"And leaves them all, the Zoweitz rule the dark."
Shkai'ra pressed fingers to her brows, closed her eyes, composed herself, then looked up with a smile.
"Tactics," she said. "Listen, today we defeated them. And killed ten to one or better. If they had overwhelming might, earthly or ghostly, they would have overfallen us. Instead, we butchered them like sheep. Scant losses, even counting those… not killed by blade. So far the spook, whatever it is, hasn't dared face more than one or two warriors at a time.
"What really worries me is the troops." She looked around at the officers. "This has taken the savor off their victory: They aren't ofzarz. A common zh'ulda doesn't feel as close to the gods as we do, and fears nightwalkers more. Go among them, hearten them, tell them we did win. And don't the Sayings of the Ancestors tell that victory is the only aim, whatever the price?
"Make them believe we can win through: we'll suffer losses, yes, but when were the Kommanz ever daunted by that? And think of the undying fame and envy, if we overcome spell-craft. Heroes have beaten wizards before, and their Names lived. Folk have had hero-shrines dedicated to them for less!"
They rose to go back among their followers; heartened, or at least giving a convincing show of it. She would follow, later; it was fitting that she maintain a little more distance than the village chiefs. They were woven into the everyday life of their fiefs, but the ruling kinfast of Stonefort had some of the glamour of remoteness; they interceded with the high gods and the far-off rulers in Grantor. Both together would be best.
Eh'rik alone remained. "Do you really believe that, Chiefkin?" he asked, almost gently. She was startled; it was not a note she often heard in a warmaster's voice.
She smiled wearily at him. "Well… yes and no, old wolf. There is a chance, always some chance until they throw you on the pyre and cut the horse's throat over your ashes. But we're still too far from home for my taste." They sat silent together, a companionable quiet. "There's no better company to depart life with, anyway; I never expected to die in the straw."
He went down on one knee, hands crossed on brow in the formal gesture of homage. Touched, she reached out and clasped his hands between hers, in formal acknowledgment. She was too junior to merit the salute in strict law, but it was a gesture of profoundest respect. "Come," she said. "Let's make our rounds. And t'Zoweitzhum, you know the saying: 'It must be done, therefore it can be done.'"
They rose and walked together into the restless night. The waving treetops were half seen, half sensed, always heard. They drew their scarves over their faces and bent their heads into the wind. From the slave lines came the sound of singing.
Maihu had gone to some trouble to make the sled comfortable these past few days. A jug of mead bubbled on the tile stove, and she had added cedar branches to the fuel; the spicy scent of the honey wine blended with aromatic wood and warm fur to fill the space between the padded leather walls. The lantern guttered, sent shadows flickering on the porcupine-quill embroidery of the sled's lining and the patterns woven into the cushions. She smoothed a quilt, fluffed a pillow, dropped a few grains of precious cinnamon into the heating mead, before settling against the wall with Dh'ingun curled on her lap.
Taimi looked up in sullen puzzlement. "Kinmother, why? Why did you stop me? We could have—"
"Died!" she snapped. It was tiresome; couldn't the boy see that there had been no time? And it was worrying, as worrying as the long silences; both had been growing worse in the half-week since the fight.
"And the way you play up to her, it's—"
"Necessary."
"Not…" He frowned, hunting for words. "I've done that too. But… you don't seem to… hate her enough."
Maihu turned and slapped him across the face, hard. He recoiled in shock. Minztans never struck their children, and he was still young enough to be accounted such. It was the first time his mother had ever hurt him.
"Shut your mouth!" she hissed. Then she froze, appalled. After a moment, she reached out and touched him on the face, hesitantly.
"Taimi, child of my womb, I'm sorry. Put it down to the company I have to keep, these days. But no, we're not supposed to hate; it's against the Way. She's… not as bad as some of them. I pity her, really—"
"That's sheepshit!" he cried, using the Kommanzanu oath. "I hate them all, I—"
She grabbed him by the shirtfront and held up the symbol-carved flute. Even now his eyes slid away from the carving on it, the curious bulbous mouthpiece.
