As the long afternoon progressed, the sounds and the presence of the magic grew stronger. If Soldier’s Boy allowed himself, he could taste the fear and the discouragement that wafted out from the dance. The sound became a constant that buffeted his senses. Although the magic was not directed at them, approaching it was still like wading up a strongly flowing stream. It drew strength from Soldier’s Boy. Olikea set her face into an expression of grim determination and marched on. The music created something that was the opposite of a quick-walk; it seemed to take forever to toil up the slight rise in the trail to where a couple of Kinrove’s men stood a lackadaisical watch beside the trail. Half a dozen people stood idly by, perhaps awaiting their turn to pass.
Their sentry duty seemed ridiculous to me at first. Why guard the most obvious trail into Kinrove’s summer encampment? It would have been child’s play to circle wide of the two idle guards and simply approach his stronghold through the forest. But as we drew closer, Soldier’s Boy’s leg muscles became more and more reluctant to work. By the time we actually reached the guards, he felt as if he had waded there through tar. It came to me that the whole of his encampment was encircled by this magical palisade, just as it had been at the Trading Place; the guards were not guarding so much as serving as the keys to entry. Only at that location could anyone approach one of Kinrove’s guards and request to be allowed in.
As we drew slowly closer, I could see that those who sat or stood awaiting admittance had evidently been there for some time. They crouched or stood, their eyes on the guards, reminding me of dogs begging at table. Off to one side of the trail, a banked campfire smoldered. Around it were blanket rolls and a scatter of possessions. I divined that it was a pathetic siege of sorts. I wondered how long they had been waiting.
As we toiled up the path, one guard caught sight of us and immediately jabbed at the other. Both stood abruptly, lifting bows and training arrows onto us as we came. One stood taller, craning to see us, and then said something to the other guard. The first one puffed out his lips, the Speck equivalent of shaking his head. They stared at us as we advanced, their faces stony. “Will they let us pass?” Olikea asked in a whisper.
“They will. But this time, it is my turn to ask you to be silent while I strike the bargain.”
She gave him a doubtful look but acceded.
They stopped a dozen steps short of the guards, not because the men had made any threat toward them, but simply because they encountered a barrier. Abruptly, weariness and aches flooded Soldier’s Boy’s body and he found himself questioning his reasons for coming here. What would he accomplish? Had he no faith in Kinrove, the greatest of the great? He looked at Olikea. Her face wore a similar bewilderment. She gave him a questioning glance. I deduced it before either of them did. I spoke loudly in Soldier’s Boy’s mind. “Step back. Two steps back will probably put you out of the barrier’s range.”
I do not know if he heard me or if he started to leave. But once he had retreated two steps from the guards, he suddenly shook his head and wheeled round again. He caught Olikea by the shoulder and kept her from going any farther. He focused his attention on the guards. “I want to see Kinrove,” he declared. “Send him word that Soldier’s Boy, Nevare, is here and wishes to speak with him. Tell him it is of the greatest importance.”
They did not even look at one another. “You are not to be admitted. This Kinrove has made clear to us.” The guard who had spoken added, “Know this, Great One. Kinrove’s magic will slow you or anything you might launch at us. But it has no effect on our arrows. They will fly as swift and true as ever.”
“I bring him gifts,” Soldier’s Boy said, as if no warning or threat had ever been made. Without any ceremony, he lowered his treasure sling to the ground. He untied the knots, and unfolded the blanket, baring the contents to their view. They tried to step forward to see it but were constrained, I think, by the same barrier that kept us out. They craned their necks, and their eyes grew wide as he began to sort through the jumbled treasures. Other supplicants ventured closer, their mouths hanging ajar at the wealth so casually transported in the old blanket. When he came to the bagged figurine, he hesitated, and then offered it to Olikea instead. “You, perhaps, will know best what to do with this,” he said.
She accepted it from him, and something changed in her face. Her face held that suppressed gleam of satisfaction that Epiny used to show just before she leapt to her feet to proclaim she had won a game of Towsers. She didn’t open the sack, but she cradled it in both hands. She smiled at the guardians. “Do not tell Kinrove that I wish to see him. Instead, tell Galea that Olikea, Nevare’s feeder, stands before you and holds her heart’s dearest desire in the palms of her hands. And if she can but get Kinrove to admit us, only to speak to him, then it shall be hers. Forever.”
