book1

by Fire

  “Kumul is like a father watching his only son being wooed by a woman he doesn’t approve of.”

  Ager nodded. “I hadn’t seen it like that, but you’re right.”

  “Kumul told me about his confrontation with Lynan. He doesn’t know whether to be angry or sad about Lynan standing against him.”

  “Last night was difficult for other reasons.”

  “He told me he and Korigan had argued.”

  “Did he tell you about what...” Ager’s voice faded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Ager pointed toward the van of the column. Jenrosa looked and saw that the lead riders were galloping forward toward the nearest crest. She watched them reach the crest and then disappear over the other side. Other Chetts started joining them. The horizon was slightly hazy with dust.

  “Rendle?” she asked.

  Ager did not answer but dug his heels into his mount. Jenrosa did her best to keep up, but he was a better rider and pulled ahead. She watched him reach the crest and then suddenly pull up, his horse’s hooves digging into the soil. A few seconds later she was by his side and looking down. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Some five leagues away was the biggest herd of cattle she had ever seen. She had no idea how many beasts there were, but they seemed like a dark tide on the yellow and pale green plain.

  Lynan and Gudon appeared by her side. Lynan’s eyes widened despite the bright sun.

  “It is bigger than I remember,” Gudon said in a kind of hush. “Little master, this is the wealth of the White Wolf clan. My clan.”

  As well as the cattle, Jenrosa now could also make out what looked like two long trains of small brightly colored insects, one on either side of the main mass of the herd. Soon she could see they were large tents carried on wide carts, each cart drawn by four or more horses. Single horses carried Chetts around and in and between the cattle, keeping them moving and together. There seemed to be almost as many Chetts as cattle.

  “How large is your clan?” Jenrosa asked Gudon.

  “One of the largest,” he said proudly. “We have been riding with the Left Horn, Korigan’s personal guard of one thousand warriors. There is also the Right Horn and the main group of five thousand warriors, the Head. Unless we are at war, the Head always stays with the herd, while the two horns take turns scouting ahead and to our flanks, usually many leagues distant from the main body.”

  “I don’t understand, Gudon,” Lynan said, his expression still showing his surprise. “I thought the Chetts lived in groups of a hundred or so. You told me so yourself on the journey to the Algonka Pass.”

  “We lived like that for centuries until the Slaver War. Korigan’s father realized we had to unite to fight the incursions of raiders like Rendle and Prado. But before he could unite the clans, each clan itself had to unite. There were as many squabbles and rivalries between each clan’s families as there were between the clans themselves. Now each clan moves and fights as a unit. It means they have to move a lot more, else the combined herd would destroy all the pasture, but it is worth it for the increased safety.”

  Ager was carefully observing the clan below. “It seems random at first, the way the clan moves,” he said. “But I can see now how the outriders don’t keep to the same station. They are always moving, but always to another station.” He looked over to Gudon. “This is very impressive. I don’t think anyone in Grenda Lear realizes how organized the Chetts have become.”

  “They think us simple herders,” Gudon agreed. “We prefer it that way.”

  “They’re stopping,” Lynan said.

  The Chett outriders had closed in on the herd and slowly, like honey on a knife, it oozed to a halt. The carts carrying the tents then formed a corral enclosing all but a dozen of the largest beasts that were led away and pegged nearby.

  “The bulls,” Gudon explained.

  “Why so many?”

  “Trade. Our herd is a large and healthy one. Other clans will give a great deal to have one of our bulls, thinking they are the secret of our clan’s success.”

  “And what is the secret of your clan’s success?” Ager asked.

  “Our queen,” Gudon said simply.

  “Look, there’s Kumul,” Jenrosa said. She had spotted him halfway down the slope. Like the rest, he was transfixed by the sight of the clan and its herd. None of the easterners had expected to see anything of this scale on the Oceans of Grass.

  “And here is Korigan,” Gudon said, pointing to a single rider coming their way. Tall and lithe, so confident on a horse, she was easy to pick out. When she reached them, she stopped in front of Lynan.

