by Fire
“Then we must keep the clans busy.”
“How? They are already busy with winter.”
“Then they must be kept even busier,” Lynan said. “We must train them. We must make an army.”
It was rare for the two circles to be called twice in one winter, but none of the chiefs refused Lynan’s request. It was held soon after dawn, and the first circle gathered eagerly around the central fire to warm themselves.
When Herita called Lynan to speak, he immediately declared his intention.
“The mercenaries pose a real threat to the Chetts. Many of you will remember what they did to your clans before the Slaver War. We must stop those times from coming back. The only way to do this is to ride against the mercenaries before they ride against us.”
No voices were raised in disagreement, and there were even a few cheers.
“For a Chett army to operate effectively, it will have to be trained to fight as one.”
His words were met with a stupefied silence.
“Trained?” Akota asked after a while. “Us? Trained to fight?”
“Yes,” Lynan said evenly.
“But we are the Chetts,” she said, obviously confused by the notion. “We are trained as warriors as soon as we are old enough to ride, and that is before we are old enough to walk.”
“Nevertheless, to fight against the mercenaries, to fight in the east, you will need training, and to fight against Areava, if she is directing mercenaries against you, you will need training.”
Akota looked as if she was about to continue, but shook her head. Instead, another chief stood up.
“My name is Katan, and I am chief of the Ocean clan.”
Herita glanced at Lynan, and he nodded for Katan to continue.
“What exactly can anyone from the east teach us about fighting?”
There was a general murmur of agreement from the gathered Chetts.
Lynan smiled slightly. “No one doubts the worth of the Chetts when it comes to courage, and to skill with bow and saber. I do not think anyone on the continent of Theare could teach the Chetts anything in that regard.”
“Then what training are you talking about?”
“Great fighters do not necessarily make great soldiers.”
“They are just words,” Katan said derisively.
“They are more than words,” Kumul said, stepping forward to stand beside Lynan. “I have seen what happens when a trained army fights an untrained rabble. It is always a massacre. No fighter, no matter now brave or skilled in the individual use of weapons, can match a trained soldier.”
Katan puffed out his chest. “I can prove otherwise.”
Lynan regarded him for a moment, then said: “Very well. What do you suggest?”
“My fighting skill against the best soldier from the east. I challenge Kumul Alarn.”
The members of both circles gave an approving roar.
“I accept,” Kumul said. There was another roar of approval. Kumul held his head high and pulled back his shoulders, his hand on his sword. Lynan felt suddenly small next to the giant. Even Katan wilted a little, but he did not recall the challenge.
Lynan waited until the noise subsided and said: “No.”
Kumul gaped at him. “Lad, who else—?”
“Ager.”
Ager shuffled forward to stand by Lynan’s other side. He was grinning like an amiable dolt.
“This is foolishness!” Katan blustered. “Defeating your crookback would prove nothing!”
“On the other hand, if my crookback was to defeat you, it would prove everything.” He put his arm around Ager’s shoulder. “Captain Parmer was trained as a soldier, not simply as a fighter. He fought during the Slaver War as a commander in the Kendra Spears. In a battle, I would trust him with my life.”
“Do you revoke your challenge, Katan?” Herita said loudly enough for both circles to hear.
“No,” the chief grumbled.
Herita turned to Ager. “You are challenged, Ager Parmer. What weapon?”
“Katan can fight with any weapon he chooses,” Ager said offhandedly. He patted the saber by his side. “I will fight with this.”
“As will I,” Katan agreed.
The first circle widened to make space for the combatants.
“And the rules?” Herita asked the two combatants.
“I would not have this to the death,” Lynan said. Both Katan and Ager agreed.
“The first to lose his weapon?” Herita suggested.
“The first to draw blood,” Katan said.
Herita looked at Ager, and he nodded. “Very well. The first to draw blood. If either is killed accidentally, the other will pay full five cattle to the dead man’s family, including a bull not older than four years.”
“I will pay for Ager,” Korigan said from the second ring.
Ager grinned his thanks to the queen, and drew his saber. Katan, still obviously unhappy at being involved in such an unfair fight, drew his own. The two men stood ten paces apart.
“Start,” Herita said.
Katan immediately charged forward, whirling his saber in the air above his head. Instead of retreating from the attack, Ager ducked and lunged forward. The blades snickered and Katan’s saber was suddenly flying through the air. It landed in the ground point first, vibrating like a reed.
“Just as well we’re going to first blood,” Ager said lightly.
Katan cursed loudly, retrieved the saber and again advanced on the crookback, but more cautiously than before.
For every step Katan took forward, Ager took one back. Lynan watched with amused understanding, having himself dueled with the captain.
Katan lunged with exasperation. Ager easily deflected the blade, then took one step closer, half-lunged, and scraped the edge of his sabre along Katan’s arm, opening a long cut. Katan roared and retreated, clutching his sword arm with his free hand; blood seeped between his fingers.
“And that’s that,” Ager said with mild satisfaction, sheathing his weapon.
“The duel is over,” Herita announced. “Captain Ager Parmer was victorious. Katan of the Ocean clan is defeated.”
