The Phoenix Endangered (18 page)

He poked around in the hamper, and ate an apple or two, and finally—about the time it was starting to get really dark—Tiercel came walking back, with Ancaladar following him. You couldn’t exactly say that Ancaladar moved “ponderously,” but it was hard to see something that large moving at all and think of him as moving gracefully, even though Ancaladar did. The ball of Coldfire that hovered above Tiercel’s head as it always did on his way back from practice gave the parts of Ancaladar it shone on a foggy bluish gleam, and in the dusk, the black dragon looked almost insubstantial.

When the two of them reached the wagon, Ancaladar folded himself up neatly and settled himself on the grass. Tiercel flopped down onto the blanket beside Harrier and sighed. “It doesn’t get any easier,” he said.

“Oh come on,” Harrier scoffed. “You haven’t even been doing this a fortnight yet. Complain when you’ve been practicing for a moonturn at least.” He poured hot water into the waiting pot, then poured more into one of the mugs already half-filled with berry cordial. “Drink this.”

“What is it?” Tiercel asked, taking the wooden mug.

“Poison, of course,” Harrier answered promptly, and Tiercel snorted in amusement.

“It’s good,” he said, when he set the mug aside.

“Lanya said they drink the cordial that way in winter. It
isn’t winter yet, but you’re always cold after you practice,” Harrier said. “Now eat before you fall asleep.”

Harrier divided up the second chicken and set it out on plates. He knew he really didn’t have to—and Tiercel tended to complain if Harrier spent too much time nurse-maiding him—but if he had to choose between listening to Tiercel complain, and trying to bandage him up in the dark when he cut himself with his own eating knife, Harrier would take complaints every time. And no matter what the Elves had said about a dragon taking the place of the mysterious “something” that a High Mage needed to power his magic, Tiercel was always dead tired after practicing.

About the time the tea was ready, Ancaladar raised his head. “H’m,” he said, in thoughtful tones.

Kareta was walking slowly toward them. Her head was down, and her tail practically dragged on the grass. Even her ears drooped. She stopped a few feet away.

“I know you won’t believe me,” she said in a low voice, “but… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Harrier asked. He was surprised at how calm he felt. Not the least bit angry.

“For kicking you into the water. That was wrong.”

“Yes it was,” Harrier agreed. His back still ached. “Is there anything else you’re sorry for?” He had the bizarre sensation that he’d suddenly become his father, because he’d been on the receiving end of just such a series of questions so many times when he’d done something he shouldn’t have. Both his parents thought that punishing their children didn’t do any good if they didn’t know exactly what they were being punished
for.
And Antarans Gillain was a fair man; if any of his children could prove either that they hadn’t known what they were doing was wrong, or that it wasn’t actually wrong, they wouldn’t be punished for their actions. And because he’d always listened first, no matter how angry he was, they’d repaid that faith in them with honesty.

Kareta’s head drooped even lower. “I’m sorry I took your
food without asking. I… I’m sorry I
took
it. Because that wasn’t right.”

“Okay,” Harrier said. Tiercel opened his mouth to speak, but Harrier held up his hand. “I’m glad you apologized for both those things—” he really
did
sound like his father, right now “—and I’m glad you’re sorry. But what we both—what we all—need to know is that you aren’t going to do them again.”

“I won’t,” Kareta said. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Harrier said, trying not to sigh with relief. “We’ll say no more about it then.” He really didn’t like laying down the law to a unicorn, even an incredibly annoying one. And he couldn’t imagine what he would have said if she’d told him she was just going to go on and do the same things again.

Kareta seemed to be just as relieved as he was. “What are you eating?” she asked hopefully.

“Chicken. Bread. Cheese,” Tiercel said. “There are apples.”

“May I have an apple?” Kareta asked politely.

Tiercel scrambled forward to dig into the hamper and find one for her. Harrier grinned to himself. He didn’t think that Kareta’s extravagant politeness would last—but he didn’t think she’d go back to snatching food out from under their noses, either.

Seven

Beyond the Veil

W
E’RE ALMOST THERE
,” Kareta said cheerfully.

It was a fortnight later, and the last two sennights had been peaceful to the point of boring. Harrier wondered who kept
order
in the Elven Lands, because unless they were a
lot different than humans, someone had to. When he’d finally gotten curious enough to ask Ancaladar about it (and to explain something of what he meant), the dragon had told him that the Elven Knights did much of what he was thinking of, and the Forest Rangers did the rest. Between them, the two groups protected trade caravans, succored lost travelers, and dealt with the extremely infrequent cases of actual violence.

“The Elves have been a peaceful people since long before your kind built cities,” Ancaladar had said. “I do not say that there is no strife or unhappiness here in the Elven Lands, for there is unhappiness everywhere. But violence such as is common in the Lands of Men … that would have to come from outside. And no merely mortal enemy can pass Pelashia’s Veil.”

“Then why are there Elven Knights at all?” Tiercel had asked. “I mean, if they don’t have anyone to fight.”

“Because Elven memories are long, Bonded,” Ancaladar had said.

Three days after they’d left Blackrowan Farm, the road had simply come to an end. Harrier had been a little worried at first, but the wagon was sturdy and well-sprung, and the ground was still fairly level, and since Ancaladar said that the stream continued in the direction they needed to go, he’d simply followed that for the next few days.

