"Not that," Danaer said, aware of a shuddering in his belly, now that what had happened came full upon his mind. "It was only that she had to complete her magic." Lira was extremely pale, now and then a sob catching in her throat. At the moment she seemed very delicate and most ill-suited for her wizard profession. Danaer put an arm about Lira and slowly led her back to her place. She sat on the cushions, very erect as she smoothed her sleet-torn gown and broke
melting ice from her ribbons. Her pallor was fading, but Danaer continued to watch her. She must not be taxed, for the magic storm might come again—and again she would have to seek the distant powers of her wizard Web.
Gordyan bellowed at his guards and the servants, setting them to repairing the canopy. Not all of it could be found, but enough was roped together to form a roofless tent.
The contests on the meadows had stopped, for now the people of the Zsed at last could see that something had struck the pavilion. Much confused, they rushed toward the knoll, full of questions. Gordyan's guards held them back. "Tell them all is well in hand," Gordt te Raa commanded. He glanced at Lira and added, "Ai, it is well in hand, for now Azsed has enjoyed the power of the sorkra. Thanks to that, we still will have council."
A semblance of order was restored. Uneasily, warriors and priests and attendants formed a circle again. Gordt te Raa remained standing until all the mantles were properly in place. Then he addressed Malol and Nurdanth. "For this war agamst Markuand and its evil wizardry you will need Destre warriors, you say?"
There was a stirring around the council circle, but none challenged the Siim Rena. He behaved as if nothing had happened; an alliance was already struck.
"Indeed we shall," Malol said quickly. "Not merely the army needs your warriors, but all of Krantin, to guard our borders. Think not that the Markuand will spare the tribes of Destre-Y."
Gordt te Raa surveyed the flimsy makeshift canopy, his face darkening with anger. "As we have seen. They dare to strike at a council of Azsed, these Markuand! They have come against Destre-Y—and they shall pay a cost they have not prepared for."
Malol pressed his arguments. "The Clarique army is larger than that of Krantm—yet the Clarique were broken. There was treachery and evil magic, it is true. But in time the numbers of the Markuand alone might well have won victory, for they are most strong. I must be frank. The army of The Interior cannot hold
back Markuand, not unaided. Lorzosh-Fila is right, and the sorkra is right. We need warriors, Destre warriors, and we need them desperately. Without them, Krantin will fall to Markuand, and to the terrible wizards who guide them and plague us with magic storms."
''And you ask our help. I warn you, Commander, lancers we have aplenty, but few swordsmen," Gordt te Raa said.
''Excellent!" Malol exclauned. "We need lancers, and we have seen how superb the Destre are at such arts—^if we had any doubts after so long meeting your warriors in battle."
Gordt te Raa grinned nastily. "And we do not fight afoot."
"That is understood. The army will supply the necessary infantry."
The Siim Rena conferred with his consort with his eyes. Kandra nodded encouragingly. Obviously the beautiful Lasiimte had a profound influence over her lord. "Lancers ... and archers?"
Nurdanth was delighted to find the army's new ally so astute. "By all means!"
Gordt te Raa and Kandra and several of the more powerful chieftains studied the map Malol had brought. Gordyan used his height to see over their shoulders, curiously peering at the chart and his Siirn's gestures across the marked territories.
"How much time have we?" the Destre leader asked Malol.
"None at all! We have lost too much already."
"It is more than a ten-days' ride to the western clans, if my messengers go by the plains route. The Tradyans are widely scattered. It is the time of their great hunts. If you wish Tradyan archers for this war, how may I summon such quickly?"
"Perhaps we might use a special messenger," Lasiirnte Kandra suggested. Her dulcet voice made the men attend her instantly. "It may be that a Destre courier could cross the Mountains of the Mare in a few days—with your safe conduct, Royal Commander."
Malol was tempted, but he sighed and said, "That would not be wise, I fear. There are those in The Interior who oppose this alHance between our peoples. A Destre would be a target for their assassins. I propose that summoning the Tradyans to our battle ranks shall be the army's risk."
"But who of the army could ever reach Stethoj of the West?" Gordt te Raa wondered. "He abhors helmet and sword. He would never welcome the army's messenger, nor any representative of The Interior."