  “Welcome to the heart of the White Wolf clan, your Majesty.” Her beautiful golden face beamed with pride. “You will always be welcome among us.”

  Lynan nodded, still in awe. “Thank you, Korigan. I am honored.”

  “My people are waiting to meet you all,” she said to everyone, and led the way down the slope to the corral, Kumul joining them as they passed.

  As they drew nearer, small children jumped out of the tents and gathered around them. Like most Chetts, they were dressed in simple breeches and shirt, made from either linen or hide, with a cloth poncho over their shoulders. Their hair was cut short, again like most of the adults. Gudon had once told Lynan that among his people hair was a precious resources, used for binding and stitching.

  Most of the children’s attention was given to Kumul and Ager, the first so huge he must have seemed like a mountain on legs to them, the second so bent over they were surprised he could ride at all. At first they ignored Lynan; in his poncho and wide-brimmed hat, he could almost have been one of them.

  The children were soon joined by a few of the outriders, and the procession finally wound its way to the biggest tent, sitting astride the largest wagon Lynan and his companions had ever seen. The tent was made from several panels of boiled leather, stitched together with thick strands of twined sinew. Each panel was painted a different color, the one above the door also carrying a pictogram of a white wolf.

  Before the riders halted there was the sound of a fast-approaching horse. They looked behind them and saw an outrider, his hat hanging from his neck by its cord, his heels dug into his mare’s flanks.

  “Gods!” cried Gudon, his face breaking into a wide grin. “It’s Makon!”

  The one called Makon waited until he was only a few paces from the group, neatly reined in his horse and leaped from the saddle. To the surprise of the newcomers, he landed on the back of Gudon’s horse. Thin, wiry arms wrapped themselves around Gudon’s waist.

  “Gudon! My brother! You have come back to us at last!”

  Gudon half-twisted in the saddle and hugged back, giving his brother huge slaps on his back. “I told you I would, karak!”

  They fell off the mare and landed in a heap on the ground. The Chetts around them laughed, including Korigan. Lynan and his friends looked on bemused, not sure what to make of it all.

  Gudon and Makon stood up, still holding on to each other, their faces split by the widest smiles Lynan had ever seen worn by a Chett.

  “This is my younger brother!” Gudon declared loudly.

  “We would never have guessed,” Kumul said dryly.

  “My queen, what have you been feeding him? He is too tall to be from my family.”

  And indeed, now that they were standing, Lynan could see that Makon had at least a hand’s span on Gudon.

  “Your life in the east has shrunk you,” Makon said. He waved at the strangers. “And who are these friends you have brought home with you?”

  Gudon went to Jenrosa and placed his hand on her shoulder. “This is Jenrosa Alucar, famed magicker from the Theurgia of Stars in Kendra!”

  The crowd cheered before Jenrosa could tell them she was only a student and not famous at all.

  Gudon went to Ager next. “Ager Parmer, one of the most renowned warriors in Grenda Lear! His injuries come from the Slaver War, where he fought nobly under Elynd Chisal!”
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  More cheering, and Ager actually blushed. The children that had been staring at him curiously huddled closer, some reaching out to touch him.

  Gudon moved to Kumul. “And this is a warrior whose renown is known even to us. The right-hand man of the General who ended the slavers’ attacks on the Chetts. Kumul Alarn, Captain of the Red Shields!”

  Lynan thought his ears would burst with the calls and ululations that followed Gudon’s announcement. Even the outriders now dismounted to gather around. All eyes were on Kumul, and Lynan could hear the awe in their voices. “It is him! It is the General’s giant! It is Kumul!”

  Lynan was watching Kumul’s reaction. His pale skin flushed deep red; even the gray roots of his close-cropped hair seemed to gain color. Dazed by the adulation, he could say or do nothing. Gudon waited until the cries started to die before moving to Lynan. As he moved to place his hand on Lynan’s shoulder, he stopped and stepped back. Lynan looked around and saw Korigan come to stand next to him. The crowd fell silent then, and waited for their queen to speak. She reached across and removed Lynan’s hat. He squinted hard in the sudden rush of light. When he managed to open them wide enough to see what was going on, he was met by the staring eyes of every Chett around them. One small girl dared to touch Lynan’s pale white hand, but quickly withdrew. Lynan smiled down at her, but she was obviously too frightened to smile back.

