“You have gained yourself a most beautiful wife,” Rendor of the Felan said, clapping Vartan on the back heartily. “Welcome, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, wife of Vartan of the Fiacre.”
“I thank you, my lord,” Lara responded prettily, and the suspicions of both Floren of the Blathma, and Torin of the Gitta were allayed. They grinned and kissed the bride vigorously, leaving Lara laughing and covered with blushes at their enthusiasm.
Afterward in the privacy of their pavilion Vartan told his family how his new wife had stood boldly forth before his fellow chieftains, and won them over.
“I hope they do not think your wife too bold, Brother Vartan,” Elin murmured, eyes lowered as she embroidered a piece of cloth in an oval frame.
“Our chieftains admire strong women, and a chieftain needs a strong wife,” Bera spoke up. She did not particularly like her younger son’s wife. Elin was a sly girl, and was always encouraging Adon to some new foolishness. Perhaps she would change with the advent of a child, Bera considered hopefully. In the meantime she had a fine daughter-in-law in Lara, and she would not allow anyone to offend her.
“I hardly consider speaking out to defend myself being bold, Elin. You were not there so you are not fit to judge,” Lara said. She already recognized an enemy in Elin.
Elin’s lips pressed together in an expression of disapproval, and she gave her husband an arch look, but she said nothing further.
In midmorning of the following day, the Aghy, led by their chieftain, Roan, arrived with a fine herd of horses. The Aghy were the second largest of the clan families. As soon as their encampment was set up and their animals corralled, Vartan took Lara to meet the Aghy. Roan was as tall as Vartan, with a head of flaming red hair and eyes so deep blue they appeared almost black. His gaze swept over Lara admiringly.
“My bride, Lara,” Vartan said with a grin. “Keep your hands to yourself, Roan of the Aghy. I would hate to cut them off, for how then would you ride your fine horses?”
“I would trap my mare between my thighs, and guide her thusly,” Roan replied wickedly, and he burst into laughter, flinging his arms about Vartan to embrace him.
Vartan was laughing, too. “Welcome to the Gathering, old friend!”
“Any sign of the Tormod or Piaras yet?” Roan asked.
Vartan shook his head. “Nay, not yet, but they do have the farthest distance to come,” and his eyes strayed to the purple mountains beyond the plain.
“We can wait another day or two for them,” Roan said. “The weather is perfect as it always is for the Gathering, and the longer we linger, the more horses I’ll sell,” he chuckled. He swung his gaze to Lara. “Do you ride, Lady?”
“I do,” she said.
“I have a sweet young mare who would suit you admirably,” Roan told her.
Vartan began to chortle, and when Roan looked questioningly at him he said to Lara, “Go and fetch Dasras so that the chieftain of the Aghy may see your mount.”
“At once, my lord,” Lara told him with a grin, and she hurried off. When she returned she was mounted upon the great golden stallion with the creamy mane and tail.
Roan’s mouth dropped open with his surprise. He looked Dasras over with a keen eye. “There is only one place where horses like this are raised. Only the Shadow Princes breed animals so fine. He is magnificent, Vartan.”
“Your praise should go to my wife, for he is hers, Roan,” Vartan replied.
The horse lord looked up at Lara again. “Lady, whatever you desire I will give you if you will sell me this animal.”
“He is not for sale, and never will be,” Lara told him. “He was a gift to me from Prince Kaliq. He has magic, and is part of my destiny.”
“I can well believe he has magic,” Roan said. “But imagine the colts he could sire, and think of the price they would bring! I cannot be content unless you sell him to me. I would even share the profits with you.” He ran an admiring hand over the horse.
Dasras drew away from the horse lord. “My mistress has already told you that I am not for sale, my lord,” he growled in his deep voice.
Roan’s eyes widened. “He talks!”
“But he is not supposed to frighten people,” Lara scolded Dasras.