"I will send one of my ofi&cers who is well known to Stethoj—a man hated by the Tradyans, but one they trust, a man who keeps his vows to them. They respect him, even though he has slain many of their tribesmen." Malol took a heavy breath and spoke one word: "Branra."
Kandra blinked in amazement and Gordyan spat an oath. Only Gordt te Raa seemed unperturbed. Around the circle there were growlings, and one chieftain leaped to his feet to protest.
"Hablit, Siirn of Vidik," Danaer murmured to Malol and Nurdanth. Vidik lay on the direct route to Deki and the eastern border. Any relief column must have the cooperation of Vidik's chieftain, and plainly Hablit was in no mood to offer that cooperation.
"And you call yourselves Azsed!" HabUt was shouting. "Now these lit talk of Branra, that slayer of hope, that bloody-handed devil who comes straight from Bogotana's Realm! Dirt eaters! will you abide this? I marvel that you have not all sold yourselves to the lit, just as that young bejit with them has . . ."
The obscene insult made Danaer snatch at his sword, but Nurdanth dug hard fingers into his arm and whispered sharply. Seething with frustration, Danaer obeyed.
"It is easy to give insult to those who may not challenge, and that should be beneath the honor of a true warrior." The taunt came, surprisingly, from Wyaela te Fihar, Hablit's own second in command. The virago sneered openly at her Siirn, not hiding her contempt.
"Then I speak in appeal. Siirn Rena?"
"You seem to be-talking more than enough for us both," Gordt te Raa said dryly. "I thought perhaps you scorned to let me voice an opinion."
"We began our reigns together, Rena. We saw then as one in all things."
"Too much as one. And now we see the same things, but for different motives." Gordt te Raa eyed his fellow chieftain narrowly. "You saw the Markuand wizard work his magic storm upon us. Do you deny it was aimed at this alliance?"
"I care naught for any magic—only for the pride of Azsed." Hablit waved his arms as if to chase off midges. "It may be this magic is not so evil, not if it conspires to save Destre-Y from a shameful slavery under the yoke of the lords of The Interior. We give them everything, and they give nothing ..."
Kandra raised a slender eyebrow, and Gordt te Raa smiled thinly. "In that at least you may speak truth. Royal Commander, Siirn Hablit thinks of the future, when the army has used our best warriors to bleed the Markuand. Then will they turn upon us and conquer the tribes at last? You ask us to stand at the side of a sword-drawn lit army. This is well, for now. But what of in time to come? What will we gain from the alhance?"
"Your land! And it is your land, this Krantin. Already you own it and control it and nurture it, whether you realize it or not," Malol said with passion. "Siirn Handri-Shaal, for all purposes the caravan routes south of Kalisarik are yours to command. You do not need to send your warriors to bandit them, for you own their riches and their profit. You others, is it not the same with many of you?"
"This may be," Gordt te Raa admitted. "But might not this newfound power end if our chieftains die buying your victory over Markuand?"
''Our victory, but . . . what do you wish?" "Amnesty, to the time of this war. Beyond that, every Destre-Y may look to himself. But let no tribes-folk be accused for deeds committed before now," Gordt te Raa said. Gordyan smiled and several chief-
tains nodded vigorously. An amnesty would let g
o free many notorious brigands and killers.
Malol took a paper from his tunic and gave it to the Destre leader. "There is my authority, with King Tobentis's seal. I am the King's proclaimed heir, and the army's commander. And the army is the only weapon the lords of The Interior have against Destre-Y—or Markuand. You have my word of honor and my bond on this matter of amnesty. But only until the war is won. After that, I will hold you to your honor, Sovereign Gordt."
"You parry the lance well. Royal Commander—"
Before Gordt te Raa could finish, Hablit mter-rupted. "It is not yet enough."
"Agreed. We also want a temple on the most sacred ground, in the hills above Siank. It is Argan's holy spring, and an lit possesses it."
"That is my realm," Nurdanth said. "I am sure I can secure for you the Spring of the White Flame. You shall have your temple where Jiish Fiin first evoked Argan."
"Not enough." Hablit, again.
"It is my turn to agree," Malol te Eldri said. "I would require a pledge for Inner Krantin, for The Interior, to bind our peoples together as one for all time to be."
