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By Root 1139 0

who was the son of a weaver who was the son of a prosperous farmer back in the old days when the elves lived settled lives in their own kingdom in the far west. No one had ever accused his family of having any connection whatsoever to the noble-born or the renowned. He was, of course, the best archer, the shrewdest tactician, and one of the most respected leaders of men that the high plains had ever seen, and those things, among the People, outweighed any questions of kinship. Despite that, Rhodry ap Devaberiel was continually amazed that Calonderiel would hold such easy authority without a grumble from anyone. He himself was second in command of the banadar’s warband, and since he’d sworn to serve him, he personally would never have argued with a single order or decision his leader made. It was just that, at odd moments, he puzzled about it, or even, Calonderiel being the kind of man he was, felt he could wonder about it aloud.

“And now this Aledeldar shows up for the autumn meeting,” Rhodry remarked. “What if he and his son decide to ride with us? Doesn’t it trouble you?”

“Why should it?” Calonderiel looked up in surprise. “Something wrong with him?”

“Not as far as I can see. It’s just that he’s the king, isn’t he? Well, the only one you people—we, I mean—have. There’s bound to be trouble over it. One wagon but two teamsters makes for a rough journey.”

Calonderiel merely laughed. It was late in the evening, and wrapped in woolen cloaks, they were sitting together in front of the banadar’s enormous tent. Among the other tents (and there were over two hundred of them), everything was dark and silent, broken only by the occasional bark of a dog or cry of a hungry baby, hushed as fast as the echo died.

“Well, it won’t be so funny when he starts countermanding your orders.”

“Rhodry, you don’t understand us still, do you? How long have you lived with us now? Thirteen, fourteen years? Well, think back over it. You’ve heard plenty of people mention Del and his son, haven’t you? And how? Exactly like they’d mention anyone else they know. You have more real power than he does, as a matter of fact. You’re my second, and the men all respect you, and so the People would take your orders long before they’d take his. Nothing can take his position away from Del, mind. He’s Halaberiel’s son, and Halaberiel was Berenaladar’s, and Berenaladar was the son of Ranadar, King of the High Mountain, and that’s that. But since the wolves and the owls and the weeds are running his kingdom these days, well, by the Dark Sun herself! He’s got no call to be giving himself airs over it.”

Baffled, Rhodry shook his head. Calonderiel was right, he supposed. He didn’t understand the People, and at times like these, he doubted if he ever would.

On the morrow, with the autumn meeting or alardan as it was called in full swing, his loneliness seemed to double itself. Since it was the last festival before the long trip south to the winter camps, it was a big one. Whenever a new traveling group arrived, some ten families and their horses and sheep, everyone rushed to greet old friends, not seen since the height of summer, and to help them unpack and settle in. Time to visit was short; the herds would crop the available grazing down fast, and the meeting would disperse, Rhodry wandered through the brightly painted tents by himself, saying the occasional hello or exchanging smiles and nods with someone whom he recognized. Wildfolk swarmed everywhere, grinning and gaping, dashing back and forth, pulling dogs’ tails and children’s hair, then suddenly vanishing only to stream back into manifestation a few feet away. Among the People themselves, everyone was rushing around, getting ready for the enormous feast that evening. Here and there he found groups of musicians, tuning their instruments together and squabbling over what to play; here and there cooks were drawing and dressing slaughtered iambs or pooling precious hoards of Bardek spices. Children ran to and fro, bringing twigs and scraps of bark or baskets of dried dung to the cooking fires that were, as