by Diana Rivers
The new horses had been gathered in a loose group. They were just beginning to graze. As I came toward them, I noticed a Kourmairi man edging in that direction as if he meant to take charge of them. It was Rhomar, the same man who had argued with Ozzet’s father and then challenged Ozzet at the meeting. He had a hard, determined look on his face.
At just that same moment, Alyeeta stepped up to block his way. I paused to watch, ready to move forward if needed. “Man, those horses are ours, that was the agreement,” Alyeeta said loudly. “Do not meddle with them.”
A look of anger swept across the man’s face at being thwarted in this way. He put his hand on his sword in a threatening gesture. “Well, Witch, that was no agreement of mine. I did not lend my name to it. In fact, I never heard of it.” He was speaking insolently, looking at her to see what kind of challenge she might present.
Alyeeta took another step toward him and smiled. I knew that smile only too well. There was no humor in it. The hair went up on the back of my neck. In a friendly voice that belied the intent of her words, she said, “I had hoped that this day would make a seal of peace and friendship between the Kourmairi and the Khal Hadera Lossien. I would never wish to have any cause to send our Kourmairi friends fleeing before us like our Shokarn enemies. Surely you can see what good uses can be made of peace. You may keep all that is fancy and has worth: the tack, the bridles, the armor, the swords. We lay claim to the grain, the foodstuffs, the tents, the horses, and whatever else will help us survive. Let us make a good bargain and shake hands on it, for it profits us both.”
She reached out her hand as if in friendship, ignoring his intended hostility, and took a step toward him. Rhomar coughed and muttered. He took his hand from his sword and twisted his mustache. When she took another step toward him, he thrust out his hand abruptly. “Friends,” he muttered, “friends in peace.” Scuffing his boots in the sand, he pressed her hand in his own, but he would not look her in the eye. Then he turned without another word, and suddenly walked away.
“It would not be good to have it said that a Kourmairi went back on the word of his headman,” Alyeeta shouted after him.
At the same moment, I heard a string of curses from in back of me in Murghanth’s deep, rough voice, curses clearly meant for Rhomar. She ended with “…your father’s father should have been a lover of men,” and then spit on the ground. As I looked around, I saw that this little exchange over the horses had gathered quite an audience. Several Kourmairi were keeping their distance, but obviously watching for the outcome. Teko was standing by Murghanth, with some of the Sheezerti behind them. Zenoria and Kazouri and Zari had moved in and were standing protectively by the horses.
Just as Rhomar was leaving, Pell came striding in our direction so that they passed quite close. “Puntyar!” he snarled at her with venomous hatred. “Just a bunch of filthy Puntyar!”
Pell stopped and looked after him, nodding her head. Then she called out loudly, “Yes, indeed, Puntyar, a very big bunch of Puntyar, more than you have ever seen before. And there are likely twice this many and more waiting to join up with us, so remember our numbers and learn to say that word with respect. Puntyar. As to filthy, it is very hard to stay clean on the road, but we will soon remedy that by finding a place to settle. Then we will bathe every day and be the cleanest Puntyar in all Yarmald. Yes, by the Mother, a very large bunch of very clean Puntyar. And do not think to come and borrow our horses again, man of Darthill, for we are also very watchful Puntyar.”
Nhokosos had come up from the other side. “Are you having some trouble, Alyeeta?”
Alyeeta whirled around to face him. “By the Mother, I see little difference between the Shokarn and the Kourmairi, save that the Shokarn are even worse. That young fool there with the mustache thought to take the horses and perhaps even to make me dance on the end of his sword. Speak to him, will you please, Nhokosos? And remember to tell your people in Mishghall who it was that drove away the Shokarn army. When the Kourmairi march through the streets of their freed city, we, the Witches and the Khal Hadera Lossien, will be there in that march.” Then she swung her hand around at the rest of us. “What are you all gawking at? Did you come to help? Do you think a Witch is not able to handle one Kourmairi? He is lucky he left before I thought to raise a spell. Be careful or I will turn the lot of you into little black toads!”
