Her silent defiance faltered at a new thought. How had the men lit the fire that was cooking their prey? Had one of them been carrying an ember in a hollow bone tightly sealed with mud? Or did they have a painted man with them, to summon up a flame with a snap of his fingers?
She listened and dared to hope. Would they sound so carefree if painted man was with them? No one laughed like that with a painted man at hand, jealous of his dignity and demanding that all obey him. She lay down, pillowing her matted grey head on her bundle. If the hunting party
didn't have a painted man with them, they wouldn't be climbing up to this painted cave. She would just have to stay here till they left. Exhaustion overcame her fear of the unseen men below in the gully and dulled the pain of her aching bones, and she dozed.
When some unknown noise woke her, she was startled to realise she had slept for some considerable while. Even in the cave she could feel the settled chill of deep night. Slowly, stiffly, she shuffled to the edge of the cave, trusting in the concealing darkness. The eyes of the sky were high above, both still half-closed but shedding enough light to show her that the unseen hunters had gone. Their fire had been doused with sand, the detritus of their feast strewn around.
The old woman grabbed her bundle and hurried back along the treacherous path as quickly and quietly as she could. Something skittered away from her to be lost in the blackness as she made her way along the lower path. As she had hoped, it curled around to the hunting party's temporary hearth. This was a regular stopping point judging by the old, dry bones piled up in the hollow beneath the rocky outcrop. Perhaps their village wasn't so close, if they had to travel through the night to get home. The journey had obviously been worth it, though. A sizeable scurrier carcass sprawled half-dismembered across the remains of the fire, covered with sandy earth. It was already drawing ants and tiny black lizards to scour its bones clean.
The old woman grabbed a well chewed shoulder-blade bone and scraped the earth off the carcass. There was still meat to be had and marrow in the bones. Those men must have hunted well indeed to be so wasteful with this kill.
The makeshift hearth was still hot beneath her hands. Sparks floated up and sullen cinders glowed sluggishly. The old woman prodded the heap of old broken bones
cautiously lest snakes or stingers were lurking there. Snatching at windblown dead leaves and twisted scraps of dry hide, she piled them onto the brightest of the embers, crouching to blow softly on the tinder. A fledgling flame shed enough light to show half-burned scraps of wood and she soon had a modest fire burning.
What would she do if someone saw the firelight in the night and came to see what it was? Well, she would die, most likely, but she would die with a full belly if she possibly could. Untying her bundle, the old woman took out the lump of black stone and used the bone hammer to make herself a new cutting shard. She crouched over the scurrier carcass and, slicing and pulling, got a rib loose. The hunters had feasted on the creature's meatier limbs and flanks. Passing the rib swiftly through the fire seared away the importunate ants and she gnawed the remaining flesh as best she could. Then she smashed the bone open with the lump of black stone and sucked out the meagre marrow, relishing its richness.
Her spirits rose. She took a burning stick and went over to a yellow spiny plant. Satisfied no snakes were lurking beneath the plump leaves, she used the shoulder-blade bone to hold down a succulent barbed leaf and carefully cut it away from the main stem with her shard of stone. Careful not to catch herself on the curved black spines, she carried the fat leaf to her little fire. Sap hissed and the spines crackled and flared in the flames. While she wailed for the leathery skin to blacken and soften, the old woman set about scavenging the rest of the meat from the scurrier's ribs.
Movement in the darkness at the edge of the firelight caught her eye, Movement and black shining eyes.
Something had been drawn to the scent of blood and meat.
The old woman flung the broken rib bone she was sucking on at the eyes. They disappeared with a scuffling sound
and something else ran, too. Something had been foraging in a newly dug pit over there. Getting reluctantly to her feet, the old woman went to investigate.
She discovered that one of the hunting party had been digging up the swollen roots of a black-fingered plant. No wonder this was a favoured halting place on their journey home. Working more by feel than sight, she quickly cut a string of the bulbous tubers loose and carried them back to her little fire. Head back and mouth open, she held up the roots and sliced into them, gulping down the woody-tasting water they were hoarding. Thirst finally quenched, she tossed the fibrous hollow tubers onto the fire where they hissed and burned as she returned to the scurrier carcass.