"I got this by playing up to her," she said coldly. "Do you understand that? Do you understand that this is our only hope of ever being free again?"
"It—it didn't help our folk during the fight." He stopped in fear, glancing at the front flap of the sled. The Kommanz driver was still out there, seeing to the horses.
Maihu laughed, a she-wolf yelp so unlike her remembered mirth that Taimi felt his skin crawl. "No worry," she said. "I've been calling that one every filthy name I could, for days. Not a word of Minztan.
"Listen, kinchild," she continued earnestly. "Do you know where we are?"
"Close to the forest. Closer than we were when you stopped me from cutting the chain."
"We're at the Place of Summoning] Here, or close to here. And we're not moving very fast anymore. It will come right in among people and lights, here."
"Are… are you sure?"
"Here? And at this time of year? Oh, yes, It will come. Now run along, kinchild. I don't want her seeing you here if we can help it; she's harder to handle when she's been on you, and I can't trust you not to anger her." She gave him a brief hug. "Not long now, I promise. Then everything will be good again."
Her smile faded as he left. I hope that can be true, she thought. I mean it to be, but… why does my life before these weeks seem like a dream? Is it only the contrast? It does, she mused. There are moments when it seems incredible that there was a time before her… Hate is a more complicated emotion than I thought. It lets her into my mind, I want to be free, I wouldn't be surprised or sorry if she dies, but will it be empty without her to fight? And if I am free again, will I be the same person?
Her mouth quirked at that. There was a very old saying of her people, that you could never step into the same river twice. That was an aspect of the Circle, always returning to the same spot, yet never the same. But there were changes she had not expected. Are humans chameleons, then? she thought. I could never have hit him, for anything, before this.
It was warm in the sled. She shivered, and pulled Dh'ingun closer to her. He squirmed sleepily and then settled back to sleep as she rocked him gently. It was too lonely a time not to have life by her.
Shkai'ra rolled into the sled in no pleasant mood. It had become easy for Maihu to follow her emotions now; she sensed boiling frustration and a despair that was murderously ready to lash out, and kept silence for long moments as she refastened the flap and handed the Kommanza a cup of mead. The Kommanza sat cross-legged, inhaling the warmth and fragrance of it. Slowing her breathing, she forced muscles to relax, mind to unknot, pulling strength around her like a cloak. Presently she opened her eyes and spoke: "If I live to threescore, may I never have to bed down eighty whining Minztans again! They'd have stood and frozen if we'd left them. Wasteful." She drained the bowl and held it out for the slave to refill.
Maihu served her and drew some for herself, before reaching out and touching one of Shkai'ra's braids. "Do you want food, Chiefkin?" she said softly. "Of your pardon, you look cold and tired. I could help you out of the armor, give you a massage, or we could lie together. You look as if you could use some relaxation."
Shkai'ra sighed and laid her head on her knees. "That's true enough, Zailo Protector knows. No, nothing to eat, and I have to stay in harness—a staff meeting, and then a tour of the posts." She did not mention that that was the only way she could be sure of making the troopers keep to their posts. They had lost more scouts every night since the ambush; it was a sentence of death to be alone among the trees, and
the grisly trophies the shaman had brought back once or twice were not much consolation. Not death alone could have wrought such fear; the zh'uldaz were whispering "souleater," when the chiefs could not hear.
"You're being more sensible than the other slaves, at least," Shkai'ra said.
"The Way of the Circle is to move with the flow of the world," she said. "You're the current around here, right now."
The Kommanza stretched hugely, and yawned. "And if Jaiwun Allmate appeared, all I'd want to do is sleep."
Maihu shrugged and turned down the lantern. "The Chiefkin wishes," she said in the western tongue.
"You're picking up Kommanzanu faster than most," Shkai'ra said approvingly. "The sounds are difficult for outlanders … not many in Stonefort speak enough sheepblea— Minztan to be useful." She turned her head from the coarse wool of her trousers to look up at Maihu's face. "You look peaked yourself, little smith, and you're more silent than you were at first."
