When he tired of playing in the water, Sessan slogged ashore, wringing out his long hair as he came. Dripping, he dropped beside Amero and began peeling off his sodden sandals and leggings.
“Nice spot,” he said, squeezing the excess water from his suede footgear. “I can see why you chose to live here.”
“I didn’t choose it,” Amero replied. “The dragon did.”
“Oh, the dragon. When can we see him?”
“Any time he decides to show himself. He doesn’t come among us too often.”
“I thought he took on the shape of a human? He came to Karada’s camp looking like a big man.”
“He takes human form sometimes,” Amero said carefully, “but he does not do our bidding.”
The other riders whooped and splashed in the cold lake. Amero watched them, smiling. At least they would smell better after their wet roughhousing.
“We’d like to stay for a while,” Sessan said suddenly.
“I understand. You can live here if you want, so long as you agree to obey the village elders.”
“Oh, we won’t be staying that long.” Sessan slung his damp sandals around his neck. “We’re wanderers. We can’t dig a hole and live in it, like some rabbit.”
“No, you’re more like wolves, aren’t you?”
Sessan wasn’t offended. He laughed at Amero’s comparison. Jumping to his feet, he swept his arm in a wide half-circle. “Yeah, us wolves’ll camp here, by the lake.”
“You’ll find it damp,” Amero said. “The mist from the falls will soak your tents before nightfall.”
He waved away the young headman’s warning. “We’re used to it. Any night on the savanna it rains is damp for us. Thanks, boy!” He clapped Amero on the back and went to unpack his horse.
Hide tents sprouted on the rocky ledge, and a picket line for the horses stretched between some boulders rolled over from the cliff base. Before departing, Amero told the nomads they could barter with the villagers for whatever they needed — food, fodder for their animals, and so on. He warned them against stealing, then bade them a good evening.
By the slanting amber light of an early autumn afternoon, he saw more dust, more riders filing down the gap. Wearily, he set out to greet them. Amero wondered how many visitors the valley could take before the villagers and the nomads found it too close for comfort.
Chapter 13
When he left Yala-tene, Pa’alu’s step was light. The news Karada might be close by put power and speed in his stride.
When he reached Cedarsplit Gap, he started the climb. Within a few score paces the ravine divided into northern and southern branches. Having spotted his old comrades atop the plateau south of the village, he assumed the southern course would take him to them.
As Pa’alu walked along the red rock ravine, his head filled with thoughts of Karada and the hope that he would find her well. Pakito also figured in his hopes. Surely nothing could ever harm his foolish giant of a brother. The feel of the sun on his face finally broke through Pa’alu’s busy thoughts.
When he’d left the village the sun had been at his back, very low in the eastern sky. Now it was in front of him and over halfway toward its zenith. How long had he been walking? When had the ravine doubled back? Most annoying of all, why had he met none of his fellow plainsman?
Pa’alu shook his head. Perhaps he should go back the way he had come -
Even as the thought formed in his head, he came around a curve in the ravine and found that the narrowing gorge opened into a bowl-shaped canyon perhaps twenty paces wide. Pa’alu squinted. The rock walls here were not the dark red of the ravine but were made up entirely of a light-colored stone. The creamy rock reflected the sun’s light dazzlingly.
The plainsman moved farther into the bowl-shaped canyon. Its floor was strewn with loose rocks that varied from fist-sized chunks to boulders twice as wide as he was tall. The canyon’s rim was completely bare of foliage. Two other passages led out of the deep bowl — one due east, directly ahead of him, the other to his left, on the north side.
By now it was obvious to Pa’alu he’d taken the wrong way. Grumbling at his foolishness and angry at the wasted time, he turned to retrace his steps back to Cedarsplit so he could take the northern fork in the ravine.
The opening that had been directly behind him was gone.
Pa’alu stopped, surprised. Deciding that he must have moved away from the opening while looking at his surroundings, he searched along the curving wall of the canyon to locate the passage.
He found nothing but solid rock.
Perplexed, Pa’alu continued on around the edge of the canyon intent on finding the northern path out. It, too, seemingly had disappeared. He went to the center of the canyon, climbed atop a medium-sized boulder, and scanned for the openings.
His annoyance became shock. There were no openings at all in the canyon’s walls. They had disappeared, and he was trapped in a steep-sided, rock-filled hole in the ground.
“This is madness!” he exclaimed to the high walls. His voice ricocheted around and came back to him, mockingly. “Madness… adness… ness.”
Pa’alu picked up a stone and threw it at the canyon wall. It had no more effect than his spoken protest, but the action made him feel a little bit better.
“That won’t get you out.”
He whirled to face the unexpected voice. A few paces away, seated atop a low table of fractured shale, was a strange, gaunt figure dressed in green. Pa’alu brought up his javelin, ready to attack or defend.
“Peace to you, friend,” said the stranger in a mild, calm voice. “I mean you no harm.”
He was sitting with one leg tucked under him, the other drawn up to his chest. His leg seemed strangely long, his bent knee reaching up as high as his head. The weird man’s arms were also outlandishly proportioned — the forearms too short, the fingers incredibly long. His clothes added to his freakish appearance; he wore a tight-fitting leather garment in various shades of green.
Pa’alu slid off his own rocky perch and watched the stranger warily. “Who are you?”
“A friend. A friend, Pa’alu.”
“You know my name.”
“I’ve heard it said.” The stranger unfolded his legs. His dangling feet touched the ground — some three paces below the rock ledge on which he sat.
“Who are you?” Pa’alu repeated, staring at those weirdly long legs. “How did you get to this place?”
“My name is… well, call me Greengall. I’ve been watching this path for a long time, waiting for the right fellow to come along. I think you’re that fellow.”
“Did you trap me in here?” asked Pa’alu, gripping his javelin tightly in both hands.
“Yes.”
Pa’alu raised the weapon to his shoulder to cast. Greengall’s hairless brows knitted together in a fearsome frown at the javelin aimed unwaveringly at his chest.
“Don’t be stupid! If I can divert you to this place and close walls of stone, do you think I can be hurt by such a trivial weapon as that?”
Pa’alu lowered his weapon sullenly. “What do you want of me?”
“You came from the place called Arku-peli, did you not?”
“I did.”
Greengall smiled, and Pa’alu flinched. The smile had drawn the corners of the stranger’s mouth up until they were even with the outside corners of his jade-green eyes. The plainsman swallowed hard.
Seeming not to notice Pa’alu’s discomfort, Greengall said, “A pleasant habitation! Such a picturesque location, too. How many people live there, would you say?”
The back of Pa’alu’s neck prickled, as it did when he heard the night cry of a wolf. “I don’t know,” he replied slowly. “I’ve only been there a few days.”