Her eyes flickered to mine as she said that final word, as if fearing she offered something beyond what Soldier’s Boy would permit. But he only gave a curt nod. Then he slowly crossed his arms on his chest and waited. Olikea continued to cup the blanketed image in her hands.
They stood, an emperor’s ransom on a blanket at their feet, and a treasure of unknown value cradled in her hands, and waited. Neither one stared down at the fabulous wealth strewn across the blanket. Neither spoke or moved.
The guards exchanged glances, and then leaned close to each other for a whispered consultation. They agreed on something. One of them went to a sack hanging on a nearby tree. From it, he extracted a horn and blew three sharp blasts on it. The noise was still hanging in the air as the other explained to us, “That will let them know to send a runner to us. When he arrives, he will bear our message back to Kinrove.”
“Thank you,” Soldier’s Boy replied. Without even a small smile, he added, “In return for your swift action, I think that each of you should choose your own gift from us, from the largesse that we bring. It seems only fair.”
He stepped back and then knelt down heavily to spread the treasure more temptingly across the blanket. It was an unprecedented action for a Great One even to notice guards in such a way. They were stunned and instantly avaricious, jostling each other to have the best view of what was presented, all the while glancing at each other to see if one’s fellow was staring at the choicest bit that was offered. They were still leaning as far forward as they could against the magic barrier when the runner arrived. He was full of curiosity and drew as near as he could to view what they were ogling. The guards had scarcely a moment for him. “Go to Kinrove and tell him that Soldier’s Boy—Nevare wishes to be allowed through the barrier to speak with him. And tell Galea also that Olikea, Nevare’s feeder, is with him, and has a gift for her.”
“Her dearest heart’s desire,” Olikea corrected him, holding the draped charm up again.
“Go swiftly, and return quickly with his reply, and from this treasure, you will have your choice of reward,” Soldier’s Boy announced.
I think it had the opposite of the desired effect, for immediately the runner surged forward, vying with the two guards for the best view. One of the guards told him jealously, “But we are to choose first, before you!”
“But which of us?” the other asked in sudden worry.
“I will decide that,” Soldier’s Boy announced. “Once the message has returned that I am to be allowed past the barrier.”
“Go!” one of the guards told the runner crossly. “The message will never be delivered while you stand here gawking.”
The runner made an annoyed sound, but then turned and sped away as swiftly as he had come. The two guards eyed each other for a moment, then went back to lustfully ogling the treasure. Someone tugged at the light cloak Soldier’s Boy was wearing. He turned to see that one of the other waiters had crept closer. “When they let you in, will you ask that I can come with you?” she boldly asked. Her brave words were a strange contrast to her dark-ringed eyes and skeletal form. She was a woman of middle years, unkempt, with the smudges from her cooking blending with the specks on her face.
He didn’t answer her directly. “Whom are you seeking to free?” he asked her.
“My son. Dasie freed him once, and I was so full of joy when he came home. But after three days of sleeping and eating, he became full of restlessness. He said he could still hear the drums. He could not lie still at night, but twitched and jerked in his sleep. Sometimes he would be talking to me and then suddenly he would stop and stare into the distance. He could not remember how to hunt. Whatever he began, he left half finished. Then one morning he was gone from my lodge. I know he is back with the dancers. It isn’t fair. Dasie freed him. He should have stayed longer at home and tried harder.” Her tears were falling, flowing in runnels down her face, as if constant weeping had eroded her flesh.
He looked aside from her and spoke quietly. “I do not know if I can even get myself and my feeder past Kinrove’s guards. And it is very important that I speak with him. I cannot get you in. But I can tell you that if I am successful, your son will no longer dance. And that is the best I can do.”
His words had become softer as he spoke. The woman turned away wordlessly. I do not think she was disappointed; I think she had known most of the answer before she had asked. But Olikea had her own question. “If you succeed, her son will no longer dance? What do you mean? I thought we were going to get Likari back.”