Lynan spoke to both circles. “No one doubts Katan’s courage or skill. But all of you must now see how Ager’s training—despite his crookback and one eye—gave him the advantage.”
“You would all train us to fight like the crookback?” came a voice from the second circle. “Like a beetle scuttling under the grass?”
There was some laughter, but most of the Chetts remained silent; they knew Ager had more than proved himself in a fair fight.
“In hand-to-hand combat on foot, none of us could do worse than fight like Ager,” Lynan replied without anger. “But Kumul will also train some of you to fight like cavalry.”
“No disrespect to Kumul Alarn,” Akota said, “but we are already horse warriors.”
“And that will be a great advantage to the army,” Lynan said equably. “But Kumul will train those selected as shock cavalry.”
“We will lose our mobility,” another Chett from the second circle said.
“Well trained cavalry never loses its mobility,” Kumul countered.
Eynon stood up, and Herita nodded to him to speak. “How large will this army be?”
“At first, each clan will give ten of its warriors,” Lynan said. “Those ten will help to train ten others, and so on until each clan has given the equivalent of one of its horns to the army. That will leave more than enough for each clan to protect its families and cattle.”
“And who will command it?” Eynon demanded. “Korigan?”
“I will not command it,” Korigan said. “Lynan Rosetheme will.”
“But you will ride with it.”
“I will, Eynon, but so may you if that is your wish.”
“In what role?” Eynon asked. “I will not be reduced to an outrider.” There was a rumble of agreement from the other members of the first circle.
Lynan went to Eynon an
d stared up into his scarred face. “No good commander would waste such an experienced leader as yourself.”
Eynon turned his eyes away. The prince’s hard, snow-white skin sent a shiver down his spine. “As it should be,” he said quickly.
Herita waited for any other chiefs who wished to speak, but none stood to claim the right.
“It seems you will have your army,” Herita said to Lynan.
Jenrosa could not believe the heat put out by the small stone furnaces. The High Sooq was covered in several fingers of snow, but in this part of the village the snow melted even before it reached the ground. She watched Chetts stripped to the waist raking carbon beds, pumping small, horn-shaped bellows, taking out red-hot cups filled with molten steel, and pouring them into molds. Ever since the two circles had agreed with Lynan to create an army, the clans had been busy casting new weapons—sabers, spear heads, and arrow points, including a new spear head and sword according to designs specified by Kumul and Ager.
She had been to the large foundry in Kendra, controlled by the Theurgia of Fire, and though their construction was impressive, the heat it produced was nowhere near as intense as that produced by these primitive Chett furnaces.
She noticed a Chett who crouched near the furnace mouth but seemed to take no part in the activity around her. Her face and throat and small breasts glimmered with sweat, and her eyes were shut tight in concentration. Jenrosa watched more closely, and saw the Chett’s lips moving.
She is a magicker, Jenrosa thought with surprise. She knew the Chetts had shamans, practitioners of magic looked down upon by the masters of the Theurgia, but this woman was more than a mere shaman, Jenrosa was sure.
Just then Jenrosa was politely hustled out of the way by two men pulling a hand-drawn cart. They quickly unloaded empty molds by the furnace, then loaded up again with filled ones. They left, panting with the effort of pulling so much weight. Jenrosa returned to her position to watch the Chett magicker, but there was a man there now, his lips moving in a silent chant. Jenrosa looked up, saw the first magicker standing to one side and stretching her muscles. The woman glanced around and saw Jenrosa staring at her.
“It is hot work,” she said, smiling.
“You were performing magic,” Jenrosa said.
“Oh, yes,” the woman said, and walked over to where there was some snow. She picked up handfuls of it and rubbed them over her face and chest.
Jenrosa approached her diffidently. “I did not know any of the Chett could do that.”
The woman looked at her strangely. “Why should we not be able to?”
“You have no Theurgia.”
The woman nodded genially. “Truth. Does that matter?”
Jenrosa did not know what to say. She had always believed that magic occurred because the Theurgia existed to organize and practice it; magic could not exist without the combined weight of knowledge accrued—painstakingly slowly—over centuries. Anything else was illusion or simple shamanism, that minor magic that could be gathered from the natural world.
The woman looked around for her shirt and poncho and quickly dressed, and then, before Jenrosa could react, reached out for Jenrosa’s hands and studied each carefully. “Ah, I see you have some ability.”
“I was only a student.”
The woman looked surprised. “I sense a great deal more than that.” She looked carefully at Jenrosa’s face, her large brown eyes gentle, unblinking. “Truth, I sense something very great in you.”
Without knowing why, Jenrosa admitted: “I can work magic across disciplines.”
“Disciplines?”
“I was able to perform magic from several theurgia: fire, air, water ...”
“This was special?”
“Yes. In Kendra.”
The woman laughed and shook her head. “Not on the Oceans of Grass. Imagine learning to crawl, but not to walk or run or climb. This is a mystery to me.”
“Are you a teacher?”
