The group laughed again, becoming more at ease with Clarian’s presence.
“If the night people come out of this forest, when would that be?” asked Kajmin.
“My guess is the spring or summer after next. They have a cousin tribe, I am told, far beyond their forest to the northeast, here where I have marked it on the map.” He pointed to a corner of the map. “I think they will seek help to strengthen their army and that will take time. They will need more horses and wagons, as well as weapons. And they will have to train new soldiers.”
“And if the night people defeat the Karran, how long before they could attack us?” asked a young commander.
“No one knows. If the Karran try to escape to the Grasslands, the Maggan will follow. Then they will discover you.”
Kajmin ordered riders out to all the corners of the plains for all the Kobani clans to send their leaders to a meeting to discuss the news Clarian had brought. In the days that followed, Clarian took up residence with his cousin, Jolsani, in a large bachelor’s house surrounded by the Sheshin clan tents. The clan was small, with only a dozen families. In the evening, the clan would gather around the outdoor cooking fires, sitting on their stools or on skins on the ground, eating and talking.
Ranna was the happiest Clarian had seen her in years. She spent almost all her time with her sister, Anosh, and Anosh’s grandchildren. The children found Clarian fascinating, and he responded by telling them tales of the Great Grasslands and scaring them with stories about the Maggan.
During the day Clarian would ride out with Jolsani to inspect the horse and cattle herds and on several occasions join others in moving the herds to newer grazing areas.
Jolsani showed Clarian the weapons the Kobani used, many of which Clarian was already familiar with. The Kobani used a shorter bow compared to the Karran bow, which was longer and would shoot a good distance farther. The Kobani also used hide-covered breastplates designed to stop arrows. A lance, the long-bladed knife, short swords, and a round, hardened leather shield completed the Kobani weaponry arsenal.
On a fine bright morning, Clarian and Jolsani rode up to a practice area where young warriors were practicing their archery skills. Clarian, borrowing a bow and quiver from some laughing boys, kicked his horse into a lope across a line of targets. His first arrow fell short. Adjusting at a gallop, he elevated his next shot, and it went high, but the next arrow struck the target, to the cheers of the gathering.
Jolsani followed, pushing his horse into a hard run and rapidly putting all three of his arrows into the targets. He then turned, and as he was riding away, he shot back into the nearest target. Clarian was able to strike all three of the three targets successfully using the short bow, but he was hard pressed to do it quickly, and he could not shoot behind him and hit the target while swiveling in the saddle. He admitted to Jolsani that the Grasslanders did not practice rapid release at the speed used by the Kobani.
Laughing, Jolsani pushed three targets even closer together, requiring much more rapid shooting as one’s horse sped by. He challenged Clarian, and Clarian hit the first target, overran the second, missed the third, and as he rode away, missed shooting back over the rump of his horse. He had to take some chiding from the young men who quickly jumped on their horses to demonstrate their prowess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Big drums signaled the call to meeting of all the Kobani clan leaders. It was midday as Clarian and Jolsani made their way through the camp to the gathering place. Awnings had been stretched over a large area to block out the hot sun and give the leaders shade. At the front, Kajmin sat on his stool, and beside him sat the old holy man, Nashola. Off to the side sat Clarian and Jolsani. Ranna was somewhere in the crowd with members of her clan.
One of Clarian’s cousins had newly braided his hair, and she had added more beads. The sun had darkened his skin and except for his strange blue eyes, light-colored hair, and the lack of a tattoo on his face, he looked at first glance like any other young Kobani. Around his neck he wore the silver chain with the violet stone.
As Kajmin welcomed everyone, Clarian could feel the eyes of the men seated under the awnings staring hard at him. Of course by now the story of his journey with his mother and the tales he had brought about the Maggan had circulated far and wide. Around the perimeter of the awnings, a crowd had gathered to observe the proceedings.