By the time she was contemplating how best she might break open the scurrier's hips to get at the marrow in there, the spiny yellow leaf was soft and charred. Using the shoulder-blade bone to save her fingers, she hauled it onto the cooler earth and sliced it open with her new stone shard. Peeling back the slimy skin, she blew on the bland, pale pulp to cool it a little and pulled out as many of the harsh fibres as she could. Then she began eating, sucking at her fingers when the heat threatened to scald them.
When had she last eaten her fill like this? Not since the old man had been able to leave his hut. And there would be more meat to salvage when the daylight came. She could cut more yellow spiny leaves and lay them on the fire. She could pack the pulp into one of her gourds and fill the other with water from the black finger plants' roots. Finally scraping the last of the pulp from the inner corners of the fat spiny leaf, she sat back and gazed sleepily at the flickering fire.
Something moved behind her in the darkness and hissed. A surge of fear restored her to full wakefulness and she scrambled to her feet, the shoulder-blade bone
held out defiantly before her. Whatever it was lurked just beyond the meagre light cast by the fire. Something else hissed and the first creature replied. Whatever it was, it wasn't alone.
The old woman gathered up her belongings with one hand, still clutching the bone. Not that she had much hope of fighting off anything that attacked. And if she fell asleep down here, she'd wake up to find a lizard chewing off her foot or her hand. If she woke up at all.
But where could she go in the middle of the night, with no light to guide her, in this unknown land? The chittering of some night flyer drew her eyes upwards. She looked reluctantly at the dark edge of the cave mouth just visible above the out-thrust ledge in the rock.
She could sleep in the painted cave. She'd set foot in there, albeit by accident, and had not died of it - not yet, anyway. She'd even fallen asleep in there. Was she going to die of it? If so, what more did she have to fear? If not, well, that would be something to think about. And if she didn't die in her sleep, she'd be hungry when she woke
up.
Defiance lending her strength as well as courage, she ignored the menacing noises lurking in the shadows and swiftly cut two more of the yellow spiny leaves. She wedged the fat slabs into the dying fire. Perhaps the lizards and ants would leave her some of the softened pulp to salvage in the morning.
The hisses in the darkness were growing louder, with something growling deep in its throat. She had to be alive to see the morning. The old woman drew a deep breath and snatched up her bundle, trying not to run. The old man had always said that if you ran, you'd be chased. Not that she could have run in the darkness that engulfed her as soon as she left the firelight.
She picked her way painstakingly back along the path
to the fork and retraced her steps to the painted cave. Steeling herself, she went inside, deliberately this time. No beast appeared to immolate her. No painted man peeled himself off the walls to strike her down. She lay down, using her bundle for a pillow once again, and cradled her full belly. Trying not to listen to the snarling quarrels between whatever creatures had come to scavenge the rest of the scurrier, she went back to sleep. If a painted man did appear to wreak his rev
enge on her, she'd be dead before she woke.
CHAPTER SEVEN
You'll be fit for nothing if you don't get some sleep tonight.' Itrac tilted her head quizzically as she joined Kheda beneath a cluster of nut palms between his pavilion and the observatory. 'Beyau said you've been out here since before dawn.' A silver-ornamented band of turtleshell pushed her unbound black locks off her face. Close-cut trousers of soft pink flattered her long legs beneath a loose scarlet tunic and a gauzy mantle embroidered with trumpet flowers.
Kheda smiled briefly at her. 'I wanted to see Ulla Safar's galley safely out of the lagoon.'
'Was there any portent?' A faint crease appeared between Itrac's precisely plucked brows.
'No,' Kheda said slowly. 'And we could come to no firm conclusions as to the meaning of the new-year stars.'
So I have no lies ready to persuade you that I must leave here, just for a little while. Will I have to stay? What will Velindre say to that? What will happen to Risala if I don't go with her? Would she go off with these wizards alone, without me? I wouldn 't put it past Velindre to come up with barefaced lies to convince her that's what I want her to do.