All the others, even Pell, moved away quickly, as if they had urgent business elsewhere, all but Murghanth, that is. Murghanth stood her ground, staring at Alyeeta. “Yes, I was curious,” she said boldly. “I wanted to see what Witches can do.” Then she gave a wild trill, as she might have for a street performance, and did a series of back flips that took her quickly out of range. Alyeeta’s scowl was replaced by a broad grin. I was about to make my own hasty retreat when she said, “Wait, Tazzia.” She came and put her arm through mine. “We have just saved this village, you and I, and we have probably saved the city of Mishghall as well. Let us walk around the settlement and show ourselves off. Let them see the two who saved their lives.”
“It was you, Alyeeta. You thought of it. You did it all.”
“And you came with me and saved my life. If not for you, I would have saved Darthill, but you might very well have had to add my funeral to the celebration. I like it much better this way. Let us enjoy this moment while we can.” So, arm in arm, we walked about the settlement in the warming sun, while others counted swords and saddles and sacks of grain.
Chapter Six
Riders had quickly been sent to Mishghall with word of the outcome of the battle, if indeed such a farce could really be called a battle. And those of us who were headed south had already left. In the meanwhile, the rest of us spent most of the day and well into the evening bargaining with the Kourmairi of Darthill, settling our affairs among them, and being properly feasted and thanked. We had to arrange for the safekeeping of our new possessions, smoke jol at this one or that one’s fire, join the feasting in the village square, eat a ceremonial meal in the headman’s house, be praised, be toasted, be stared at, and answer the same questions over and over and over again.
We even had to listen politely to widely exaggerated versions of what had just occurred, some already set to music. It seems we were part of the making of a legend. At first I had little patience for it, and Pell had even less. Alyeeta, on the other hand, seemed to glory in it all. It was Alyeeta who guided us through, reminding us that the goodwill of these people might stand us in good stead at some future time. In truth, I think she got great pleasure from being the center of all that attention. And this was the same Alyeeta who spoke so contemptuously of humans.
Surprisingly, it was Rishka who was the most affable among us. I think the people of Darthill reminded her of the Muinyairin she had grown up among. Though she often cursed her own people, I know she also missed them. To me, these Koormir certainly seemed very different from the timid farm folk of my village; wilder, ruder, and much fiercer. Rishka went about freely among them, linking arms with the younger women; speaking politely to the older ones and calling them “Mother.” With the men, she talked and joked in their own rough style. She even drank some brew when it was offered. I watched all this with surprise. Except for that one time after our escape from Hamishair, I had never even tasted liquor. There had been none in my father’s house. Though others in our village drank, sometimes to excess, he would not allow it in our home. He said it addled men’s wits and made fools of them. I had no interest before, but now, watching Rishka become jollier and more lighthearted each time she raised her glass, I grew curious. I was well aware that Pell was trying to dissuade her, but it looked to me like a great temptation.
For a while, Alyeeta and I were led about by an eager crowd and obliged to tell our story again and again. Alyeeta, never one to be closely bound by the truth, took great pleasure in elaborating, until the tale became like a fancy weaving with only a few drab threads of truth running through it. Meanwhile, we were offered jol and brew everywhere we
went. Alyeeta accepted a little here and there for politeness’ sake. Each time I refused, I felt the pull of curiosity. Why should I obey my father in this when I had obeyed him in so little else? Besides, he was no longer in my life, maybe no longer in this world.
When we reached the feast in the square, there were huge pitchers of brew on the tables and many glasses already poured and waiting. On sudden impulse, I picked up a glass and downed the contents. The men roared and cheered with approval and raised their glasses to me. A warm glow went through me, followed by a sudden flash of heat that almost jolted my stomach up into my throat. I coughed violently and my eyes stung with tears. For a moment I swayed on my feet, very aware that the Kourmairi men were now laughing at me. Then I steadied myself, and the heat settled back into a warm glow. A strange sense of power filled me, very different from the powers I had lived with all my life. I took another glass and drank more slowly, ready this time for the heat. When I looked up, I saw Rishka watching me from across the table and raised my glass to her as I had seen other drinkers do. She seemed to give a slight shake of her head—or perhaps I only imagined it. The warm glow and the feeling of power had increased. As I was about to heft a third glass, Renaise came up beside me and said in my ear, “Take a care with that, Tazzi. If you are not used to that brew, it can make you both very sick and very foolish.”
