He glanced up, then immediately dropped his gaze again. This was not what he had expected me to say.
“Most Ugaro would be nervous about going into the summer country south of inGara lands. Everyone knows inGara extended friendship to a Lau sorcerer. This did not concern you?”
He shook his head. “I ... I was much more concerned about other things.”
“Yes. But you see these Lau travel with us. You have realized one of them is this sorcerer.”
“Aras.”
I nodded. Anyone who was not very stupid would have realized that. I said, “Yes. He cannot help but see into your mind. He does not reveal to anyone the things that should be private. You may have realized this, as he has already obviously declined to tell me some things he must have seen in your thoughts. Is that why you were not too afraid of him to take the oath as I asked?” I thought of another reason and went on. “Or did you fear your own people so much that you were less afraid of Aras than of returning to your own tribe? Your lord is not required to put you to death. I punished your offense as I saw fit; your lord is not required to punish you in any other way. I should have made certain you understood this before asking for your oath.”
“I understood that,” he said in a low voice. “I—I thank you for your generosity—”
I waved this away. “So. Is there some other reason you decided you would do it?”
He was silent for a little while. Then he said, “My father would be ... he would be very angry that the son of the inGara lord showed mercy to his son. He would take it as an insult. But there is also another reason. I would ... I would prefer you do not ask me that reason, warrior.”
I did not ask. “Call me by my name,” I told him. “You should know something. All day I thought of what I should do with you. I thought very carefully and clearly of different things. Aras did not say anything to me about you at all. He would not have let me ask you for the oath I chose, or give my oath in return, unless he thought the idea was not a bad one. Do you understand?”
“I understand what you tell me.”
I nodded. That was something that might be hard to understand, far less believe. I said, moving to something easier, “Aras prefers that everyone near him learns to recognize and resist sorcery. Suyet speaks taksu. I will ask Suyet to explain to you some of the ways by which someone may do this. He will not dislike you. He does not dislike anyone. Aras himself will teach you the rest. He speaks excellent taksu. We have many days’ travel still before us. You will learn this.”
“Yes,” he answered.
He was still tense, but not as much. I went on. “You should learn some darau. Any of the Lau will teach you. None of them dislikes Ugaro. They do not care that inTasiyo is an enemy of inGara. It is as though I told you that the lord of the county of Surakaket dislikes Lord Aras, who is lord of a country called Gaur. You would not know or care anything for a quarrel between Surakaket and Gaur.”
“Yes,” he said again, to show that he was listening.
“They know you lied to me. Lau lie much more easily than Ugaro, so they care less for that than you may guess. They think I was very, very severe with you. Extraordinarily severe. If you said to them that you were ashamed because you could not stand properly, none of them would understand you.” I paused, studying him. Then I added, “If you do badly, if you show cowardice or any fault, I will correct you for that. If I say you did well, that is because you did well.”
He could not answer this, so he bowed low.
I waited for him to straighten again. Then I said, “Lau manners are not the same as Ugaro manners. Watch how they speak to each other and to me. Watch how I speak to them. However, the Lau should also learn something about Ugaro manners on this journey. Rakasa and Bara and I will show them how they should behave. You may show them this as well. I am going to strike you. One blow.”
He looked up, surprised, not certain what he had done to offend me, but he did not ask, only set himself to take my blow.
I hit him across the face with the back of my fist, hard, but not too hard. His head moved a little with the force of the blow. He blinked and swallowed and then began to bow, but I said, “Do not apologize. You did nothing wrong. Look at me.”
He looked up, flinching a little and then steadying himself.
I said emphatically, “Lau bones are not as strong as ours. Do not hit a Lau harder than that unless you intend to kill him. Never hit any of these Lau harder than that no matter how offended you may be.” I paused to let him think about the strength I had put into that blow. Then I added, “Do not hit Aras at all, even if he offers to take your blow. It would seriously offend the Lau. It would also offend me. If Aras does or says anything that you take as an insult, he will probably apologize. If he does not, or if there is some trouble that does not solve, bring the matter to me. Tell me you understand.”
He said at once, “I understand. I will not take offense at anything, but if this should happen, I will not hit any Lau harder than that. I will never strike Aras.”
“Good. So.” Setting that topic in the past, I said, “Most Lau do not fight the way Ugaro fight, but they can learn that. Geras and Suyet have practiced the long sword with me sometimes, but not often. They should practice much more while we travel. If you spar with a Lau, take care not to put your full strength into a blow.”
Something in this had made him flinch. Barely perceptibly. But I saw it.
“You are a warrior?” I asked him. Only a warrior should have even considered raiding an enemy tribe. This is not at all something any other young man should ever do. But that reaction puzzled me.