'Did Olkai and Sekni sleep well?' he asked briskly.
'Yes, thankfully.' Itrac gestured towards an open-sided silken tent erected on an islet across the sparkling lagoon. Blush coloured hangings fluttered in the breeze that Carried laughter across the water. 'Are you going to join us for breakfast?'
'Naturally, my lady.' Kheda smoothed his white silk
tunic, bright with coppery embroidery mimicking red-lance fronds.
'It would be more fitting if you had a body slave at your heels.' Itrac began walking. 'Jevin says you've sent those hopefuls to join the swordsmen in their morning drills again. How do you propose to choose between them if you don't let them attend you?'
'Their practice yesterday was marred by possible ill omen.' Kheda looked sternly over his shoulder at the hapless slave. 'I want Ridu to get their measure without distraction, now that Ulla Safar has gone. As soon as we see some clearer portent, I'll make my choice.'
A truth that hides a lie and a still deeper truth. I won't see an omen telling me which new slave to take because I no longer fall for such foolish self-deception.
'Very well, my lord.' Jevin's self-possession faltered a little.
Itrac looked out across the lagoon. 'Then let's join our remaining guests for breakfast.'
'As you wish, my lady.' Kheda cordially offered her his arm. As they walked on together, Kheda noted the discreetly approving glances of residence slaves and servants.
These islanders of Chazen adore Itrac, and not just for standing by them after disaster overtook Chazen Saril's rule. She could have refuted her marriage after such ill omens and lost herself in some obscurity where no one could have found her, even if her birth domain refused her sanctuary out of ignorant fear of the taint of magic.
The people of Chazen even approve of me, though I wasn 't born to their domain and took power under such dubious circumstances. What else could they do, after I rescued them from such evils? And now I have supposedly secured their peace and prosperity with my astute rule guided by earthly portents and readings of the heavens.
What would I tell them if I knew the savages were about to invade again, with or without a dragon? What could they do? Wouldn't they be better left in ignorance?
As they crossed the walkways towards the tent, Redigal Litai and Ritsem Zorat appeared, running across a beach of white coral sand and stripping off their tunics. They dived into the sea barely a breath apart. As their dark arms cut the water to white foam, the Redigal wives abandoned their cushions within the shade of the breakfast tent and came to shout their encouragement.
'Who won?' Itrac shaded her eyes with one hand as she tried to follow the swimmers disappearing under a bridge.
'Litai.' As the boys clambered up onto the planks, Kheda saw the taller boy bow low to the younger.
'That's a pleasant portent for him,' Itrac said cautiously as they walked on. 'Could you and the other lords truly make nothing of the new-year stars?'
'A lack of omens isn't necessarily bad news. It may just mean one has to look further afield for guidance.' Kheda did his best to make this sound like an idea that had just occurred to him.
'You see nothing to guide you close at hand?' Itrac sounded more surprised than alarmed.
'Until I do, I must let my duty guide me—' Kheda broke off as he saw Sirket leaving the Daish contingent's luxurious accommodations.
And my duty has always been to safeguard my people, my family. All of my family.
Itrac looked at Sirket with keen pity. 'The omens for Daish are clear enough and surely undeserved.'
'Has anyone deserved the sufferings visited on us all these past two years?' Kheda said unguardedly.
We delude ourselves looking for signs in the sky that promise certainty for the days ahead when the only certainty we might
have, for good or ill, can only come through me associating yet again with wizards. What am I to do, beyond getting Risala out of their clutches?
'My lord?' Itrac was looking at him, taken aback.
Kheda tried for a reassuring smile. 'Perhaps we will see something in the earthly compass today to clarify the puzzles of the heavens.'
'Let's hope so, my lord.' Itrac quickened her pace on the white path they had reached. 'We have had many wider portents of good fortune to sustain the whole domain,' she said bracingly, 'and there will be omens in the gifts our friends have brought for our daughters.'
