The Song of Andiene - By Elisa Blaisdell Page 0,73

This place had a treacherous look to it. Those white-trunked lindel trees never grew in such a seashell-curving line by their own design. Someone had worked sorcery here once, had broken the laws of the land.

It was a rich place, though. He could see the empty blaggorn stems—a fine harvest. The air was sweet with the smell of overripe thornfruit, growing too well-guarded to be picked. And the young crop had set thick on the bushes.

A grasskit yelped and scurried across the path. There would be good hunting, too. “Kare,” he called. “Kare!” The child could be hiding anywhere. Countless little trails mazed their way through the shoulder-high blaggorn. “Kare!” She would expect no stranger. She ought to come.

He saw the blaggorn stems swaying far out in the field, the movement coming closer. She had ignored the paths and nestled into the grass like a little wild animal. Then she was out and onto the path, running toward him. “Daya! Daya! I was frightened!”

She stopped and stared, realizing he was a stranger—dark eyes widening in her grimy face. Black hair and eyes—her father had not said that her mother was a southerner.

“Your father sent me,” he said, trying to speak as he would to a nervous horse. He started to squat down, to put his eyes on a level with her. At the movement, she whirled and ran, using the paths this time. There was no telltale movement of the blaggorn stems to show where she had hidden herself.

Kallan was not dismayed. He had not expected matters to be simple, not with a forest-bred child, raised on nothing more than tales of the outside world.

He studied the ground for his campaign. On the western side of the house, the grass grew shorter. He seated himself there, where he was clearly visible from anywhere in the clearing. Curiosity would draw her, he thought. He had chosen well, so that on all sides she could hide, see him and not be seen.

The waiting was pleasant. He was the hunter, as he had been so often, but this time there was no danger, no urgency. No men would die for his cleverness, or in spite of it. It was good now, to sit in the sun and wait for a child’s curiosity to overcome her.

Black bees crawled over the thornfruit flowers like little lumps of soot, and the drugging smell of the fruit filled the air. A raven flew up into the lindel tree. A grasskit yelped in the blaggorn straw, and his mate answered him.

The sun sank lower in the sky. It was slower work than he had expected. He could not wait forever; Alonsar would have to be brought in from the forest before nightfall. He thought of a trick he could try. Rising slowly, he walked back to where he had tied his horse.

“Good Alonsar, brave creature, you will have fine grazing tonight.” He led the red horse into the clearing and tied him on a long rope, where he could graze on the blaggorn hay. He thought the lindel trees would keep him safe.

Then Kallan returned to the open clearing, walking slowly. The child was close—he was sure of it. A flash of white near the house, that was good. He walked unsteadily, trying to make it obvious. Then he stumbled and fell headlong, using his arms to catch himself only at the last moment. He lay motionless, trying to breathe quickly and irregularly. It was an old trick, but it had drawn many from hiding. Few can resist coming closer to a helpless enemy.

A flash of white again in the corner of his eye. Her padding bare feet made no sound on the ground. He breathed raggedly and lay still. Fingertips touched his forehead, then were gone, as though some little flying creature had landed for an instant, then taken wing again.

More silence. He waited. Hands tugged at his shoulder. He groaned and propped himself up on one elbow. The child knelt on the ground beside him, offering him a carved wooden cup. When she held it up to his lips, he sipped it tentatively, a meadowy taste like a summer night on the plains.

“What is this?”

“To help you. I didn’t know what was wrong.”

“I thank you,” he said. “I was merely tired, very tired. I have traveled far. Your father sent me to fetch you, Kare.”

She looked at him suspiciously, ready to turn and run again. “Your father is waiting for you, Kare. He told me your