Clarian Selu stood up from his stool and walked to the front of the gathering. They were a fierce-looking group, mostly old warriors, with long hair, many with beards, braided with red cords and colored beads and foreheads tattooed in strange designs. Off to the right side of the clan leaders sat a group of holy men and women.
“I am Selu of the Sheshin clan. I live a ride of many, many days to the north on the Blue River in the Great Grasslands. I have fought the Maggan, the night people, and defeated them. They live in the Forest of Darkness far to the northeast, a place where men fear to go and from where no one returns. Many years ago, the night people came out of the forest and attacked the Karran and were defeated. They signed a peace treaty in blood, vowing never to attack again. Last summer, they broke the treaty, coming out of their underground caves and marching out of their black forest into Karran land and attacking the Karran people.
“I led the Karran army and drove the Maggan back into the forest. They signed no treaty this time. They cannot be trusted to keep their word. They were very angry that they had lost the war. I have been told they sent emissaries to their cousin tribe far to the northeast to gain support. I believe they will attack again when they are strong. They have great numbers. They sleep in the day and rise when it is night. They have eyes that shine in the dark, and they can see at night as well as we can see in daylight. When they attack, they kill everyone. No one is left alive. They attacked the Doman people several years ago. There are no longer any Doman people. The Doman have been erased. It is said they eat their captives, especially children. I have not seen this, but it is believed by some.”
The members of the crowd began talking among themselves, and Clarian waited for them to let him continue.
“If they overrun the Karran, there is nothing to stop the night people from sweeping across the Grasslands, and nothing to stop them from marching down into these plains and attacking the Kobani and crossing the great river to attack the Madasharan. The Kobani are a strong and powerful people. So are the night people. I have carried this message to the Madasharan people who live across the great river near the Crystal Mountains far to the west. I now bring this warning to you.”
Selu stopped, and the leaders began talking to one another in low voices. Kajmin waited for the discussions to play out. After a sufficient period of time, he rose and put up his hand, and the talking subsided.
“Let us ask our questions of Selu,” he said.
A gray-haired man stood up and asked, “Do you remember me, Selu?”
Smiling, Selu replied, “I remember you, Memanya. From the day we signed the peace treaty between the Grasslanders and the Kobani.”
“We didn’t know you spoke our people’s language. We should have been more careful. You surprise us.”
“Surprise is a Kobani virtue, Memanya.”
Chuckles stirred through the crowd, and a few Kobani shook their heads.
“Why do the night people attack the Karran?”
Selu took a deep breath, “The Karran have a flame that radiates up from a white crystal stone kept by a holy man called the Flamekeeper. The night people want to steal it. They claim that it was once theirs, back before men counted the days and the years.”
The same gray-haired man spoke again over the whispers of the men around him. “Does this flame have power?”
“It has power, for I have seen it, but the flame cannot be held by one who has an evil heart. It will burn out and disappear. The night people do not understand this.”
Amid the rising le
vel of conversations under the awnings, another man rose to speak, raising his voice. “I do not think anyone wants our lands except the Karran. It is the Karran we should be wary of.”
Angry words were barked back and forth among the clan leaders. A man in the back stood up and yelled out at Clarian, “Do you expect us to fight for the Karran? Let the Karran die!”
Selu waited for them to quiet down.
A wiry man stood up and asked, “What is it you want from us, Selu?”
“On the day the night people march against the Karran, I will send word to you. I know it is unthinkable to ask the Kobani to fight with the Karran, their greatest enemy. But if the night people drive the Karran out of their lands and pursue them into the Great Grasslands, it will be the end of the Karran, and no one will stand between you and the night people. You will be alone.”
It took a week for Clarian and Ranna to ride back to the ferry. They did not push hard, and Jolsani and several young men from their clan rode with them to the edge of the plains where they transformed into the Great Grasslands. The young men turned back after fond farewells, and Clarian, Ranna, and Jolsani rode on to the ferry.