A new coldness, from within, twisted at Danaer. Prophecy now spoke in Malol's voice, not in that of a dying herb-healer.
"How may that be done?" Gordt te Raa asked. "Paper may be burned and words lost from hearing."
"Your successor has been selected by your priests, Nurdanth tells me. I understand she is a young girl named Sha-Lei."
The Destre leader was suspicious. "Ai. It has been done according to Azsed, Argan's omens read by the priests. The child will be reared by our precepts, and she will become Rena upon my death or abdication. That will not be for many, many seasons. She is but a child."
"As is my son."
A profound stillness held the audience. Arranged
marriages between children were nothing strange to either plains people or those of The Interior. But never had such a thing been known between their cultures. Malol was, as he had said, the king's own heir. The seed of ancient Ryerdon was his, and his blood was pure beyond questioning. His son would be destined to wed with a princess royal, and in the fullness of years the boy would most likely assume the throne of Krantin. The proffered sacrifice stunned even Hablit, for the moment.
Gordt te Raa consulted with the priests among the group. As one, they judged that the goddess would not forbid such a union. Yet the Siirn Rena hesitated, turning to his consort. "What say you, Maen?"
Kandra had been gazing steadily at Malol te Eldri. Like Lira, she seemed deeply moved by the officer's proposal. Gently, she asked, "What is the age of your son, Royal Commander?"
"Nine." The nobleman's voice was constricted and husky. He was putting forth his most precious gift, his final weapon to save his beloved country.
"That would be well," Kandra said. "Our Sha-Lei is a pretty child of nearly eight summers. This union should bind our peoples and promise peace for long times to come ..."
Danaer felt as if the earth had dropped away beneath him. Andaru! When the Azsed Rena would become the Rena Azsed, lord of all Krantin. And if this marriage came to pass, would not the girl child who was Destre indeed unite all the land? A new birth of Ryerdon, a coming together again of the scattered peoples, and the ruler would be Azsed, strong in the faith of Argan.
Osyta had foretold most well. The veil of the future had been parted and the dying crone had seen what would come to pass—and its beginning was here, at this Destre council. But Andaru was no free gift. It must be bought, in blood and in sacrifice. Where was the blood? Who would die, whose life be severed to gain the victory so long promised?
Gordt te Raa was about to answer Malol's gener-
ous offer when Hablit exclaimed angrily, "You would enslave our future Rena to an lit husband?"
Her black eyes sparkled as Kandra retorted, "I do not call it enslavement to be wed, Hablit, and had you ever taken wife—"
He would not listen. Red with fury, he pointed a shaking finger at the Siirn Rena. "You may not permit this, on your oath to Azsed!"
"That is for me to choose," Gordt te Raa said frostily. "The decision is always made by the Siirn of the female's tribe, with the consent of the Siirn Rena —and I own both titles. I accept the Royal Commander's pledge, and the betrothal. I deem it binding on our peoples, pending final judgment from the gathering of Azsed's priests."
"And you control the head priest. His faith is as false as your own, to sell his people so." There was a concerted, gasp from the audience as Hablit hurled those accusations.
Gordt te Raa did not deign to reply. Kandra looked around the circle and said sweetly, "May we render our agreement, Siirn-Y? Whoever would join with the Siirn of Vidik, stand with him." Hablit waited, sputtering, but no one seconded him, not even his own delegation. A few chieftains appeared to have reservations about the aUiance, but they would not challenge the Siirn Rena and his consort. Kandra chained their loyalties with her presence. "Then it is done, my lord Rena."
Nodding, Gordt te Raa started to intone the solemn oath. "In the name of Azsed, kant, prodra—"
"Not in my name!" Hablit thundered.
"Resume your place, Sikn. You may cling to your stubborn opinion, but the alliance has been agreed upon, and we will be one in this—"
"None of my warriors will ever take lance, save to kill the bejits from The Interior," the chieftain of Vidik vowed.
With amazing patience, Gordt te Raa said, "You will send your warriors to me, and I will lead them as the Royal Commander and I choose. You will accept the judgment of your fellow Siim-Y."
