Free The River Wall by Randall Garrett

special standing among the Fa’aldu. I tried to mask my surprise when I saw her face; it was disturbingly off-center. Instead of forming a precise widow’s peak at the center of her forehead, her thick, gold-brown headfur reached down to the widow’s point somewhat left of center, then swept off to the girl’s left in a ragged line. The left brow ridge, usually a smooth arc, looked bumpy, as if it had been broken at one time and healed imperfectly. Under it, her eye and the corner of her mouth pulled together slightly. Her head rode slightly leftward on her body, as well.
    Lesara bowed to Charol, then held back the curtain while we entered the inner area. I was surprised to be in a small courtyard, open to the sky, with a pair of salt-block benches in its center. A large cage, built of dried reeds lashed together, lined one wall. On the opposite wall was another tapestry-draped door which was, I assumed, Lesara’s sleeping quarters.
    The girl led us to the benches, a shorter stride with her left leg giving the effect of a limp. She sat down on one of the benches, and gestured wordlessly that we were to sit opposite her, which we did. She looked at her hands, clasped with careful calm in her lap, as she spoke.
    “How may I serve the Family, Respected Elder?”
    “Lesara, I present Rikardon and Tarani. You know who they are?” Charol asked gently.
    Lesara looked up then. Her eyes were exceptionally dark, and they focused on Tarani’s face with a brief, intense, and unreadable gaze. Then her head dropped again.
    “They honor me with their presence,” she said.
    “They have asked the Fa’aldu for aid, my child, and I have promised them your cooperation and that of all maufel among the Families. I believe there is an obstacle, however—”
    He told her about the need to communicate with Thagorn. As he spoke, her hands tensed together, and her shoulders hunched forward. When he finished, she whispered: “It cannot be done.” Suddenly her face came up and she looked at Tarani with an anguish that was painful to see.
    “Even had my Elder not asked it of me, I would wish to help you, High Lord. I—I—”
    Tarani left our bench to sit beside the girl. Tarani was so tall, and the girl so slight, that Lesara looked even younger—I guessed she was about fourteen.
    “There may be a solution to the problem.”
    The girls face brightened into a shy smile, but she shook her head sadly.
    “You know of me?” Tarani asked. “Of my history?”
    “I—” she began, then hesitated. Suddenly, words poured out of her in a breathless, eager rush. “Yes, High Lord, I heard of you even before you came to Iribos. I seldom speak to travelers, but those Fa’aldu who serve them shared with me their tales of a beautiful woman who danced with fire.” The girl’s expression softened, her gaze seeing
past
the Tarani sitting beside her. “The stories made me long to see such a dance, High Lord. No—truth—they made me long to
be
such a dancer.”
    Tarani stood up, and offered her hands to the girl.
    “Come then, and dance with me,” she said.
    Stunned beyond any thought of refusal, Lesara put her hands in Tarani’s and allowed the High Lord to draw her into the largest open space in the room, the corner between the benches and the wall that held the entry door. Charol and I stood up and moved to the opposite wall. The maufa, disturbed by our nearness, fluttered and chirped inside their cage.
    “I know the High Lord means well,” Charol whispered to me, “but I fear she will only leave Lesara more aware than ever of her …”
    “Difference?” I supplied, and the Elder nodded uncomfortably. “Tarani would not do this,” I assured him, “if she thought harm would come of it. Besides,” I added, “Lesara may not be as ‘different’ as you think.” I nodded toward the two women, and Charol looked at them in surprise.
    Tarani had executed a turn, arms lifted and back arched. She stopped and waited, and Lesara’s face