The rain struck the next day, and the downpour soaked them, and the wind whipped the grass and made the horses skittish. The sky was dark with low, black clouds as the bleak weather swept down on them from the north. They followed the great river toward the ferry on the old warriors’ trail, now muddy and broken by running rivulets coming down off the higher ground.
Jolsani was on guard as they traveled the unfamiliar country. They traversed over the low hills that separated the Great Grasslands from the plains and then up the river valley past the marshes and finally into the Grasslands, with the long, waving silver-green grasses that stretched out to the north and the east.
Clarian told him that it would be surprising if they came upon any travelers because the track they were on led to the Kobani lands to the south, and few traders ventured there. It was with pleasure that they sighted the whitewashed house on the hill overlooking the river. The rain had stopped, and the clouds parted to let rays of sunlight streak through. Clarian gave out a piercing whistle, and before long two sleek, yellow dogs were dashing down the road to greet them.
With the baying of the dogs, Helan stepped out the door of the house and peered south and was soon waving joyfully at the sight of Ranna and Clarian. She reached up and rang a bell hanging by the front door. Rostan, who had agreed to work the ferry and provide protection for Helan, came trotting up the incline from the ferry to see who was coming.
Within moments, they were dismounting. Helan and Ranna hugged each other vigorously, and then Helan threw her arms around Clarian and kissed his cheek. Clarian shook hands with Rostan. It was time to introduce Jolsani.
“Aunt Helan. This is my cousin, Jolsani.” He then translated in Kobani to Jolsani, who nodded his head at Helan. Helan was surprised and curious. She could see a family resemblance.
“Rostan,” Clarian said, “this is Jolsani.”
Rostan and Jolsani nodded at each other. Then Rostan took a good look at Clarian.
“Clarian, he’s a Kobani! And you look like a Kobani! Your hair and all that.”
“It’s a long story, Rostan, and it’ll have to wait until dinner. I’m wet and would like to get into some dry clothes.”
In the next few weeks Clarian introduced Jolsani to the ferry operation and the farm. Helan and Ranna made him comfortable in a spare bedroom. He admitted that he liked the food, which was a combination of Karran and Kobani foods, and he enjoyed living in a solid house.
The ferry terrified him on his first ride as it cut across the swift turquoise waters to the other side. The travelers who passed through were shocked to see a Kobani at the ferry. Some had heard of them but had never seen one. By this time, Clarian had removed the cords and beads from his hair and resumed his normal attire.
Everyone helped Jolsani with the Karran language, which was not at all related to Kobani. With each day he learned a few more words. He shed some of his reserve with strangers and his naturally suspicious nature, as each day he met a traveler or two crossing the river.
One clear day, Clarian and Jolsani saddled their horses and crossed the river, Rostan hauling back on the ferry towlines for them as the watercraft glided to the far side, and the two of them rode out into the Madasharan dry lands, which Clarian wanted to show Jolsani. They followed the road that led to the city of the Madasharan for a day and then rode off away from the road and found a spring where they camped for the night. Jolsani had heard of the desert but had never expected to see it. As the sun dropped out of the sky to the west behind the Crystal Mountains, the colors changed with each moment from orange to pink to violet. Jolsani was astonished at the sight of the mountains, even though they were far away.
A plan for Jolsani was developing in Clarian’s mind, as yet unformed but slowly evolving. He knew that Jolsani was intelligent and a quick learner. He had learned in the Kobani camp that Jolsani was well respected by the other warriors not only for his herding ability and horsemanship but that he had distinguished himself in a number of skirmishes against a hostile tribe in the south.
After several days camping and riding through the dry country, they headed back to the river. They met a Karran trader leading three loaded packhorses on his way to Madasharan. When Clarian questioned him, the trader said that all was quiet in Karran but he had not been to the Citadel.