The woman shrugged. “Lasthear is many things,” she said. “I am rider, warrior, mother, magicker and sometimes, only sometimes, a teacher.”
“Are there many like you?” Jenrosa asked, surprised.
“Every clan has at least one magicker; some have two or more. I am a good one, many will tell you, but no Truespeaker.”
“A Truespeaker? Like Gudon’s mother?”
“Gudon of Korigan’s clan?” Jenrosa nodded. “Yes, she was the Chetts’ last Truespeaker. Alas, a Truespeaker is rare, maybe one every two or three generations among all the Chett. They are honored by every clan. Gudon’s mother taught me when I was young. Since she died, none have come to claim her place.”
“Lasthear, could you teach me?”
It was Lasthear’s turn to be surprised. “I would like to teach you, but you are with Korigan.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“I am Ocean clan. It would not be proper for me to teach you. You should find a magicker in the White Wolf clan.”
“But the Truespeaker taught you, and she was of the White Wolf clan.”
“The Truespeaker belongs to no clan, no matter which one she is born into.”
“Oh.”
“I know there are good magickers riding with Korigan,” Lasthear said.
“I have two, in fact,” said a voice behind them. Jenrosa turned to see Korigan herself. For a moment she could not help feeling envious of the queen’s noble and athletic frame, not to mention her beautiful Chett face.
“The weapon-making goes well,” Lasthear said.
“I can see,” the queen said, but did not seem interested in what was happening at the furnace. She joined them, smiling easily at Jenrosa. “Could we talk?”
“Of course.”
“You must excuse me,” Lasthear said diplomatically. “I am tired and must rest before it is my turn again to sing to the fire.”
Korigan nodded and Lasthear withdrew. Jenrosa looked after her with some regret. She wished they could have continued their discussion.
Korigan put an arm through Jenrosa’s and started walking toward the lake. The still blue waters seemed like the sky turned upside down, and the reflections of clouds scudded across its surface.
“What is it you wish to talk about?” Jenrosa asked.
Korigan hesitated, then said: “About Lynan.”
“Lynan?”
“I think he has demonstrated a great deal of maturity for one so young.”
“You mean by agreeing with you on matters of strategy?”
“Perhaps,” Korigan said uneasily. “I was thinking more of the way he handled his responsibilities as a leader.”
“Essential qualities for a future king.”
Korigan stopped suddenly. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I don’t even understand you; how can I make fun of you?”
“My motives are clear enough.”
“Are they? I know you want Lynan to be king of Grenda Lear. But why should you risk the whole of the Chett nation on such an unlikely horse? The Oceans of Grass are practically inviolate.”
“They weren’t once. You are too young to remember the Slaver War.”
“You’ve banded together since then. The mercenaries aren’t a threat to your people.”
“You underestimate the ability of the mercenary captains to learn and adapt just as we have.”
Jenrosa nodded, conceding the point. “But this is about more than Rendle and his ilk, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“This is about you and your crown.”
“I cannot pretended that Lynan has not made my position among my people more secure.”
“But it isn’t enough, is it?”
“Not for the Chetts. Ever since we came under the sway of the throne of Grenda Lear over a hundred years ago, we have paid obeisance to distant monarchs. It has cost us nothing. Now it may cost us a great deal.”
“Because you support Lynan?”
“Of course, but there are other fac
tors. If Grenda Lear is unstable, then Haxus may try and bring us under its influence, and its king sits much closer to our territory. Or what if Hume secedes from the kingdom? Where can they expand? Not south into Chandra—Kendra would never allow that. North into Haxus? No, they are too small, and would fall to Haxus instead. They can only expand west, into the Oceans of Grass.”
“But why push Lynan to be king?”
“Because I know that Hume is pushing the throne for increased trade benefits. Now that Areava needs all the support she can get, she is likely to give way to those demands.”
“What has that to do with Lynan?”
“Hume can only increase its trade two ways. The first is at the expense of those trading rights given to its greatest rival, Chandra. Areava won’t do that because she also needs King Tomar’s support.”
“What’s the second way?”
“Areava can give Hume control over the Algonka Pass, the only link between the east and west of this continent for most of its length. As far as anyone in the east is concerned, ownership of the pass would give Hume symbolic control over the Oceans of Grass.”
And suddenly Jenrosa understood. “But King Lynan would support you against Hume.”
Korigan nodded. “We don’t want possession of the pass. We want it to remain a free caravan route, belonging to no king or queen. That way trade continues to flourish between east and west.”
“For someone isolated in the Oceans of Grass, you have a very good grasp of kingdom politics.”
“Don’t make Kumul’s mistake of thinking we are nothing but nomad barbarians.” Jenrosa opened her mouth to object, but Korigan held up her hand to stop her. “You know it is true. I can see it in everything Kumul says, in the way he looks at me and other Chetts. Most in the east look down on us as being little more than herders and horse warriors and potential slaves; Kumul may be more generous than that, but we are still barbarians to him.
“We may not have great cities or palaces, Jenrosa, but that does not mean we are stupid and ignorant.”
“No. No it does not.”
“I see you have some influence with Kumul.”