  “This is Lynan Rosetheme, son of Queen Usharna and General Elynd Chisal. He is a prince of the realm of Grenda Lear. He is a holder of one of the Keys of Power.

  “He is the white wolf, and he is come back to us!”

  For a moment nothing happened, and then, without a word between them, the crowd as one bowed low as if they were a stand of wheat struck by a single scythe. Even Korigan was bowing. Lynan blinked, his eyes watering from the harsh sun.

  After a moment Korigan stood erect, and the other Chetts followed her example. She replaced his hat and held him gently by the arm. “For as long as you wish it, this clan is your family and your home.”

  “The white wolf?” Lynan asked Gudon. They were sitting together on a crest overlooking the Chett camp, then-mares cropping grass behind them. Above them stars sprinkled a perfectly clear sky, and beneath them dozens of small fires outlined the corral. They could hear faintly the lowing of the clan’s herd, and occasionally the rumbling call of the bulls.

  “Long ago, little master, when my clan was nothing more than a small tribe of two or three families, legend says we were protected from the predations of other tribes by a lone white grass wolf. He could only be seen at night, from far away. He became our totem, and eventually one of our gods.

  “And here you are. You came to the Chetts near death, and then were resurrected with skin as white as a mare’s milk, and on your first hunt, single-handed, you slew a grass wolf that threatened our clan’s queen.”

  “I was trying to save you,” Lynan said bluntly.

  “Truth, little master. But you can see why Korigan would call you the white wolf.”

  Lynan hugged his knees. “I don’t want the clan to expect too much of me, Gudon. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

  “That will not happen.”

  For a while neither of them said anything, until a shooting star flashed above them. Gudon pointed at it. “A good sign. We are protected, you see.”

  “I have a feeling you are not nearly so superstitious as you make out,” Lynan said. Gudon looked at him questioningly. “You are a pragmatic Chett. Like your queen.”

  “That would not be unexpected. We are cousins.”

  “And destinies can be made.”

  “Now what can the little master mean by that?”

  “When we first met on the river, you told me that destiny serves no one.”

  “Truth.”

  “Not truth, Gudon. You saved me from Jes Prado, for which I will always thank you, but you knew who I was.”

  Gudon nodded.

  “And you knew I would be valuable to your queen.”

  Gudon sighed deeply, then said: “You wanted to go to the Oceans of Grass.”

  “And you wanted me to go to the Oceans of Grass, but not fall into the hands of another clan, especially one whose chief was in opposition to Korigan. Truth?”

  “Yes, little master,” the Chett said, his voice low. “I will help your queen, but the price will be high.”

  “Korigan understands this,” Gudon said without hesitation.

  “How long before we reach the High Sooq?”

  “Many days, especially with the herd. It will be winter when we get there.”

  As autumn deepened, the cold started to take hold of the plains. The first sign of oncoming winter was a frost in the morning, at first so gentle it disappeared soon after the sun rose, but after a few days thick enough to survive until mid-morning. When the herd was started, the brittle grass could be heard crunching under their hooves. At this time Korigan ordered the slaughter of the steers, and the clan spent two days at one camp so the meat could be salted and the hides cured. The meat was kept in special tents, painted a bright white to reflect the sun’s light and keep cool the meat still waiting to be cured. While the steers were being culled, as much grass as possible was gathered, some of it bundled as feed for the cattle in deepest winter, and the rest winnowed for the seeds necessary to make bread. Whenever the clan came across trees and bushes, their fruit was collected and stored.