The stallion turned his head to meet her look. “This man has a determined will, my lady. He must understand that I am indeed magic, and your words are not those of some dewy-eyed maiden.” Dasras now turned to the horse lord. “My mistress has a destiny, Lord Roan, and I am part of it. We cannot be separated.”
The horse lord nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I understand, but should you ever long for some pretty little mares…”
Dasras chuckled richly, bowing his head to touch his foreleg. “I shall certainly remember your most kind offer, my Lord Roan.”
“Does everyone know he talks?” Roan asked Lara.
“We have tried to keep his talents discreet,” she answered with a small smile, and then turning Dasras, rode back to the enclosure where the Fiacre horses were stabled.
“She is not one of us,” Roan said.
“Nay, she is a halfling. Hetarian and faerie,” Vartan said.
“How in the name of the Celestial Actuary did you ever find such a woman to wed?” Roan wanted to know.
“I found her wandering lost on the plain, although she insisted she was not lost,” Vartan said. “She and her companion, Noss, had been with the Shadow Princes. She comes from the City, where her father sold her into slavery to advance his position.”
“How typically Hetarian,” Roan replied scornfully. “They will sell anything they have of value to gain more. What are we going to do about this incursion they have made into the Outlands, Vartan?”
“I do not think we can make any decisions until we have heard from the Tormod and the Piaras. It is their territory that has been compromised, according to the Devyn, but whatever they may say to us, we cannot allow the Hetarians to eat away at our territory. This is but the first incursion, a test of our wills. They think because we have no centralized government that we can eventually be subjugated. If we do not stop them at the beginning it will be harder to stop them later on, I fear.”
Roan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps,” he said, “it is time for us to form a stronger union than we have had. We meet but once yearly here at the Gathering. Given what is happening, we may have to form a council of some sort to handle problems like this immediately, instead of waiting for the Gathering. The Devyn who visited me said that the Hetarians came into the Outlands in late winter. It is now midautumn.”
“The one in my hall did not know how long they had been in the Outlands. Why did not Petruso of the Piaras, or Imre of the Tormod send to us for help?” Vartan wondered.
“You know how proud the mountain clans are,” Roan replied. “We shall have to wait and see if they come to the Gathering.”
Three days later the chieftains they had been awaiting rode into the Gathering. There were no women or children with them, and but few riders traveled by their side. The yearly council was called for immediately, and the clan families gathered together within the ring of stone columns. Vartan, as head of the largest clan family, called for order, and when all was finally quiet he said, “We call upon Imre of the Tormod or Petruso of the Piaras to speak to us now. Which of you will tell us what is happening in the mountains? The tales brought to us by the Devyn are disconcerting, and never before has a clan family come to the Gathering without its women and children.”
“I will speak for the Tormod and the Piaras,” Imre said stepping forward. He was a tall, sinewy man whose ash-brown hair was streaked with silver. His gray eyes swept the gathering. “Just before spring Hetar invaded us, coming into our villages with their Crusader Knights. We were shocked, especially as they treated us as if we were savages. They slew our elders. They penned our women and children into enclosures like animals. They separated our young women, putting them into my house, where they use them for their pleasure. Our young boys are being forced into
the mines at too young an age. New mines are being opened every month. They do not restore the land as we always have. Our mountain valleys are becoming a wasteland. They poison the waters with their refuse.”
“Why did you not send to us for help?” Vartan asked Imre. “This action was a clear violation of the ancient treaties that separate Hetar and the Outlands.”
“We were so shocked at first by what had happened,” Imre said, “that we lost the advantage. Petruso and I did manage to meet. We agreed that we had to escape, and reach the Gathering if we could not reach you before. It took weeks of planning, Vartan. The Crusader Knights are a cruel foe, and they were always on the watch, for several of our young men attempted to flee. They were caught and brutally tortured in our public squares before being killed. Our people were forced to watch, and they grew afraid. These few men who accompanied us did so at great risk. And we had to steal the horses we rode. We were pursued in the mountains, but as soon as we managed to reach the plain our captors fell back, and let us go. They could not afford to be caught so deep in the Outlands. When our identities are learned it is certain our families will suffer. We did discuss it with them, and our women agreed we must make the effort, and find help.”