“Yes,” he said, his voice very low. “But ... but perhaps not skilled enough to bring pride to ... to ...”
He very sensibly did not want to say the inTasiyo or my father or my people.
“To your teachers,” I said, providing a less offensive alternative. I thought about what he had said. This might explain some things. I asked, “Do you want to be a warrior? Have you considered that you might prefer to be a poet? Even a craftsman or a herdsman?” Sometimes a man who is himself a respected warrior does not like a son who does not want to be a warrior. When that happens, he should leave it to other men to teach the boy, but sometimes a man does not want to acknowledge that he is not the right teacher for his son. I said, “My mother’s younger son has decided he will be a poet. He is your age, but he made that decision before he became a man. It is easier to make that decision young.”
Tano had dropped his gaze to the ground between us again. He said, not looking up, “I have never thought of being anything other than a warrior. But I do not know whether I can fight as the inGara expect a warrior to fight.”
That was a very careful answer. I said, “We will find that out.” He nodded, still not looking at me. I thought I might know something else about him now. I said nothing about that, only added, “You may have questions of your own. Suyet is easy-tempered. If you fear a question might cause offense, you should ask him. Tell him you want to learn darau.” I told him how to say that, pronouncing the words carefully, and made him repeat them twice. The second time was not bad. I said, “Ask him to explain anything you wish to know in taksu and darau.” Then I turned my hand palm up to show he had permission to stand.
He got to his feet and turned away. Then he turned back, dropped to his knees again, and bowed to the ground. Only then did he jump up and walk away.
It began to rain shortly after the Sun had stepped fully below the edge of the earth. Ordinarily Ugaro would not wish to sleep beneath canvas during the warm season, but tonight the wind gusted from every direction, carrying mist and rain. This presented a problem I had not thought of. I could hardly suggest Aras share his tent with anyone, but the tent I shared with Geras and Suyet would be uncomfortably crowded with four. Obviously it would not be right for me to ask the inGeiro warriors to take the young man into their tent. There were two reasons they would not want to do so. At least two.
While I he
sitated, Geras came to me. “Got a question,” he said. “The boy can come in with Suyet and me, that’s no problem, and you can share with Lord Gaur. But what I’m wondering is, I’ve got this salve, it’s meant for burns, but it’d help those welts. Only, would it be an insult to offer it?”
I smiled. I should have expected Geras to solve the problem almost before I thought of it. “That is a kindness, not an insult,” I told him. “If Aras does not mind, that would be a good arrangement. Thank you.”
“Of course he won’t mind. I checked that first.”
Of course he had. I said again, “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem. I’m sure that boy won’t be any trouble. Suyet can talk to everybody, so that’s easy enough. I guess I better get a start on learning taksu.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “You should ask Suyet to tell you the words for boy and young man. That is not a mistake you should make in taksu. That would be an insult.”
“I’ll just learn the one for young man; that’ll probably be safer than trying to remember you youngsters shouldn’t be called boys.” It was starting to rain harder now, and he glanced disgustedly up at the sky and added, “Let’s all get out of this wet.” He beckoned to Tano.
Tano rose hesitantly to his feet, looking to me to be sure he understood.
“Yes,” I told him. “Go. Be polite. I do not want to hear complaints in the morning regarding your behavior.” I did not tell him he had no need to be afraid. That would slight his pride, and it was not necessary. Soon enough he would know that.
“Yes,” he said softly, bowing his head, and followed Geras.
I went to the small tent Aras had not intended to share with anyone and stooped to enter, kneeling as soon as I was inside. He had lit a candle—the Lau do not see as well in dim light, as Ugaro do not see as well in the full brilliance of the Sun—so I saw at once that he was smiling. “You do not mind?” I asked.
“Of course not, Ryo. There’s room enough, and besides, I’m glad to have a chance to speak with you. I’m pleased and flattered at the way you handled that young man. I didn’t actually see that coming.”
I smiled, but I answered seriously. “I was not certain I would do it that way until the moment came. I did not do it to please you, but I am glad you are pleased. I once accepted mercy from an enemy, so I decided it was right to show mercy myself. The gods despise ingratitude.” I paused. Then I said, “I regret that you had to witness the punishment. I know how difficult you find such things.”
“Well, yes. But everyone absolutely hated that, which is intensely unpleasant in a way, but not nearly as unpleasant as when someone enjoys it. I do appreciate Rakasa. I don’t believe just anyone would have been willing to help the young man.”
“He is a man of easy temper,” I agreed.
