The cook smiled tentatively at that, and sent one of the men off for the washtubs. While he fetched the two tubs, she set about conjuring great slabs of meat-like stuff, only a thumbs-breadth thick, as wide as a palm, and as long as her arm-food that could cook quickly over a spit. She did not think that the barbarians would be very likely to care how well-done it was, but she concentrated as hard as she could to make certain it was savory. At the longing looks of the men, who were loathe to subsist on dried-beef stew when this tasty stuff was sizzling over the flames, she gave permission for them to eat of it as well, provided they ate first of the real food. They understood why; it was folly to depend on conjured food for sustenance.
When the tubs arrived, she conjured them full to the brim, creating a sweet red wine, full of sugars and stronger than the strongest brandy she had ever drunk herself. These she had carried to the warriors at the fireside, along with whatever was at hand to use as flasks and cups.
By now, the torches and lamps were all lit, and Ware had settled in the midst of the Pacha, making some long speech. Faro joined her as the first of the tubs was carried to the waiting barbarians.
"He's prating about brotherhood and the sacred earth," Faro said, as she shifted her concentration to create the ingredients required for sweet sugar-cookies. "He's been using the biggest words he knows, and describing you as a Valiant hawk of the wild Mazonites,' and 'a wily she-cat, who wins as much by guile as by strength,' but 'one who values honor and oaths more than meat and drink.' It's one of those long-winded speeches the politicians make. They just might appoint him chieftain when he's done, if he's not careful."
She chuckled, as the Pacha lost their interest in Ware's speech when the tubs of wine appeared. The sweet aroma told them this was something special, and they had no patience for speeches when fabulous drink like this awaited them. They snatched cups and bowls, and gathered around the tub with exclamations of delight and wonder, dipping out containers full.
But they waited until Ware had dipped one as well, and had drunk it to the dregs, before the chieftain took his first sip. Xylina wasn't certain whether this was protocol or caution. Perhaps both.
The Pacha warrior exclaimed something that set the others to laughing-and all the rest drank their first cups off as quickly as Ware had downed his. Xylina had to give them credit for strong constitutions;she would not have been able to drink the "wine" so quickly.
"What did he say?" Xylina demanded.
Faro grinned. "Waugh! That is no wine! It is honey-fire! It kicks like an unbroken stallion!"
She sighed with relief. "Good. I hoped they'd like over-sweet wine. Although at the rate that they are drinking, I may test my abilities to the limit to conjure up enough to keep up with them!"
"Your abilities are quite impressive already," he murmured. "And getting stronger, I think. The Queen's warriors are taking note, as is Ware."
She realized that between the defenses and the food, she had done more than ever before. She was getting better with the constant practice of each night's camping. She might do well to try to mask the extent of her conjurations, so that no one would know what her limits were. It could make a difference, if an enemy should try to wait for her magic exhaustion before striking.
The first of the slabs of meat arrived then, and the Pacha set to, eating only with their fingers and their knives, wiping their greasy hands on their chests and hair with every evidence of approval. Evidently Xylina's efforts met with their approval, for they stuffed the boneless "meat" into their mouths as fast as they could chew. They reminded her of hawks eating-happy hawks, for the air filled with their easy laughter. Ware looked relaxed, and even Faro seemed pleased with the way things were going. The empty tub came back to her and she filled it again, then left the camp-kitchen to the cook and joined the others at the fireside.
The Pacha were definitely happy, now, each taking his turn to stop eating and drinking long enough to sing a song. Like their language, their music was surprisingly melodious; they sang without accompaniment other than the drumming of hands on thighs. The firelight shone on their glistening faces and chests, their bright black eyes snapping with pleasure as they ate and drank, dipping their bowls and cups into the tubs of wine. This time, when the tubs emptied, Xylina stood up and conjured them full again before their very eyes, making them exclaim with wonder as the wisps of crimson fog solidified between her hands and turned into a stream of crimson wine that filled the metal tubs. Evidently they saw little of magic, less of conjuration. That comforted her; at least she would not be confronted with alien magic quite yet.
Faro translated as much of their singing as he understood; mostly it seemed to be songs of each warriors personal prowess, or that of his or her ancestor's. There was no differentiation between the male and female warriors; they ate and drank and slapped one another on the back in rough camaraderie, but made no kind of sexual advances toward one another. Xylina had already warned her men that they must treat these barbarians as one would a momentarily quiescent wild beast: with care, and with respect. Even if they had been thinking that a drunken Pacha maiden might welcome one of them, they should dismiss that thought completely. And since the Pacha kept all their weapons well to their hands, her men were only too happy to obey her.
When the sweet cakes and cookies came out, the Pacha were overjoyed. As she had expected, they did not see sweet things very often, and the cakes were a high delicacy for them. Of course, in the afternoon, when they woke up, they would do so with empty bellies-but one night of conjured debauchery would do them no harm, and she doubted that they would know that the food had vanished from their stomachs in a way they were not used to. It would have been a cruel way to treat men and women who were starving-but the Pacha were clearly in excellent shape, and one conjured meal would make no difference to them.
By now, they were very, very drunk; one or two were unable to hold up their cups, and sat staring stupidly at the fire, blinking owl-eyes at the flames, with their cups dangling dripping from limp fingers. The rest had gotten to the stage of happy carousal, where everything was funny, and there was nothing wrong with the world. She conjured more wine, then thick, blanket-like swaths of fabric for each of them, which she had Faro put unobtrusively near to their hands. As she had thought, they mistook the blankets for their own, which were probably still with the ponies, and gathered the fabric about their shoulders against the growing chill of the desert night.
One by one, they drank their last cups, clutched their blankets a little closer, and dropped off into drunken slumber. At last, the entire circle of barbarians lay snoring, cups and bowls dropped from uncaring hands, spilling conjured wine into the sand.
She directed two of the defter men to pick up the cups and move the tubs, spilling out what was left of the wine onto the ground. She conjured water to wash the last of it away. She was weary, and she did not want to dispel the wine left in the tubs only to make the mistake of dispelling all of it and leaving her "guests" sober. She had done a hard job of conjuring, and did not trust her control at this point.
Finally the last of their property was picked up, leaving the Pacha, the ponies picketed nearby, the sole occupants of the fire-circle. And the fire itself was dying down; she did not want to risk an ember popping out and waking anyone, so she did not conjure any more fuel to feed it. Instead, she signaled Ware and Faro to leave their "guests" and follow her to their tent, where bowls of real stew awaited them.
Faro let out his breath as they fastened the flap behind them. "Were you doing what I think you were doing?" he asked. "Getting them drunk enough that they'll still be sleeping like the dead when we leave in the morning? That was better than any notion I had."