After that, the stream had taken a sharp bend away from the direction they needed to go. They weren’t making as much progress each day as they had been on the road—at least the wagon wasn’t—because they’d moved out of open country and into woodland. While it was true that the trees weren’t so close together that Harrier couldn’t get the wagon between them, he
did
have to spend more time searching for a suitable path than he had when they’d been on the road.

Kareta, to his great surprise, was actually useful. It was true that she had no real notion of what paths the wagon could take and which it couldn’t, but once they’d stopped following the stream, the other thing they needed to do on
a regular basis was find water, and Kareta was eager to help.

One of the items that had been a part of the wagon from the very beginning—unused until now—was a set of barrels lashed over the forward axles. The two barrels could hold enough water to take care of their needs for several days. Of course, Harrier had to find a water source in order to fill them—and to his amazement, the first time the level in the barrels began to drop, Kareta volunteered to go look for water.

“Don’t you know anything about unicorns?” she’d demanded, tossing her head.

“You know exactly what I know about unicorns,” Harrier had answered gruffly. “If you find water, kindly remember I’d like to be able to get the wagon next to it.”

She hadn’t quite been able to manage that. But when she’d found a spring, he was able to get the wagon close enough that he didn’t have to haul the buckets too far.

“Don’t worry if the water’s muddy,” Kareta said. “Or if it goes bad.”

“Why not?” Harrier asked, and when she opened her mouth to reply, he added, “And
don’t
just tell me again that I don’t know anything about unicorns.”

“Because I can purify it for you,” Kareta said, sounding indignant at having to explain.

“Okay. Fine.”

A few days later she had to do just that, because the water she led him to was a deep pond completely covered with green slime. It stank.

“I’m not going to drink that,” Harrier had said simply.

“Wait,” Kareta had answered. She’d knelt down, and touched her horn to the pool. A blue shimmer had spread out from the point at which her horn touched the water, and a moment later the entire pool was crystal clear. She’d looked smug—or as smug as she
could
look, anyway—and at the evening meal, Harrier had brought out the last of the apples and fed them to her.

“You earned them,” he said simply.

A
ND NOW THEY’D
reached the edge of the Elven Lands. Ancaladar had seen the Veil yesterday and had told Harrier that they’d cross it today. He hadn’t flown beyond it, as he wasn’t entirely sure, he’d said, if he’d be able to get Tiercel back through. Certainly an Elven Mage could pass back and forth through the barrier with ease, and Ancaladar could travel back and forth through the Veil alone, but he didn’t want to risk what might happen to Tiercel if he attempted to bring him back through the Veil.

“I don’t see anything,” Harrier said dubiously, looking where Kareta was pointing. There were trees all around them—trees ahead, trees behind—and somewhere in the next mile or so, the edge of the Elven Lands. In Harrier’s opinion, there ought to be a marker stone, or something.

“I
do,” Kareta said pertly. “Look! I’ll show you!” She dashed off through the trees and then stopped. Eventually, the wagon rolled up to join her.

“Right
there,”
she said.

Harrier had stopped the team. He looked where she was pointing. All he saw was more trees—and, maybe another mile or so in the distance, Tiercel and Ancaladar, on the ground, waiting for him. That meant that somewhere between where Kareta was standing (probably
right
where she was standing) and where Tiercel and Ancaladar were, was the Veil that everybody had been talking about for the last several sennights—the thing that kept people like him out of the Elven Lands. But since he was
in
the Elven Lands right now, it shouldn’t stop him from getting
out.

He clucked to the team again, and they started forward.

He tried not to wince as the wagon passed Kareta, or to imagine he felt something. Because he didn’t feel anything, any more than he saw something. He’d been poking half-heartedly at the Three Books whenever he was sure Kareta was out of sight, but he didn’t feel any more like a Wildmage than he had before he’d gotten them. And whether he was one or not, apparently his so-called Wildmagery didn’t
extend to sensing Elven magic, because he didn’t notice anything at all, and by the time he reached Ancaladar, he was pretty sure he was on the other side of the Veil. About the only difference he could see was that the forest here looked scruffier than the forest in the Elven Lands, and he wasn’t even sure if he was imagining that. He pulled the wagon to a halt again. “Did you feel anything when you went through?” he asked Tiercel curiously.

“No,” Tiercel said, looking both disappointed and relieved. “You?”

“Not a thing. But I’m hungry now. Let’s eat.”

A
FTER THEY ATE
, Harrier packed up and then spent almost an hour gathering a good solid load of firewood. He was a little uneasy about wandering around looking for wood at the evening stop, and even though anything that might be prowling around these woods probably wouldn’t come too close to Ancaladar, it was starting to get cold enough that it certainly wouldn’t hurt to be able to keep a good fire burning all night. There was already enough empty space in the storage hampers for Harrier to be able to load a good amount of wood into them before he left. And—Harrier brightened—now that they were out of the Elven Lands, he’d be able to cut trees down for wood, assuming he wanted to, although unseasoned wood didn’t burn particularly well. It was always nice to have the option.

T
HEY WERE STILL
in the forest when the light began to dim; tonight, at least, Ancaladar would be able to give him a good idea of how much longer he’d have to travel through it, and what lay beyond. There might have been another hour or two of light if they’d been out in the open, but not here in the depths of the forest. Harrier was starting to decide he hated trees.