It felt good to be herself.
She stretched, vigor increasing by the second. She was ready to stalk the grass like a great cat. She felt a victory more profound than that at Old Stump, or in the Eastern Deserts.
The horizon paled to violet before she thought of Alemar. She had been healed, but what of him? She could not guide him through the corridors of his inner being as he had her. She had neither the training nor the innate talent. What had Gast meant?
Alemar would know.
She smiled. Concerned though she was, nothing could spoil her mood. The answers would come. In the meantime, she would need to sleep, as would he. She started back toward the tent.
XXIII
THE OEIKANI'S WITHERS stood nearly as high as Toren's chin. He and Geim watched the buck canter across the corral. Despite his lack of experience with the animals, Toren knew what a fine specimen he viewed. Its legs were sleek and sturdy from its thighs to its cloven feet. It wielded the knot of hair at the tip of its tail as if it were a mace, slapping the flies off its hindquarters. Toren had never seen such massive antlers; he was relieved that their shape was blunt and knobby, rather than pointed as was the case in the south.
In spite of the buck's intimidating size and grace, Toren felt completely unthreatened. When the trainer brought the animal over to them, it nuzzled Toren's cheek, accepted a sweet, and stood contentedly while the Vanihr stroked its mane.
"The perfect temperament for a new rider," the trainer stated. The oeikani seemed to incline its head at the compliment. "He'll never throw you."
"He's big," Toren said.
"You'll want a sturdy beast like this on the trip to Cilendrodel," Geim declared.
"If I go," Toren said absently, putting off thoughts of the actual journey until he had made his decision. "In any event, this is a fine animal." He could not believe he had mistrusted the breed as recently as his arrival at the temple of Struth only two months earlier.
"I thought you'd agree with the choice," Geim said. "Would you like to ride him back to the temple?"
"I can try."
Geim paid the owner and the two Vanihr mounted, Toren on his new prize and Geim on an equally handsome, though strong-willed, individual. As they rode off, Toren marvelled at the ease with which his animal responded to his commands, anticipating turns and changes in speed. Toren knew only the bare rudiments of riding, yet the oeikani tolerated his hesitant guidance with no sign of nervousness. The modhiv commented on this as they rode past the stables and pens that filled this section of Headwater.
"He's a smart buck, that's true, but give yourself credit. You must have picked up something during those riding lessons Deena's been giving you." Geim grinned suddenly. "Or do you mean to say that you and she did something else with all that time?"
Toren restrained his smile. "Nothing you and Yari wouldn't do."
"That covers a wide range."
Toren chuckled. "I'm sure it does."
They let the mounts go at their own pace, and took advantage of the chance to view the city's hubbub of activity from a height. "You didn't seem tempted by Deena's interest during the journey from the Wood," Geim added as they approached a public fountain. Girls walked to and from it with incredibly large urns balanced on their heads.
"Was she interested then?" Toren asked.
"I think so. I'm not the best judge, and she's not the type to say much. Did she ever tell you why she alone, of all her family, survived the Dragon's pillage of eastern Mirien?"
"No."
"Thought not. She killed two of the Dragon's mercenaries. Unassisted. There's a great deal hiding under that quiet demeanor of hers."
"Yes, there is," Toren said firmly. "I suppose during the trip I was too preoccupied with other concerns to notice."
"Obviously you're feeling better about yourself now."
Toren shrugged. "I can do things that my shaman could not have imagined. I can't deny I'm proud of that, and the training has been invigorating, in spite of the demands. Certainly I wasn't as happy in the Wood, not even as a child. I was a fourth son." He scarcely noticed that he had slipped out of the High Speech into the Vanihr tongue.
Geim smiled ironically. "So was I."
They reached the broad avenue that would take them to the temple district. Toren deliberately stepped up his mount's pace, just to see if he could do it correctly. The oeikani snorted happily as it obeyed. Geim's animal trotted along with matching strides.
As the two Vanihr threaded their way through the temple grounds, walking their mounts to the frog god's stable, Toren noticed a pair of men in the shadow of a trellised walkway next to the main building. One was Obo. The wizard conversed with a short, lithe man in riding garments. The latter's dark hair showed strands of grey, though he seemed no more than forty years old. Heavy dust and flecks of dried mud covered the surface of his very plain cloak, but beneath, visible between the unbuttoned lapels, a tunic of freshly laundered fine brocade peeked out. An aura of sorcery hovered about him, nearly as strong as that emitted by Obo. Something about the man's features haunted Toren.
"Who is that with Obo?" he asked Geim.
Geim studied the stranger's features. "I saw him once last year. That is Keron, the king of Elandris."
A jolt of nostalgia darted out of the recesses of Toren's mind. Obo had served Keron many years; though most of the memories of the wizard's life had long since drained out of Toren's conscious recall, feelings lingered. Toren experienced a sense of deja vu each time he visited a place that Obo frequented, or read a piece of literature the old man favored.
Obo turned and saw the Vanihr. He motioned for them to wait, and with Keron, walked into the sunlight to meet them.
"May I present His Royal Highness, Keron the First of Elandris," Obo said.
"So this is the candidate," Keron said, acknowledging their bows. "I've waited three long years for Struth to find you, while the Dragon swallowed my kingdom and chased me across three nations."
"Sorry to inconvenience you, Your Majesty."
Keron chuckled wryly. "It was mutual, so I understand. Obo was right. You have the impudence of the Dragonslayer. A good sign."
Toren smiled. "I seem to remember bantering with you in decades past," he said, glancing meaningfully at Obo. "Perhaps your wizard afflicted me with impolite habits."
"I did nothing of the sort," Obo quipped. "I simply taught you the language of the Calinin."
Probably true, Toren thought. He certainly could not remember details of any such conversations; only a faint impression had led to his comment. Self-reflection told him he had been testing Keron, to see what kind of person led the resistance against Gloroc. The latter's sense of humor met with the modhiv's approval.
"I was not told you would be coming," Toren said.
"The fewer who know I'm here, the better," the king replied. "I have just come from Xais, where I petitioned the emperor of the Calinin Empire to lend me his army. If your mission is successful, the Dragon will be dead, but his human minions may seize power in the wake of his death. As soon as Gloroc dies, I must march in great force. Or did you think you were going to save Elandris single-handedly?"
"At times I've had that impression."
"I would be happy to leave it all to you if it were possible," Keron said blithely. "But it is not that easy. Rather the opposite, in fact." His faint smile vanished. "If you take up the gauntlets and succeed in killing Gloroc, your part will be done. You can rest, reap whatever rewards we can provide, return to your home. My work will just be starting." He turned back toward the walkway. "I am due for an audience with Struth. I leave in the morning for Tazh Tah, in Simorilia, where my son and my army are camped, but perhaps we can talk this evening."
The larger picture of the war against Gloroc, though it had been explained to Toren several times, had, at least until that moment, remained remote. Lost in contemplation, the Vanihr answered belatedly, "Of course, Your Majesty. I would be honored."