Oddly, there seemed to be genuine concern in the voice; the forest woman could sense it. Probably doesn't even recognize it herself, she thought wryly. And the Kommanza was haggard as well, she noted with ironic sadness. We both have our battles to fight, and folk to wear the mask of confidence for, she thought. Only with each other can we be weak.
"Oh, I'm well enough, Chiefkin; the traveling is wearying, that's all."
"I'm worried," Shkai'ra said. "We can't lose too many more warriors, or this raid won't be worth it at all. Punishment aside, I can't weaken the People like that, I just can't."
Maihu made an inquiring noise, and the Kommanza went on: "The elders think the graizuh, the cannibals, may try to break the border again soon. We'll need every warrior, every trick and advantage we can buy from the southrons, for that."
"Can the savages prevail against you?" Maihu said, smoothing a lock back from the other's forehead. Shkai'ra's eyes were closed.
"Not usually. They've no order, and only their nobles are full-armed; they fight by clans and tribes, among themselves mostly. But they're pressing on their pasture, and when they get a strong warlord…" She bit at a lip.
"Long ago—the stories say, fifteen generations after the Godwar—the graizuh pushed us east out of the short-grass country." Her voice took on a slight singsong note, unconscious imitation of the bards. "No more than two or three hundreds of us." That was probably true; humans had been very rare, in the centuries right after the Fall.
"We found a few farmers in the Red River valley, and became their lords and married with them, and we made them folk of the horse and lance and bow. Then we multiplied and we spread; from Granfor was bom the Kommanz of Ihway, and the Kommanz of Maintab; and Maintab sent warriors north and west into the aspen grove lands, and founded Rh'eginz around a ruined city of the Ancients; and then Paizrav, and together they made Kai-Gara under the Westwall range, in my mother's mother's mother's lifetime." She sighed, dropping back into normal speech. "I've met Kommanza from Paizrav; they talk funny and shave the back of their heads."
A moment of brooding silence. "But now the Wolves grow stronger. They've driven the Mek nomads off the southern shortgrass plains and over the Red River of the South. They trade with the southrons of Senlaw down the Zoura River, and we can't keep them from getting metal weapons any more. We must have more strength, more metals and weapons."
Another pause. "Senlaw," she said after a moment. "They say it makes even the cities of the Pentapolis look small. I'd like to see it… see the Great River, and the sea." A shrug. "I'll never see anything but Granfor, fighting every year to keep the nomads off the crops—if we're lucky."
Maihu stroked her forehead again. "Sleep now," she said. "Think of it later."
Shkai'ra sighed again and leaned back against the Minztan with her head resting under the older woman's breastbone. She wiggled her shoulders comfortably and Maihu held her, with her knees and arms around the hard slick surface of her cuirass. The weight was heavy, but not uncomfortably so.
"Hmmm, that feels good," Shkai'ra said. "Don't know why. I usually hate having anyone this close except for fighting, fucking, or warmth on cold nights…" She paused, and continued sleepily, thoughts drifting as she allowed herself to linger on the edge of sleep. "It reminds me of something… long ago. Can't think what. Someone held me like this."
Then: "Why do they sing?" she said, more alertly.
"Who sings, Chiefkin?" Maihu asked, rocking her slightly, deliberately casual.
"The slaves, the ones who haven't just given up and gone passive. Every night, they sing; you can hear it from here. Even in that sheep-raping snowstorm, now that it's letting up." It did come through the walls of the sled, very faint, easy for the mind to filter out as it wove itself into the background noise of the camp. But one who knew the full meaning of that song was unlikely to ignore it.
"It's… prayer, Chiefkin. They pray to Harmony, for deliverance."
"They talk to spirits?" The narrow blond head came up a trifle.
"Oh, no, Chiefkin. They only ask. No one can force the Harmony; it moves as it must."
Shkai'ra's curiosity subsided. "Our gods are more sensible; obedience and offerings, you bargain with them. Minztans! I'll never understand them."
Maihu risked a barb: "How would you act in their place, Chiefkin?"