“You are not my mother!” I answered sharply, annoyed that my pleasure was being interfered with. Had I not helped to save this settlement and with it the city of Mishghall? How could anyone deny me a glass or two of brew? Surely I was entitled.
“I have no wish to be your mother, but you have already drunk too much to have your wits about you.”
“I am a Khal Hadera Lossien,” I said proudly, drawing myself up to my full height. “I am not one of those men in that tavern where you worked as a serving-wench.”
“At this moment there is little difference. A drunk is a drunk. If you were in my uncle’s tavern, I would call someone to toss you out into the street and throw a bucket of cold water over your head.” She said this contemptuously as she turned to leave.
Renaise and I had long since made peace after our first bad beginnings, but some residue of ill feeling must have remained. I was gathering myself up for a scathing response when Pell tapped me on the shoulder.
“Tazzi, the brew men drink is like poison for our senses. It will silence your mind-speech and dull your powers.”
“Another mother!” I shouted angrily. “Well, let me tell you, it gives me pleasure, and it fills me with another kind of power which I much enjoy.”
Pell shrugged. “Suit yourself. Later you will have cause to remember my words, of that you may be sure.” Before I could make my clever answer, she was gone. Quickly I finished the glass I had been holding. For the rest of the day, I smoked and ate and drank, listening to no one’s advice and doing exactly as I pleased. I was, no doubt, making a great fool of myself, but at least I was having a fine time.
Actually, that is not altogether true. I was not near so carefree as I pretended to be. Mostly I was in a strange kind of pain, a pain liquor could dull, but not erase. Perhaps I was trying to drown my feelings. All that day and into the evening, even over the noise and the music, even through the fog of the brew, I could hear occasional distant shouts and screams. No doubt it was the Zarn’s soldiers, near naked, unhorsed, and unarmed, being hunted down and dispatched by the Kourmairi. The Kourmairi had every right to their rage, and after all, as Rishka so often reminded me, death is what soldiers are made for. Yet I felt the reverberations of those killings deep within me. I knew I had my part in this. And in my heart, I wished safety for the wounded captain with the tiny black toad in his pocket. I could not bear the thought of his being pulled from his horse and hacked to pieces.
Later that afternoon I heard shouts and blows from much closer, and then the sound of a woman screaming. I ran in that direction, pushing my way past Kourmairi, who seemed to be paying scant attention to the commotion. Kazouri was there before me, along with Maireth and Thalyisi. Rhomar, the man who had challenged Alyeeta for the horses, had evidently been beating his wife. He had his hand raised to hit her again. Kazouri stepped between them so that her huge bulk blocked the blow. From the shelter of Kazouri’s back, the woman called to him, “This is my one chance, Rhomar. Who knows when it will come again. I must go to Mishghall with them, no matter what you say!” The woman had a bloody lip, and a purple bruise rising quickly under her left eye. Nonetheless, she seemed ready to hold her own.
Rhomar, in a rage at being robbed of his quarry, roared back, “Never! No wife of mine will ride with those filthy Puntyar. How could you think to disgrace me so? I will break both your legs before I will agree to let you go.” With that, he tried to lunge around Kazouri and reach his wife.
Kazouri moved again to block his way, saying, “Then you must break mine first.”
At that moment, Alyeeta suddenly appeared. She was closely followed by Nhokosos, who arrived very out of breath. When he rushed up beside her, she turned and said to him, loudly enough for all to hear, “This man seems to be a lover of trouble. Perhaps you should have sent him alone to meet with the Zarn’s guards and show his courage there. Since he has such skill with his hands, he might have been able to stop them all on his own.” Her tone was taunting and full of malice.
