The Wanderer by Cherry; Wilder, Katya Reimann Page A

discreet in its use when acting as an interpreter.
Let your own replies be imperfect as if you had learned a little of the speech from a companion in arms.”
    So Gael slipped on the ring again, more fearfully than before. Would she become invisible? Would it call up demons? The green stone winked up at her, comfortably, like a cat’s eye, as if to say: “No such thing! Would I harm you?”
    When Elim had gone, Gael touched for reassurance at the empty place against her throat where the lily pendant had hung so long, mimicking its light pressure. This was her second crossing with Strett of Cloudhill’s daughters, and again a gift far beyond her stature had been brought to her. In her service to her beloved lord, she had learned much and seen a little broader view of the world. With this gift … alone in her plain barracks room, it was easy for the young kedran to hope she saw again the touch of destiny—even as the slight insights she’d gleaned as the Heir of Pfolben’s loyal protector called a laugh, and warned her to make nothing of a lady’s trifles.
    Soon afterward, Blayn of Pfolben received envoys from the Dhey of Aghiras, who humbly begged him to take part in the Royal Hunt of the Lakes of Dawn, together with other princes of the Burnt Lands and of Eildon over the Western Sea. The envoys assured the young lord that this chance would come only once in the lifetime of any prince.
    The Lakes of Dawn, on the very outskirts of the wide lands of Aghiras, beyond the sown land and the desert, came into being after a season of heavy rain. The tussock plain grew into a marsh, then into a string of crystal lakes. Tall reeds sprang up, the plain was green overnight; the water and the lake shores teemed with wild life. For a moon, no more, the place was a hunter’s paradise, then the fierce sun dried up the lakes like so many drops of dew. Nothing was left but saltflats, to be harvested by the desert tribes. The bright caravans of the Dhey and his guests would depart with a last winding of their silver hunting horns …
    Blayn of Pfolben received the envoys graciously and set about choosing his escort for the journey.

CHAPTER IV
    A JOURNEY TO THE BURNT LANDS
    The city of Aghiras was all white and gold, the domes and spires floating out of the sea mist as the galleys of the Southland drew near. The men and women of the special escort had been underway for ten days, with the long river journey from Pfolben to the Sea of Ara, but no one felt weary. They plunged into the teeming life of the wharves and the bazaars. Camels, by the Goddess, bobbing and sneering everywhere, and strange faces under turban and tarboosh. There was a desert warrior, white robed, and there three women, jet black, with huge baskets on their proud heads. There strode the much-vaunted palace guards of the Dhey, the Gaura, in bronze helmets.
    Florus, Captain-General of Blayn’s escort, drew his men together and consulted with Captain Verreker of the kedran. Where were the marvelous horses, the steeds bred to outrun the winds of the desert, the coursers of the sun? He began to parley with the detail of the Gaura sent to meet them. Gael Maddoc, at his side, was able to tell him that the horses were waiting behind the palace, beyond the pleasure gardens. So they marched off, sixty strong, and Gael, with the rank of acting captain, after
only just short of four years’ service, went in a silken litter to be near her lord.
    Blayn was as happy and as well behaved as she had ever known him. He did not set much store by the glamor of the Burnt Lands, their magic and mystery, but he loved to hunt. The opportunity to test himself against the other princes: Lalmed, son of the Dhey; Meed-al-Mool, called the Red Prince, from Ferss; Kirris Paldo of Eildon, his distant cousin; not to mention Noulith, the warrior queen of the Valfutta … this was the sort of competition that truly excited him.
    As Blayn leaned back on the silken cushions, Gael Maddoc watched the