered.
"With us," Kalamadea replied, standing up himself, as every other shape-changed dragon in the place did the same. "Even if it is only to make plans to flee, with those who are wise enough to come with us."
Caellach gaped at him, openmouthed at the revolt of the dragons. "But—" he spluttered impotently. "But—'
"But I don't think that will be necessary," came a voice from the door, a voice so hoarse with weariness that Shana did not even recognize it. Until she turned, and saw—
Keman. And behind Keman, a dozen, two dozen—three, four—she lost count of how many strangers there were behind him.
All of them with dragon-shadows.
"Shana, here are your new allies," he said, as Alara exclaimed in surprise and joy and ran to embrace not only her son but a tall and handsome, ebony-haired man who stood at Keman's side. "Here are dragons from our Lair, O'ordila'i's Lair, Hali'a's Lair, Teomenava's Lair—"
He named off a half-dozen more Lairs as Shana stood there, so stunned that she couldn't even speak.
"We'll form the force on the right flank," he continued. "Dora has gone to the Iron People, and Diric should be able to bring his mounted warriors in to be our left flank before the elven armies themselves show up."
"We can plant wedges of iron that will disrupt the elven plan to bring the Portal up right on your doorstep," the black-haired man said with a grin. "Our best rock-melders are bringing it up out of the earth now in fist-sized nodules, and we're flying it out here and dropping bits of it along the way. We think we'll have enough to seed the forest for a day's march all around."
"That leaves your forces to form the rear of the trap," Keman continued hoarsely, and turned to Caellach Gwain. It was at that point that Shana was struck by the realization that Keman was no longer a "boy," by any standards. He was thinking and acting for himself, taking responsibility, and willing to live with the consequences.
She saw by the look on Alara's face that the same conclusion had just struck her on the nose as well.
Her little baby is no longer little, nor a baby… Like every mother, everywhere, her offspring had been a child to her long past the time when that ceased to be true.
"Now, you can do what you please. Lord Wizard," Keman continued, "and you can believe what you will. But an army of Iron People and another of dragons believe that Shana is right, and you fools are in deadly peril, and we are willing to help her. Now, we have a saying among the dragons—"
He stared at Caellach Gwain with a gaze as sharp as a sword-blade, and the old wizard actually shrank back from him.
"—lead, follow, or get out of my flight-path," he said forcefully. "Now, which is it going to be?"
The old wizard sank down into his chair, keeping any further protests behind his teem.
Keman bowed ironically to him, then gestured to Shana. "I believe the lightning now comes to you, foster sister," he said, with a weary twinkle in his eye. "I shall leave it to you and my friends here. I have done a great deal of flying in the past few hours, and I want to sleep for a week!"
"The Council meeting," Lorryn said, to the room full of quiet young elves. The tavern had been closed to outsiders for tonight; only those with an iron necklace were allowed inside. They were all arrayed on every seat, every bench, every space where there was sitting room. He alone stood, in the center of the room, and every emerald eye was on him. "Every lord of any importance in their eyes is going to be there, and they plan to go right into battle from the meeting. That leaves the field clear for you, all of you, to act while they are all stuck in the Council Hall, leagues and leagues from anywhere, with little transportation, few followers, and no way to communicate to their estates. There are only three High Lords who won't be there—the three who are going to open the Portals and send their slave armies through while the Council is in session."
"And all of those are sending their heirs to the Council," one of the er-Lords who had been part of the planning from the beginning chuckled. "They'll be as cut off as the rest of them when the er-Lords close their Portals behind them as they pass through."
"The rest of you have to manufacture excuses to be on your lords' or fathers' estates when the Council Meeting takes place," Lorryn told the rest of them. "We'll give you each a wedge of iron to spike the Portal with; after that, it will be sealed for all intents and purposes. I suggest that you hide it well; your fathers and lords may have a loyal underling or two who can't be persuaded to come over. Don't waste time trying to find them. Get to the human fighters and take them over. Throw out anyone who won't swear to you. After that?" He shrugged. "I've given you all the advice I can. Hold the estates for yourselves. You ought to be able to—anyone you shield with the jewelry will be protected from direct magic, so all that will be left to your fathers and uncles and liege lords is force. You'll have your humans; they won't. And by then, it will be too late to recall all the human fighters that were sent through the Portals."
"An even chance is all we need," said one of them, his eyes gleaming. He wasn't a young lord, either. He must have been one of those with little or weak magic, and as a result, the grudge he carried was probably centuries in the brewing. "That's all we've ever asked for."
"Aye to that," said another.
Lorryn nodded, and rubbed the side of his head wearily. Would this all work? And what was going on with Shana? The last he'd heard, through his craftsmen, Keman had recruited more dragons, but did she know that the armies were coming? Could even a sky full of dragons prevail against the numbers that were coming?
And for that matter, was she even in charge anymore?
It didn't matter; events had gotten away from them all. Now they had to act or be run over by them.
"You all know what to do—" he said, waving at them in dismissal. He had more of these meetings to hold, even as his draconic friends were holding similar meetings in the other four cities. "It's up to you how you do it"
And up to the rest of us to make the most of it.
Ah, Shana—I could use your stubborn good sense right now!
Rena had been a very, very obedient little girl, remaining meek and pliant in every way while Lord Tylar ordered her about. She hoped to lull any suspicions that he might have had by never mentioning Lady Viridina in his hearing, and never directly asking about her to the slaves.
He must have suspected something—or perhaps the habit of suspecting everyone had become so ingrained that he could not drop it even if he wanted to—for he took care that she was never alone, even though she thought she was going to scream with frustration.
Finally, though, she had a respite, if an eleventh-hour respite. He was too busy today preparing for the Council Meeting to watch her himself, and as nearly as she could tell, he had not set anyone to watch her. For the first time since she had come back to the estate, she was alone.
It might be her last and only chance, and she was going to take it.
She dared not wear her jewelry, though—she herself was going to have to work magic, and the magics guarding her mother's garden-tower were likely rigged to set off mechanical alarms if they were made to fail. So she took both packets still swathed in their insulation of silk, hid them in her gown, and slipped out of the bower with the silence of a stalking Iron Clan warrior.
Or so she fondly hoped, at any rate.
She slipped along the hallways, as cautious as a cat; she passed through the magic-barriers that Lord Tylar had placed around the bower with no trouble, although she had feared that they might stop her. Her father had told her they were supposed to be for her safety—in case Lorryn came after her again—but she was not going to take anything Lord Tylar said at face value.
Now she passed through corridors made more for use man for show, heading for the herb and kitchen gardens. In theory, since she was in charge of the household, she had every right and duty to go there. In actuality—it would be hard to explain her presence to anything above a household slave.
In the middle of the kitchen garden, some wag of an architect had set a prison-tower for the confinement of anyone Lord Tylar wanted out of the manor, but near enough to keep a personal eye on. It hadn't been in use in Rena's lifetime, but she'd heard of recalcitrant underlings who had spent brief but uncomfortable visits there. It was supposed to be escape-proof, provided the person kept there was less than Lord Tylar in magical power.
Or provided that the person kept there had no allies with any magical power on the outside.