and fierce in her. She had never spoken of her years of exile; she held some secret close to her. Syresh had spoken of Dragonsland. “Dragonsland is guarded well,” said the song, but all things were possible with such as she.
Then Kallan thought of himself, to finish the tally. “The king’s butcher” they had called him in the city. Strange company that he kept—the ones that he had wronged.
Though Ilbran was his friend, chance words or thoughts would rouse the bitter memories; there would be silence and grim looks. One misspoken word to Andiene and her anger would rise again. The truce had not yet been broken, but from time to time she had come perilously close to throwing his past deeds in his face.
Strange company indeed.
They traveled on, the little band of homeless ones. When daylight came, they were still alone in the wide plains that feed the people. They sheltered in the shade of tall thornfruit bushes, crouching on the westward side till noon, and then following the shadows east. Though they drank all their water, still they were thirsty, and too weak and weary to think or speak.
After sunset, Andiene was the first one on her feet, urging them on. “Come,” she said. “We will find water and drink deep. This will be our last night of traveling, and tomorrow we will rejoice in the halls of Oreja!”
Her face gleaming with eagerness, she was not like her dull dazed companions. It seemed to Kallan as though she had drawn strength from the fierceness of the sun. At last, she urged them all to their feet, to stumble their way along the path to where the stream bent close, where they could kneel and brush the thirsty night-flying bees aside, and drink the green scummy water.
Though the stream flowed lukewarm and sluggishly, spicy mordeherb fringed its edges, promising safety to all who drank. None of that group gave one thought to safety. Kallan thought that in their thirst, they might have drunk though the water’s edge were rimmed with skulls.
In the black sky, the stars were dimmer still, scattered and dissolved. Yet Andiene and her companions traveled more quickly, growing accustomed to feeling their way along the path. And before them, the city lights shone like a dappling of stars across a quadrant of their way, the torches hanging smokily along the walls. The great gate was closed. On either side of it stretched long slopes of stone, the surfaces roughly carved in scales, and ending in long-clawed feet.
Andiene stared at it. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Some builder’s little joke,” Kallan said. “They had a rare sense of humor, the ones who built our cities and shelters, and they thought it right that those who entered should walk in between the dragon’s paws.”
Andiene looked at those gray rough-carved talons again, and laughed. “I am so ignorant. When I went out from the city, I did not go by the gates.” She sat down on the ground beside them, leaning back so her pale hair shone against the gray stone. “They will not open to us till dawn?”
“No, my lady, but we can have the joy of waiting, and knowing our traveling is over.”
“Not over yet for me!” she flashed back at him. “I have some leagues to go to the north, before I rest.”
She turned to look at the little group that had followed her out of the forest. “All of you know who I am. I mean to rest in this city for the summer, then go and claim my own, the land of Mareja, which is my rightful kingdom. I want you to say, choosing sides openly, if you will go with me and follow me in my endeavor.”
Finally she had spoken boldly, on this last night before they rejoined the world. Syresh was the first to speak. “I am sworn to your service,” he said. “And. if I were not, then I would swear now, to make my honor more certain.”
Lenane looked long at him, then turned to Andiene. “I am no warrior, but minstrels travel with warriors to sing of their greatness.” She gave a little laugh, then echoed Kallan’s thought. “Besides, all royal ones need a jester.”
“And a cook,” Andiene said, and smiled approvingly. Then she turned to Ilbran, more appeal and urgency in her gaze, now. “And what of you? I cannot force you—indeed I am in your debt, twice over.”
Ilbran stroked his daughter’s dark hair and looked away, along the