The Warslayer(90)

What happened now? She wasn't any closer to getting home than she had been the day the door fell off her dressing room, as far as she could see. The Allimir were in a little better shape—but now they were sharing the plains of Serenthodial with a job-lot of imported villains and frighteners, none of whom looked like good candidates for honest work—except maybe the Amazons, and Glory still wasn't sure how they'd got mixed up in all of this—and all of whom were likely to be just as much trouble for a bunch of farmers trying to get the crops in as the Warmother had been. The first thing the Allimir were going to need was an army of their own, and where were they going to come up with one? They might not be all that peaceful any more, but they still didn't know anything much about the arts of war. And she couldn't teach them.

Maybe Erchane'll send them a nice drill-sergeant next.

And there was one other thing still bothering her.

If Belegir's dream had been true, what about hers?

"Slayer?"

The voice behind her caused her to levitate with a shrill unheroic squeal. She spun around, cursing her awkwardness, to find Ivradan standing in the doorway.

He was undressed for sleep, capless, his long chestnut hair hanging down over his shoulders, barefoot as she was, wearing only his loose linen undersmock and calf-length trousers.

"I woke and saw you gone. I thought you might have come this way," he said.

"So I did," Glory said, taking a deep breath and trying to slow her racing heart. It seemed almost odd not to feel the springy resistance of the corset when she did so, but it was going to be a cold day in whatever passed for Hell around these parts before she put that outfit on again.

"My turn to ask you, I reckon: what happens now, Ivradan?" she said, when she was sure her voice was steady.

"Now we can return to our homes, and rebuild the Allimir nation," Ivradan said. "It will not be easy, of course."

"Not with a bunch of pissed-off mercenaries wondering where their meal-ticket's got to," Glory said. She sat down on the bench again.

"There will be . . . intemperance," Ivradan admitted reluctantly. "Peace-breaking. Even violence."

"Lots of that," Glory agreed. "Harsh language. People may even lose their tempers from time to time."

Ivradan blushed and hung his head, looking embarrassed.

"But you'll need all those things," Glory said urgently, wanting to comfort him. "They're what you'll have to have to survive. Maybe you don't have the Warmother around any more, but she left you a whole world full of enemies."

"That is what I must go and tell them," Ivradan said. "With your permission, I will take your horse, and—"

"My horse?" Glory interrupted, confused.

"Maidarence," Ivradan said. "I know that the Amazon queen gave her to you, but she is wonderfully fast, faster than our ponies, and so I thought . . ."

"Take her, take her," Glory said, waving at him with her free hand and feeling unaccountably irritable. "I reckon she's really yours anyway. Likes you better than she does me, anyhow. When are you going?"

"As soon as it is light. Belegir has given me the authority to call the people together and tell them all that you have done for us, and what we must now do for ourselves. I will send others here to take my place, and in a few hands of days, when Mage Belegir is able to travel . . ."

He stopped.

"You braided up my hair, didn't you?" Glory said, getting to her feet again. So he was leaving. No reason for him to stay, was there?

Ivradan nodded.

There was another silence.

"Thanks for taking such good care of Gordon, hey? He looks good as new."

"I knew that was what you would want, Slayer."

Silence.

"I reckon you'd better shake a leg then. You've got a long ride ahead of you. Maybe— Well, have a good ride, then."

Ivradan turned and left. Glory watched until he was out of sight, then waited until she was sure he was out of earshot. Then she kicked out viciously at the nearest bench with the side of her foot.

Hot needles of protest raced up her leg into her back. The bench teetered and fell over with a loud and solid thud. Glory limped over to the one next to it and sat down on it, and stayed there until she was entirely sure Ivradan had ridden away from the Oracle.

* * *

The day after Ivradan left, Belegir was allowed to walk as far as the door of the cavern—Tavara and Cambros on either side—and Glory got her left hand rebandaged so that the fingers showed. That day's big adventure was moving the Allimir ponies down the hill to the old stables that once served the Oracle—visitors to the Oracle had always come on foot, so Belegir told Glory, but the Oracle's servants had kept some animals for their own use. Since neither of the invalids was any use in this undertaking, they were left to their own devices while the others were absent.