“Witch!” Rhomar yelled, whirling to face her. In his rage, he seemed ready to leap at Alyeeta in place of his wife. Nhokosos shouted, “Rhomar! Stop!” and put his hand on the man’s arm. Rhomar raised his other arm as if he meant to strike his own headman, then dropped it with a groan. “Look what you have brought us to by inviting these women here. Soon our own women will all turn wild and be out of control. And what good is a man who cannot control his woman? After all, she is my wife. I do have some rights in the matter. I tell her, with good reason, that she cannot go to Mishghall, and she shouts back in my face as if she had turned into one of these cursed Hadera Lossi right before my eyes. As her husband, all I was doing was trying to bring her back to her senses. And then this walking mountain interfered between us.”
“No matter what you thought to do, you cannot beat your wife, not now, not ever again,” Kazouri said, with a voice like quiet thunder. “All that has changed. Remember that, man, when you think to raise your hand again.”
Rhomar turned a look of pure hatred on Kazouri. If he could have killed her at that moment, I am sure he would have, with no mercy and no hesitation and likely much pleasure.
Meanwhile, Alyeeta was going on as if she had not been interrupted: “Of course, it is much easier to beat unarmed women than well-armed men, but I suppose that is the way of it.”
At the same time, Nhokosos was saying firmly, “Rhomar, open your eyes. It was either these women or the Zarn’s guards. Either way, things would have changed. If it had been the Zarn’s guards, you might not be so fortunate as to be having this argument with your wife. The guards would be on their way, at this very moment, to retake Mishghall. First, they would have destroyed Darthill. You and Zheran would most likely be dead. Everything we love would have been torn down, burned, killed: our children, our houses, our animals, our land. The Escuro that nurtures our lives would be full of bodies and running red with blood. We have been spared all that. It seems a small price to forgo beating your wife.”
“You are an old fool. This fall, when the choosing is done, I will stand against you for headman. You will see, there are others here who think as I do.” With that, he took two steps back and said to Kazouri, “Stand aside. I will not touch her, but I must speak to that woman.” Kazouri took one step aside, keeping a careful eye on him. Rhomar said, in a voice that could have cut stone, “Zheran, listen carefully. If you go to Mishghall, do not come back. You will no longer be my wife. There will be no place for you here. You will be considered as dead, at my hearth and in this village as well. Our sons will stay here with me. You would not be fit to be their mother.”
I saw her lip quiv
er and her eyes go wide. She looked stricken, plainly more frightened than she had been when he raised his hand for the next blow. For a moment, I thought she was going to change her mind and throw herself on his mercy. Then she took several deep breaths. When she answered, it was quietly and from some place of power deep inside herself. “I will go to Mishghall tomorrow. I have made my choice and you must make yours, though I must tell you, Rhomar, this is not how I would have chosen to end our life together.”
“Done!” he shouted, with no pause for thought. Then he turned and strode away without a backward glance.
“As it must be,” Alyeeta said softly, while Kazouri muttered, “I think we have not seen the last of that man.” The woman, Zheran, was looking bereft, as if she might cry at any moment.
“If you do not wish to stay in Mishghall, you are very welcome among us in our new settlement.” I spoke on impulse, but of course there was no new settlement for any of us yet.
At my words, she turned to look at us, as if seeing us all for the first time. We were part of a choice she had made without intending to. Her life had been changed forever, blown apart by those few words. The pieces were still falling into place. Her lip was trembling again, ever so slightly, but when she spoke it was with great calm and dignity: “This is all very sudden and unexpected. I had no thought to leave forever, only to go and visit with my sister in Mishghall. We have not seen each other in many years. Each time before, when I asked to go, Rhomar found some new reason to deny me. This time I was determined. My children are old enough. I am not getting any younger. And now, who knows…” She shook her head. “My name is Zheran. I will ride out with you tomorrow. Later, after Mishghall, we shall see what the future brings.” She was trying to sound strong and confident, but I noticed that for the rest of our time in Darthill she stayed close by Kazouri’s side.