Many of the women listening had begun to weep as Imre spoke.
Vartan turned to Petruso. “What have you to say, old friend?” he asked.
“He can no longer speak,” Imre said. “When he protested that Hetar was violating a centuries-old treaty, the Crusader Knights cut out his tongue.”
Petruso opened his mouth to show his fellow chieftains the stump of what had once been a most active appendage.
The chieftains all paled with this knowledge.
“Hetar wants the ores and the gems, is that correct?” Vartan said.
“Aye,” Imre said, and Petruso nodded vigorously.
“Then we will have to drive the Hetarians from the mountains, and kill as many as we can to make our point most clear,” Vartan said. “Hetar must not be allowed to violate our borders, or be encouraged by our lack of action to push further into the Outlands.”
“Aye!” those gathered in the stone ring cried with one voice.
“Winter is upon us,” Floren of the Blathma said. “We cannot fight a mountain war in the winter. And when the spring comes, who will tend to the fields if we are fighting? Can we not send a delegation to the Hetarians and negotiate this misunderstanding? They have always been a most civilized people. Surely they are open to reason.” He was a plump man with a perpetually worried expression on his face, but he grew the most beautiful flowers in the Outlands.
“If Hetar comes into your lands, Floren, they will lay waste to your fields and send the daughters of whom you are so proud into the Pleasure Houses of the City,” Imre said bitterly. “Hetar did not negotiate with us. They violated our boundaries and murdered our people. This is no small misunderstanding. This is an act of war. We have risked much to come to the Gathering and ask for your help.” He stood proudly looking around at his fellow clan family chieftains.
“If we do not put a stop to this aggression,” Roan of the Aghy said, “Hetar will push further into the Outlands.”
“Perhaps it is just the ores and gemstones that they want,” Torin of the Gitta said hopefully. “It is the only real thing of value in the Outlands.”
Lara stood up. She didn’t know if she should, but she did. “Your lands are the most valuable possession you have, my lords,” she told them. “The farmers in the Midlands have no acreage left into which they may expand their farms. They cannot grow enough crops to feed the people. The City is overcrowded, and people need a place to go. They have begun to encroach on the Forest. I know my people. First Hetar will steal the wealth in your mountains, and then they will come to steal your beautiful lands.”
“My wife knows well of what she speaks,” Vartan said.
“Because she is a Hetarian!” a voice among the crowd cried out.
“Yes, I was born Hetarian,” Lara said, “which is why I know the minds of those who rule that land. You must listen to me. Never have I known such beauty as is here in the Outlands. Never have I been treated better than here among the Fiacre. The people of Hetar are taught to believe you are savages, but you are not! I have come to love your ways. If Hetar invades the Outlands you will all lose your way of life. Many of you will be enslaved as the Tormod and the Piaras have already been enslaved. You must listen to me, for I have known both ways, and yours are better.”
“I believe her,” Rendor of the Felan said.
“So do I,” Accius of the Devyn agreed. “We must put a stop to Hetar now. We cannot wait until the spring. How many more people among the two clan families will die if we wait even a few months? We must strike now!”
“There will be snows in the mountains before we can assemble an army and march there,” Blathma protested. “It is the end of October.”
“And your fields lie fallow and will lie fallow for the next several months,” Rendor of the Felan said with a wolfish smile. “I know you, Blathma, and you wish to spend the winter as you always do, safe and snug in your warm house, planning new gardens and dreaming of the spring to come. But there will be no spring for many of the Piaras and the Tormod unless we come to their aid now. We have no other choice.”
“There are always choices!” Blathma cried.