"Minimum?" Shkai'ra murmured absently. "Ahi-a, a Kommanza falls on the Sword of Apology, or bites through her tongue and inhales the blood; we're never taken prisoner for long. Not by foreigners, that is. It's against the Bans and the Law. But," she continued generously, "it's no use seeking an outlander who understands honor. I don't expect it of you."
She snuggled back. "I can sleep for an hour, no more. Wake me then. Can you play like this?"
Maihu shifted slightly, took out the carved flute, and began to play, the same slow minor-key tune that sounded over the camp. Shkai'ra grinned at the jest and fell instantly asleep; she could drop off in almost any position, an ability common to both cats and experienced warriors.
The Minztan laid down the pipe and held her, considering. Bites through her tongue, she thought. What must they do to the little children, to make that natural for them! And how dangerous they are because of it.
She remembered stories her captor had told her, of her own childhood. And of her people: raid and feud, arrows out of the long grass, poison and fire and knives in the dark. The Kommanzanu word for summer was "makes-war-time"; it was then that the graizuh, the nomads, came down off the short-grass plains every year. That was in normal years…
She reached down and brushed a lock of loosened red-blond hair back from Shkai'ra's forehead. Doesn't even know why it's nice to be cuddled, she mused. Poor wolf, you have your chains, as heavy as the ones you've put on me. You've just worn yours so long you don't notice them. May they sustain you, at the last.
Narritanni sketched quickly on the scroll of birch-bark. "We hit them from three sides, as soon as the signal's given," he said.
The forest folk leaned on their spears around him; dim light from a bull's-eye lantern caught their faces from below, casting shadows across beards and cheekbones, glinting off eyes and the whetted steel of their weapons. Most were munching maple candy, concentrated food for energy in the draining cold.
"It'll be snowing, thick," the commander went on. "They're not in good spirits. The Snowbrother will come in at the head of the caravan. We wait until enough have had a chance to see and be terrified, but not enough that they recover their wits—I doubt any will dare stand against it, and if they do, fear will weaken them. Then we attack. Remember, our first task is to rescue the rest of our people. Push hard, though—if they break, we may be able to wipe them out."
"The Eater?" someone said. That one had been hard enough on their morale.
Leafturn rose. "He and I have a meeting," he said. "I shall not return from it."
Gasps of dismay; Narritanni felt a stab of sorrow mixed with deep anger.
"I did not say I would die," Leafturn continued dryly. "There is a
fate in this; and fate is something best met as early as possible. The Eater will not trouble you; you have my word on that."
He rose and moved into the darkness beyond the lantern's circle. Narritanni's mouth quirked in a smile as he looked around at the others.
"Time to fight," he said. "Each of us with our own Way." His sword rasped free. "We go to rescue our kinsfolk. Let's go."
A chorus of growls answered him.
15
"Four kylickz today," Shkai'ra said, looking around the circle of the commanders. "Four days since the ambush, and not twenty kylickz nearer home, and it's not just the zteafakaz snow, either. At this rate, we'll be here until"—she made a gesture past the fireglow at the forest—"takes us all."
Some shuddered openly. All made the sign against ill luck and foreign magic.
"Chiefkin," the caravanmaster said, "I've had more dealings with Minztans than most, and not just trying to let each other's livers see daylight. If this… 'Snowbrother' is like most of their spooks, they think it guards the forests in the name of the, what do they call it, the heka… ehaka …"
"Ehakalagie," Walks-with-Demons supplied. "Harmony. Another of their rabbit's notions, that life is more than eating and being eaten."
"Minztan childtales," Shkai'ra snarled. "Caravanmaster, tell me why we aren't making more speed."
The caravanmaster licked chapped tips. "The slaves," he said, and held up a hand to fend off the explosion of anger. "I've tried it!" he cried. "Chiefkin, you know I have! Burning, pinning… too many of them won't frighten anymore."
"Cut all their throats, and be rid of them," someone suggested.
"Destroy our loot?" Eh'rik asked. He continued with a feral snarl: "And it would let them off too lightly, anyway. Being dead doesn't hurt too much."
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