  Compared to their progress before catching up with the herd, Lynan thought they were crawling along at a snail’s pace, but he enjoyed not being in a rush to get somewhere or in a rush to get away from someone. He spent most of the day with Gudon riding on the edge of the clan, learning about the Oceans of Grass, its creatures and plants and clans, and about the seasons, about the Chett gods and beliefs and customs. Lynan drank in anything Gudon could teach him, and when Gudon’s memory was faulty or incomplete, Makon would join them to fill in the gaps. Lynan never stopped asking questions.

  For most of the time, Kumul, Ager, and Jenrosa rode with the main group, sticking together for company and to keep out of the way of the Chetts trying to keep the herd moving. They were never alone for long, since children and outriders on rest often accompanied them, plying them with questions about the east and about Lynan. Ager and Jenrosa enjoyed the journey. Like Lynan, they appreciated being secure for the first time since leaving Kendra all those months ago, but Kumul felt the frustration of inaction. He regretted every day wasted by not working on getting Lynan back to Kendra and every day that took them farther and farther away from civilization and deeper into the unknown Oceans of Grass.

  After a few days, Ager began spending more time away from Kumul and Jenrosa and started mixing with the Chetts themselves. On one day he drove the queen’s wagon under the supervision of its master, an old and nearly toothless Chett named Kisojny. It took him a while to get used to pulling such a huge load and controlling eight horses, but Kisojny was a patient teacher. Once Ager got the hang of it, they spent the rest of the day telling each other jokes. Ager was surprised to learn that the Chetts—not merchant seamen—possessed the crudest sense of humor in the world, and he decided that living with a huge herd of cattle and a dozen bulls all their lives probably explained it.

  Ager’s drift from his companions was driven partly by his curiosity and his need to do something other than let his mare guide him across the Oceans of Grass, but mostly it was to give Kumul and Jenrosa time together. They did not mean to exclude him from their conversations, but increasingly the two talked to each other, leaving Ager on the boundary. He was glad Kumul had Jenrosa to distract him from his own growing depression, but wondered if it was for the best. Jenrosa was with them because she had been with Lynan on the night King Berayma was murdered, and had to flee the palace with the prince. Ager did not know what Jenrosa had been doing with Lynan that night, but he was sure they had not been discussing the history of Grenda Lear. How did Lynan feel about Jenrosa now?

  It was certainly c
lear to Ager who Jenrosa preferred to spend time with.

  Lynan rode from the corral into the cold night air. For the second time he felt he was being flooded by a dark hunger, and the smell of the cattle was driving him insane. A wind was blowing from the south, numbing his cheeks and hands; on the horizon, lit by moonlight, he could see masses of anvil-shaped clouds heading toward him.

  When the corral was out of sight, he stopped and twisted his hands into the reins; his eyes were knitted shut and his jaws clamped together. He wanted to feed and drink, wanted to feel the taste of warm blood on his lips. The mare underneath him was tense and wanted to run, but Lynan kept the reins hard into the pit of his stomach.

  Slowly, the wind blew away all scent of the herd, and his head started to clear. He breathed deeply and slumped in the saddle. The mare relaxed underneath him and started cropping at the grass.

  It had been easier this time to deal with it, and he wondered if it was because he was farther away from Silona and her supernatural influence. Somehow, he was sure, more than the vampire’s blood now flowed through his veins. He looked east and remembered all the things—good and bad— that he had left behind. The homesickness he had felt for the first few weeks of his escape from Kendra was now little more than memory. His gaze turned west then, out over the great plains that seemed to have no boundary. He was nothing but a speck out here, and the feeling of insignificance appealed to him. The wind picked up and his poncho winged around him. He tightened the hat toggle under his chin. The horse started to whinny; it wanted to be back with her sisters.

  A rider was coming toward him. A Chett. Too tall for Gudon. Maybe Makon. No, he told himself, recognizing the rider’s obvious self-possession. It was Korigan. She pulled up beside him. “I wondered what you were doing out here by yourself, especially on a night like this.”

  “I like nights like this,” he said.

  She looked around, and Lynan could see the pleasure in her face as she gazed out over the Oceans of Grass, the same pleasure he felt.