Upon returning to the ferry, Clarian and Rostan set to work stringing new heavy rope cables across the river and made some needed repairs on the ferry. As the days passed, Clarian grew anxious but did not know why. He sent a letter to Rokkman and asked him to share it with the Flamekeeper. It detailed his travels to Kobani country. He related his fears that the Maggan would again attack in the future and urged that the army remain at the ready and the country alert to treachery by the Maggan. Knowing his words would not be taken seriously by the Flamekeeper, he nevertheless tried to present his argument. He mentioned his cousin, Jolsani, and said they would travel soon to the Citadel.
CHAPTER THIRTY
As the summer came to a close, and most of the work on the ferry had been accomplished, Clarian decided to ride to the Citadel. On a bright, sunny morning, he and Jolsani set out, and waving good-bye to Ranna, Helan, and Rostan, they disappeared down the dusty road and into the eastern Grasslands.
Jolsani was quite taken by the Great Grasslands and could see why the Kobani had wanted to expand their territory into such rich grazing country. On the third day of their trip, they began to see sparsely scattered farmhouses, and by that evening they rode into a village. Everyone there knew Clarian, but they were shocked to see Jolsani, a Kobani warrior, riding by his side. Whenever they had seen a Kobani in the past, it had been in open warfare. People stopped and stared, and Jolsani was just as curious about them.
Clarian stopped at a yard that sold lumber and ordered enough to build a new ferryboat. The proprietor agreed to haul the wood to the ferry. Clarian and Jolsani rode to the soldiers’ outpost and met with the commander, who had fought with Clarian against the Maggan. When Clarian told him that he was taking Jolsani to the Citadel, the commander grinned and said that would be something to witness. Clarian replied that most of the Karran who did not live on the Grasslands frontier did not really know anything about the Kobani except through stories.
In the week that followed, Clarian and Jolsani rode steadily without haste through the Karran countryside, staying at inns in towns along the way. As they left the Grasslands, people on the road or in the towns glanced at Jolsani with some curiosity, not used to seeing someone from another people, but not with hostility or wariness. Clarian was recognized and greeted warmly almost everywhere.
Jolsani was most surprised at the farming, which was not something the Kobani engaged in, and he asked a great many questions about how it was done. Of course the wooden a
nd stone houses were novel as well.
On a brilliant morning with a hot, late-summer sun high in the sky, they rode out of the flat lands and into the higher country, and there before them the towers of the Citadel rose up gray against the blue, cloudless sky.
“That is the Citadel, Jolsani,” said Clarian.
“It is huge!”
“A great building of stone. And you can’t see it now, but at its feet lies a great city.”
The road they traveled was crowded with wagons and horses and herders driving cattle and travelers on foot, moving in both directions. Occasionally, a Citadel soldier would come galloping, carrying a dispatch, his or her blue cape flapping in the wind.
By late afternoon, they threaded their way through the city and its streets full of people, animals, and wagons and rode up the last incline to the gates of the Citadel. At the gate, Clarian announced himself to the guards, who knew him and saluted him with smiles. Clarian and Jolsani were let in, and their horses were taken to the stables.
As Clarian led Jolsani up the stone steps and down the hallways to the officers’ quarters, where they would spend the night, he could not help but smile at Jolsani’s open-mouthed wonder at the castle. He thought about the following day’s surprises for Jolsani, and the surprise Jolsani would provide to Rokkman and the Flamekeeper. He looked forward to the morning.
Rokkman clasped him hard with both arms, his face breaking into a big smile. “I got your letter. It’s good to see you.” Rokkman then glanced over Clarian’s shoulder into the black eyes of Jolsani. “And this must be your Kobani warrior!”
Jolsani took Rokkman’s extended hand and gripped it firmly, as Clarian had taught him. Then he said in Karran, “I am Jolsani.”
“I am Rokkman.”
Rokkman looked Jolsani over with interest, noting the braided hair and tattoo and the clothing, with the long knife at the waist. Jolsani observed Rokkman just as critically, remembering what Clarian had told him about the high office Rokkman held and the violet cloak that symbolized a servant of the Flame.
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