A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [30]
“Nothing. I couldn’t see.”
“A man of magic is coming to us from the east. His destiny lies here, and I’m to take him in.”
“Not one of those smelly Round-ears?”
“Any man who serves the Light is welcome in my tent.”
“Of course, Wise One, but I didn’t think a Round-ear would have the wits for magic.”
“Now, now! Harsh words and prejudice don’t suit a student of the Light.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t like the Round-ears much either, mind. But I’m trying. Do your best to try, too.”
In the middle of the next afternoon, they rode into the alardan, the great camp where the People meet at the end of the summer after a long season’s wandering with their flocks and herds. That year the banadars of the scattered tribes had chosen the Lake of the Leaping Trout, the most southerly of a chain of lakes along a wide river which the Eldidd men, with a characteristic lack of imagination, called simply Aver Peddroloc, the four-lake river. To the south stood a vast oak forest, tangled and primeval, that was a burying ground held sacred by the People for a thousand years. From the north shore spread an open meadow, where now hundreds of brightly painted tents rose like flowers in the grass. Out beyond were flocks of sheep and herds of horses, watched over by a ring of horsemen.
As their little group rode up, Talbrennon peeled off to drive their stock into the communal herds. Dallandra led the others down to the lakeshore and found an open spot to set up camp. As they dismounted, ten men came running to do the heavy work for the Wise One and her apprentice. Dallandra led Nananna away from the bustle and helped her sit down in the grass, where Enabrilia and the baby joined them. Farendar was awake, looking up at his mother with a wide toothless grin.
“Look, sweetie, look at the camp. Isn’t it nice? There’ll be music tonight, and you can listen.”
Farendar gurgled, a pretty baby, with big violet eyes, a soft crown of blond hair, and delicate ears, long and tightly furled, as all babies’ ears were. They would begin to loosen when he was three or so.
“Give your aunt Dalla a kiss.” Enabrilia held him up. “Malamala’s sweetest love.”
Obligingly Dallandra kissed a soft pink cheek. There was a definite odor about the child.
“He’s dirty again.”
“Oh, naughty one!”
Enabrilia knelt down in the grass and pulled up his little tunic to unlace the leather diaper and pull it off. The diaper was stuffed with long grass, definitely well used; Enabrilia shook it out and began to pull clean. All the while she kept up a running stream of sweet chatter that vaguely turned Dallandra’s stomach. Her friend gushed over the baby no matter what he did, whether soiling his diapers or blowing his snotty little nose. At times it was hard for Dallandra to believe that this was the same girl who used to train for an archer and race her horse ahead of the alar across the grasslands, who used to camp alone in the forest with Dallandra, just the two of them. Every child, of course, was more precious than gold and twice as rare among the People; every elf knew that, and Dallandra reminded herself of it often. When Enabrilia started to put the grass-filled diaper back on, Farendar proceeded to urinate all over himself and her hand, but his mother just laughed as if he’d done something clever.
“I think I’ll walk back to the camp,” Dallandra said. “See if the tent is ready.”
The tents were indeed standing, and Halaberiel the banadar was waiting in front of Nananna’s with four members of his warband. Louts, Dallandra considered the young men, with their long Eldidd swords at their sides and their swaggering walk. Halaberiel himself, however, was a different matter, a farseeing man and a skilled judge for the alarli under his jurisdiction. When Dallandra held up her hands palm outward, he acknowledged the gesture of respect with a small firm nod.
“I’m glad to see you, Wise One. I trust Nananna is well.”
“A bit tired. She’s down by the lakeshore.”
“I’ll go speak with her.” Halaberiel glanced at his escort. “You all stay here.”
The four of