The Forest of Forever by Thomas Burnett Swann Page B

caught a tiny glimpse of silver horns glinting in an open casket of jewels: anklets of amber from the rivers of the far north, ivory necklaces from the land of the Nubians, malachite pins from the local workshop of the Telchins and no doubt stolen from them. It may have been foolish or forgetful of her to entertain me in the very room which contained incriminating evidence. Perhaps my visit had taken her by surprise. On the other hand, the queens of the Thriae are supremely confident that their smooth tongues can extricate them from any predicament. Precautions seem to them beneath their pride.
    I tried to look inscrutable and, so far as I could tell from her frozen smile, she had not observed my discovery.
    “Well,” I said, “I have kept you from your workers long enough.” I could not resist adding, “They seem to need some direction.”
    She laughed. “Indeed. They have two virtues, strong wings and mindless obedience.”
    “And the drones?”
    “One virtue at best. But we must make do with the resources at hand, mustn’t we?” Her interest in Eunostos was becoming clear. If the resources at hand were typified by Sunlord, why not be resourceful and search at a distance?
    “I trust you will be happy here in the Country of the Beasts,” I said with as much grace as I could summon, though my voice resounded through the rooms and corridors like the afterecho of an earthquake. “Next time you must come to see me.” (Yes, and I will feed you hensbane.) “Follow the path between the cypresses, turn at the rock which looks like a Cretan galley, cross the meadow of yellow gagea, and there is my tree. You’ll know it by its outside ladder and its abundant foliage.”
    “First you must accept a small token of my gratitude for your visit.”
    I waved a protesting hand—a few more amenities would suffocate me—but Saffron clapped her feet, her anklets jangled, and a worker appeared in the door.
    “Bring my guest some refreshment.”
    In the time it takes to raise and lower a door hanging the worker reappeared with a goblet of amber wine.
    “It’s made from honey and fermented pollen,” Saffron said.
    “I never drink before lunch,” I said firmly. Amenities or not, I had no intention of letting her poison me.
    She looked surprised; her smile faltered but did not quite forsake her. “Then you must accept a small gift or I shall be deeply wounded.” She reached to the back of her neck and drew down what, on closer examination, I saw to be a bird or animal. Owl? Rabbit? No, kind of a diminutive combination, bunnylike, feathery winged, which she cuddled in her hands.
    “He’s called a Strige. He’s no trouble at all. Feed him sunflower seeds and he’s quite content. Most of the time he sleeps, and what he likes most is to drape himself around your neck. He’ll keep you as snug as a fox’s tall and you won’t have to bother with carrying him.”
    She draped him around the back of my neck. His warmth and softness were indescribable. I could feel and hear his soft purring and I must admit that I was enchanted with him. I will take him to Eunostos, I thought. He loves small animals and it will help to cheer him until we can rescue Kora. Besides, if I refuse to accept she may suspect that I have seen the pendant.
    “But Saffron, all I brought you was acorns and a partridge, and you’ve given me your own pet!”
    “The measure of a gift lies in the heart, and you have kindled a warm hearthfire in me with your friendship.”
    She waved to me as I left the encampment, and soon she was busily whisking among the workers and piping orders in her melodious but incontestable voice. The drones grinned their wicked, languorous grins and Sunlord said:
    “I see you impressed our queen to the extent of her favorite Strige. Good for you, my girl.”
    I could not resist a parting sally. “Did you ever do a day’s work, my boy?”
    Unaccountably my voice lacked its usual resonance. No doubt I had lost my boom in the