“The only other choice is to wait for Hetar to come to you,” Lara told him, “and they will. But when the Crusader Knights come, Lord Blathma, your choices will be gone forever. Hetar will drive the Outlanders from their lands, and repopulate them with their own kind. You will be strangers in your own land. Where will you go? What will you do, my lords, when Hetar has taken away your home?”
“Perhaps,” Gitta of the Torin said, “they will share the land with us.”
“Mayhap,” Lara agreed, “in the beginning. But as their population grows again, and Hetarian law takes over here, the people of the Outlands will be squeezed out. You must remain separate from them as you have always done or you will be destroyed.”
“Let us take the night, my lords, to think on this,” Accius of the Devyn said reasonably. “In the morning we will meet again, and decide what course of action we must take to protect ourselves, and to free the Piaras and the Tormod from the harsh captivity they now bear.”
“Aye!” the other clan chieftains said with one voice.
The council adjourned. Usually the evenings of the Gathering were meant for feasting and merriment, but tonight no one felt content to eat and dance. Everyone began to return to their own encampments. Lara walked hand in hand with Vartan.
“I could not help but speak up,” she said. “I hope I did not embarrass you, my lord. But suddenly I know what my destiny is, Vartan, and you must not laugh.”
He stopped and, smiling down at her, took her face between his two hands. “And what is your destiny, my beautiful halfling wife?”
“My destiny is to save the Outlands,” Lara said seriously. “Kaliq knew it, which was why he said I had chosen well when I decided to come to the Outlands. He could not tell me, of course.”
“You are certain your destiny is to help us?” Vartan said slowly. Of course! It was all beginning to make sense now. She was a halfling, a woman with certain powers. She had important friends, and a mother who was a queen.
“You must listen to me when I advise you, my lord,” Lara told him. “And you must not prevent me from doing certain things, Vartan.”
“What things?” He kissed the tip of her nose, releasing her face from his gentle grip. “What do you plan?”
“You must know your enemy, and quickly. Imre speaks from his anguish, but he tells us nothing of the Crusader Knights. How many of them are there? How and where are they transporting the riches they are stealing from the mountains? Who made the decision to invade the Tormod and the Piaras? But most important, just how far is the High Council of Hetar willing to go in this endeavor, or can they be forced out of the mountains if we re
sist them? These are the things you must know, my lord,” Lara told him, seriously.
“But how can we learn all these things?” Vartan asked her.
“I must think on it,” Lara said quietly, “but I will find the answers for you, I vow it. This is my destiny! This is what brought me to the Outlands.”
“It is, I suspect, but the beginning,” Vartan replied. “Your destiny, Lara, I think is much bigger than just this difficulty with Hetar.”
And the crystal hanging between her breasts began to glow brightly in response.
Chapter 15
SHE LAY ON THE BED they had made from furs in a corner of their pavilion. Beside her, Vartan slept content with the passion they had shared earlier. But Lara could not sleep. Finally she arose and slipped from the tent. The night was dark, and above her three of Hetar’s four moons glowed silver in the sky. She had not shape-shifted in many weeks. Could she even still do it? Lara thought of a young eagle, and silently said the words “Aral go!” She felt herself soar upwards, wings flapping softly. Catching a whorl of current in the air she rose higher and higher above the encampment. It was wonderful. It was amazing! She knew she dared not remain aloft for too long. Already the horizon was beginning to grow light at its edges. But she could do it! She could really do it! But she would need more than the ability to shape-shift to help the Outlanders. She needed magic, and she knew exactly where that magic was to be found. With Kaliq of the Shadow Princes. But not now. She guided herself back down to the ground near their pavilion again. “Lara return!” she murmured, and regained her own shape. Smiling she walked back into the tent, and lay down by her husband’s side.
“Where were you?” Vartan asked her softly.
“Seeing if I could still shape-shift,” she whispered back. “Go back to sleep, Vartan. I will tell you on the morrow.”
“I am hungry now,” he told her.
“Hungry? You ate like a pig at the evening meal,” Lara exclaimed.
Lara: Book One of the World of Hetar Page 37