'Indeed.' The warlord watched Redigal Litai and Ritsem Zorat dive into the water again, swimming across the narrow strait to beckon to Sirket as he walked across a bridge. Sirket turned to say something to Telouet, his hand going to the gold chain belting his violet tunic. The slave shook his head firmly and Sirket waved Litai and Zorat away with a rueful shrug.
You 're playing very different games, my son, while they 're still free to enjoy their boyhood.
'I hope Mirrel Ulla remembered to do her duty by little Olkai and Sekni before Safar dragged her away,' Kheda asked suddenly.
'Grudgingly.' Itrac frowned.
'What was Ulla's gift?' asked Kheda.
'A pair of swords and daggers for each of them to bestow upon their body slaves when that day comes,' Itrac said thoughtfully.
'The blades are watered steel, my lord,' volunteered Jevin, 'as fine as any Ulla swordsmiths have ever made.'
'I will have to see what can be read in the patterns in the metal,' Kheda said neutrally.
A double-edged gift in every sense, given the vast and contrary breadth of lore concerning blades.
'Let's hope our daughters both grow to such beautiful girlhood that they warrant body slaves to match such handsome swords,' Itrac said resolutely.
'To remind their many suitors to pay them all due courtesies.' Kheda managed a wry smile.
'I shall drive a dagger into the nursery doorpost for each of them,' Jevin assured him, 'for the protection that bestows.'
They reached the bridge leading to the isle with the blush-coloured tent. Itrac stopped and looked Kheda straight in the eye. 'Ulla Safar is gone, taking all his vile-ness with him. Our other guests wish our daughters nothing but good, so let's enjoy this breakfast and the rest of the day.'
'As you command, my lady.' Kheda looked away to search the inner islands. 'It seems we're still waiting for Redigal Coron and Ritsem Caid.'
'There's Coron.' Itrac pointed and Redigal Coron waved back blithely, faithful Prai one pace behind.
'And Ganil's got Caid out of bed.' Kheda saw Telouet draw Sirket's attention to the approaching Ritsem warlord and Sirket slowed to allow him to catch up. The two men walked on more slowly, dark heads close in conversation. Litai and Zorat followed with discreet interest.
How easy it proved to leave our debate last night so inconclusive. Coron has never yet taken the initiative in any such discussion, while Sirket was too preoccupied as well as too conscious
of his recent elevation to warlord to insist on his interpretations. I only hope Caid wasn 't too irritated with me casting doubts on all his efforts to read some meaning into the sky.
He was relieved to hear that the Ritsem warlord was talking about something entirely different as he approached with Sirket.
'. .. And now we have Barbak Moro's wives making overtures. They're eager to work their alchemy on our iron and give us a handsome share in the steel they win from it,' Caid concluded triumphantly.
Sirket looked more cautious. 'Looking to the south is a new twist for Barbak.'
'Because Toc Faile has married another of his sisters into Barbak's household.' Ritsem Caid grew still more animated. 'I know Sain Daish has largely withdrawn from trade to attend to Daish's younger children but she's another of Toc Faile's sisters and ties of blood are never broken. Use her good offices to renew your links to Toc and come to an understanding with Barbak through Faile. Then we can persuade Endit Fel to turn his back on Ulla—'
'We can discuss this later.' Sirket cut Caid off apologetically. 'My lady Itrac.' He bowed low.
'Good morning.' The Ritsem warlord bowed in turn and then grinned at Kheda. 'If we can bring the Mivai domain into line, we'd have a solid bulwark all along Ulla Safar's eastern sea lanes. What do you say to that?'
Redigal Coron arrived in time to hear this suggestion. 'Have Taisia talk to Hinai Redigal.' He waved a hand towards the women laughing together in the roseate shade of the pavilion.
Kheda nodded his understanding. 'One of her sisters married out of the Seik domain into Mivai.'
Threaten Ulla Safar's eastern borders all you want, Ritsem Caid, and do it with my blessing. I want as many things as possible distracting him before he thinks to look south and sees me gone, even for a little while.
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