The Warslayer(10)

Glory twitched, startled.

"They have seen us. We should reach the camp before dark—and tomorrow we can go to the Oracle, who will tell us what we must do to return you to your home," he added, turning to Glory.

"Yeah. Right." Reluctantly Glory floundered to her feet again. Her eyes were beginning to adjust both to the light and the enormous scale of this place, and now, when she looked in the direction of the smoke plume, she could see a disturbance in the grass arrowing toward them. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that what was making it was Ivradan and the horses.

A few moments later she could even make out figures—five dun-colored critters that looked like brumbies, one with a rider, nearly invisible against the tall grass—and then she could hear the pounding of their cantering hooves. But her eyes had played tricks on her again, between the vastness of the plain and the lack of local referents. From a distance they'd looked like full-sized horses, but when they got closer, she realized they were more like ponies. All five beasts were virtually identical: black mane and tail and muzzle, long black socks, and faint grey bars along shoulders and rump, as though there were some tabby cat in their backgrounds. From a dozen yards away, you would not be able to see them in the tall grass.

As Ivradan rode closer he slowed down, and Glory could feel him staring at her. His skin was the dark tan of a man who lived his life outdoors—next to him, the three mages looked as pink and white as a bunch of roses. His eyes were black, and his hair was brown, bleached to chestnut by the same harsh sun. He looked as if he might be about Englor's age, perhaps a few years older, but she wasn't sure.

He tapped his pony's shoulder, bringing the entire string of animals to a halt before Glory and the three mages. Ivradan glanced from Glory to Belegir, his expression wary.

"Behold!" Belegir boomed in theatrical tones, gesturing toward Glory. "For it is written in the Prophecies of Cinnas, that there shall come . . . a hero!"

Even the sound of the word made her stomach flinch. With each passing moment she was getting in further over her head, she knew that much. Oracle or no Oracle, sooner or later Belegir was going to tell her his problem, and what was she going to say then?

Ivradan touched his forehead, bowing deeply from the back of his mount. He must be an ordinary Allimir instead of a mage, because he wasn't dressed anything like the other three. Instead of being bareheaded in long robes, he wore a soft cap—a Phrygian cap, Tricia, the wardrobe mistress on TITAoVtS had called it—tunic and leggings, and high soft boots that looked as if they were made of heavy felt. The garments were violently colorful, and Ivradan looked like a jockey who'd been dressed by a color-blind bag lady. If he and the three wizards were any indication of the general run of Allimir, she must be the tallest person he'd ever seen (not to mention the best dressed): Ivradan couldn't be more than five feet four on a tall day. The expression on his face was a mixture of joy and wariness.

Englor began to sing in a clear pure tenor. " 'In days of old was darkness bold and Evil stalked the hearthside/A hero came with hair of flame to guard the light within us/Sing hey! for our lady/Her sword and her stake/Who saves us from trouble and strife/Sing Hey for our Vixen who's Evil's affliction and will be the rest of her life!' "

It was the TITAoVtS theme song, in all its creaking mis-rhymed glory.

"It is she!" Ivradan said in awed understanding. "You have brought us Vixen the Slayer!"

Well, sort of.

Now was the time when Belegir or at least Helevrin should have piped up to say: Nope. This is just her inept twin. This is just a peculiar accident. She isn't the hero we're looking for, and besides, she hasn't agreed to help. But oddly, neither of them did.

"Welcome, Vixen the Slayer," Ivradan said, bowing from horseback. He looked from Glory to the ponies, his face plainly indicated that he'd never expected to have to arrange transport for such an enormous creature. The only tack Ivradan rode with was a braided leather loop hooked over his mount's lower jaw, and Glory saw no sign of a saddle. None of the other ponies were saddled either. Oh, this just gets better. Horseback I can manage, but bareback? Wearing THIS?

"Um . . . hiya," Glory said inadequately. She didn't know what Vixen would say in a situation like this. Usually Vixen just growled and let Sister Bernadette handle the talking.

"Well, come on," Helevrin said brusquely. The other two mages had already moved toward the beasts, unknotting the leading-rein around their necks and using it to bridle their diminutive mounts.

"There is bad news," Ivradan said. "She came again last night."

All at once Belegir seemed to shrink, as if someone had stuck a pin into him. Though he had never looked like a young man to Glory, in that moment he looked terribly old.