"My fellow Siirn-Y are easily swayed by a power-greedy lit who pretends to be a true Destre—a Rena who uses his woman of ease to force agreement from us. She gives promises with her eyes and body that no woman wived could keep, with honor!"
The air within the ragged walls tingled, though in a far different way than it had during the lightnings of the storm. An awesome expression spread over Gordyan's hard face. This insult had been given not only to the Siirn Rena but to his woman as well, and Gordyan's abject devotion to Lasiirnte Kandra became ever more evident as his rage heated.
Hablit ignored the menace in Gordyan's manner, and Danaer wondered if the man had utterly lost his wits. Did he not realize what he had said?
Gordyan stepped away from a splintered tent pole where he had been leaning. Lightly, like a great predator stalking its next meal, one hand on his knife, Gordyan approached the Siirn of Vidik. Kandra noticed what was happening, and she held up a dainty hand, arresting Gordyan's ominous prowling in mid-stride. A leashed killer, he awaited her pleasure, his expression terrible.
Gordt te Raa had been wrestling with his own considerable anger, and now he said softly, "Beware, Hablit. I am no youthful warrior bound by oaths of honor and on guarded behavior. I will not be forced to swallow your insults."
Malol and Nurdanth and Lira understood but a fraction of what was occurring. But they were not blind or deaf. Like Danaer, they held their breath, sensing a conflict coming to a climax. Danaer was rigid with anticipation as blood words were flung. This was a thing out of hero tales, when tribe friends fell out, and insults might well lead to a clan war such as had wracked Nyald Zsed so bitterly.
"You are not fit Rena to serve Argan!" Hablit's rage fed upon itself and would not be slaked.
"I am Rena, and you will obey my commands." Gordt te Raa's tone would brook no further defiance. Gordyan was still held by the invisible reins Kandra had drawn. But now the big man's glance shifted to
his master, eager for a word that would release him.
Hablit snatched out his dagger, and Gordyan, not waiting for permission, began to lunge for him. Before he could close with Vidik's chieftain, though, Hablit struck his weapon hilt deep into the soft ground, a mute gesture changing everything. Gordyan slammed to a stop, balancing on the balls of his feet.
In another snake-quick movement, Hablit yanked his knife from the dirt and flung his tribal mantle over his shoulder. "No need to loose your golhi-wo
lf to slay me, Gordt. I will leave of my own will, and the Zsed of Vidik goes with me."
"Your personal guard goes with you. The Zsed of Vidik stays." Wyaela te Fihar did not turn to address Hablit, scorning him with her back. She looked at Gordt te Raa and Kandra. "Vidik Zsed does not endorse rebellion against the will of the Siirn Rena. We ride with you."
Hablit spat like a cornered beast, gripping his knife hilt again, this time intending to murder his former second in command.
"Gordyan," the Siirn Rena said, and the big man started forward once more, a delighted and bloodthirsty grin splitting his face.
"Argan's rule protects me here at council!" Hablit reminded them all. The old ritual merely slowed Gordyan's pace a trifle. Hablit was walking backward, stumbling over debris left by the storm. Suddenly he shook his knife at the clouds. "You Markuand wizards! Heed me! I am your tool henceforth! Use me to slaughter these blasphemers and devils! You wizards from over the sea, I am your minion, sworn to blot out this outrage upon the face of Azsed . . ."
Gordyan was almost upon him, and Hablit's personal guards closed about their chieftain protectively.
"You will hear of me on the plains wind," Hablit said loftily, though a bit shrill. "And you, Royal Commander, you will curse the day you first met Hablit—"
"And bless the day he last saw your face—which shall be now," Gordyan warned. His own men were moving in upon Hablit's flanks, and they far outnumbered the rebel's guards.
Hablit waited no longer. The erstwhile Destre chieftain plunged through the remnants of the pavilion wall and down the slope toward the picketed roans of the council. Gordyan and his guards pursued. But Hablit was quick, once his flight began, and he reached the safety of his horses. Headlong, the now realmless Siim rode through the vrentru and out of sight. Gordyan sent several of his men to follow and be sure there was no turning back. Hablit's life had been spared, but he was outcast, and if he tried to return to Siank Zsed, he would be slain without pity.
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