pegasus shout before; it wasn’t something the pegasi did. Thowara made a noise like a combination of a horse’s neigh and the king’s Guild of Heralds on a feast-day: the only time she had heard anything like it was the day that her father had banished Fthoom, when Lrrianay had trumpeted. But today Thowara was not merely louder but angrier. The pegasi were never angry either. And Sylvi was increasingly sure that neither her brothers nor her brothers’ pegasi were understanding more than one word in five of what the other was saying—despite the Speakers. What shamans were at the palace? Would it be worth asking—or was that one of the things she dared not do, because it meant that she favoured the pegasi? And perhaps the shamans would be as confused as she was. If Hibeehea were here, would he not be able to create some symmetry to this chaos? But he had left—he was back in Rhiandomeer—because human magic made him ill.
There was a brief pause in the proceedings—while, Sylvi thought, Danacor and Thowara got their breath back—and a rustle behind her, and a silky black head appeared over her shoulder.
I hope I’ve missed most of this, whatever it is, said Ebon.
I think so, said Sylvi. I think Thowara’s winning. He wants to go with Danacor—he and the others with their bondmates.
Yes—I know about this. They’ve been rahmerarahmering about it a while.
Thowara’s determined to go. He thinks he should take a—take a—what do you call it? Regiment. Of pegasi. With him. There’re a lot of volunteers.
Rahmerarahmering was a good word for it. They were going at it again now. The magicians’ voices rose as they tried to keep pace.
I . . . Sylvi hesitated. I’m not sure the magicians are translating as well as . . . as well as we depend on them to.
Danacor’s Speaker was now translating Danacor back to Thowara, who was standing stiffly, head a little bit back so he could look Danacor, who was a tall man, in the eye. Thowara’s wings were half roused, but held rigidly back, rather than curved out to the sides. Anger, thought Sylvus. This is what pegasus anger looks like.
Should we—no, we’re not allowed, the senate and the council are still arguing about us, and Iridin—Why don’t your shamans come? In frustration, knowing the answer, she cried out, Hibeehea speaks human better than I do!
They’ve all gone home—you know that. Nmmoor’s the only one left, and she wasn’t invited here, said Ebon. Our shamans are never invited, except to parties. Not to the courts.
Who told you? said Sylvi. Who told you to come here?
Glarfin. He said “Sylviianel” and then led me here. But I should be here. Even if neither one of us is doing any good, even if—
Even if they won’t let us try. Should I tell my father—
But at this point Lrrianay stepped forward and slowly—that there could be no mistake—formally and quietly demanded his and his people’s rights as set out in the treaty. There was a collective sigh from most of the humans present, because even without the Speakers’ translation it was clear by the way Lrrianay stood—every shining hair on his body saying king, Sylvi thought—what he was declaring.
And so it was decided that Thowara and his two brothers would go with the human company; with Thowara, and under his command, would go five more, and another ten would follow, as soon as the message went back to Rhiandomeer that they were needed.
And Danacor would be carrying the Sword.
It had happened that way several times before, that the young heir rode out with the Sword while the elder ruler remained in the city, to govern and think and negotiate and plot. King Corone formally handed the Sword over to his eldest son—the Sword having agreed to be so handed—and the ceremony was a brief but very beautiful one. But what was a glorious tale in the history books was grim and awful when it was happening to you.
Dinner on Danacor’s last evening was hushed and tense. The king and queen from long practise of difficult conversations did the best, chatting about ordinary things without ignoring the fact that Danacor was riding to war. Several times when runners or other messengers concerning the campaign came to whisper in the king’s ear, the king responded as if the whispers were no more alarming than those on the night before a feast day, when the guild of flute-players was feuding with the guild of viol