“Unlike your father. Just how angry is your father likely to be, Ryo? I have the impression everyone is sincerely concerned about that.” He gestured for me to lay out my blanket along the other side of the tent.
I unrolled my blanket and reclined on one elbow, facing him. The tent was small, but not too small. With the entry closed, the air within was too warm, but not seriously uncomfortable. I had been thinking about his question—I had been thinking about this all day, along with other things—and now I said, “He will be very angry. We regard the inTasiyo as lacking in honor, so taking this young man into my honor is an act the lord of the inGara must consider a very serious matter. I will have many days to consider how I may explain in a way that may perhaps cause less offense, but I do not expect him to take it lightly.” Something else occurred to me. I said as firmly as I could, “My lord, perhaps you have the right to step between me and the lord of the inGara. I do not know whether that would be wrong. I do know that I would greatly prefer that you refrain from any such act.”
He answered formally, in taksu, “I will remember your request.”
I thought about arguing, but he already knew my feelings on the matter.
“Yes,” he said, in darau again. “I’ll do my best not to protest any punishment your father decrees, Ryo, but there are some things I won’t stand by and witness in silence.” He paused. Then he said, “I’m glad you don’t expect anything dire, but nevertheless, I don’t intend to offer any promise regarding this matter, so don’t ask.” Then he turned his head and smiled, barely perceptible tension easing out of his face.
“Geras knows very well how to make a young man know he is safe,” I commented. “And of course anyone can see Suyet’s nature is friendly.”
“I expect you’re right on both counts,” Aras agreed, amused. He blew out the candle and lay down.
I lay down as well, and listened to the rain against the canvas, and thought that I was not displeased with the events of the day, and that I might be content to let everything happen as it would in the next days, and let future days hold what they would.
-7-
Five days later, we came to the Little Knife. The gap was not much wider than enough for four men to ride abreast; in places, narrower than that. The horses’ hooves rang on the glassy black stone, sending echoes rebounding from one wall of the gap to the other and back again, almost like the sound of many bells. The horses tossed their heads, their ears swiveling in surprise. Sometimes young Ugaro men race their ponies through the gap just to make the Knife ring, which is a clamor that carries for an astonishingly long distance.
Suyet tipped his head far back and stared up at the sharp-edged peaks that cut the air above us, his eyes wide. “I thought you said you climbed it,” he said to me. “No one could climb that!”
“It is not as high farther to the east,” I told him. “But crossing the Little Knife is a hard day’s work everywhere along its length. This gap is the most valued thing we inGara possess. The inGeiro share this gap with us. There are other gaps like this, some wider and some narrower, but if a tribe has no way to cross, they must ask leave of another tribe or carry what they own up and down. Some tribes raise up ramparts and ladders, but it is still difficult. For horses or ponies, one must have a gap.”
I was silent for a little while, thinking of the first time I had crossed the Little Knife with Aras. That had been a hard, bitter day. Almost the worst day. I did not like to think of it.
He said, behind me, in darau, “We both survived it, so there’s no need to dwell on that now. There’s a tale about how the Little Knife came to be here, isn’t there? I never asked you for the story.”
I told it to him and to Suyet while we rode. It is a long tale, so I finished it that night, while we gathered around the fire to eat. Suyet helped Lalani prepare our food, and she permitted this, which would not have occurred in the summer lands. When the venison stew was ready Lalani took a bowl to Tano. I had noticed some days past that Tano would neither ask for nor take any food that was not given to him, even if he was very hungry. By the time I had realized it, I also saw that Lalani knew it too, and always made certain to bring him as much as any young man could wish to eat. Already he was looking less thin. It had not taken him long to begin to put on the weight proper for his age.
Tano did not look at anyone while he ate, but every now and then he smiled at something someone said. Twice he smiled at a comment someone made in darau. He had proven quick to learn it. He was not as quick to improve other skills. By this time, I had seen that he showed adequate skill when sparing any of the Lau. He did less well against Bara and Rakasa. He did worst of all against me.
The kind of training that might have shaped this pattern had come to my mind slowly. I did not like what I thought I saw. For the present, I did nothing, hoping the problem would wear away with the days.
We traveled north from the Little Knife for eleven days before we came to the steppe. The land rose all that way. The forest thinned, the trees became smaller and spaced more widely, and there was more grass, until suddenly there were no trees anywhere and the land spread out before us, the grasses blowing in long waves, green and dusty green and dusty blue for
as far as the eye could see to the north and the east and the west. Far, far to the north, one could see, or perhaps imagine, the faintest shadow of the mountains there, the highest mountains in the world, the Fangs of the North, that stand between the winter country and the starlit lands.
“How empty it is!” Aras said, bringing his horse up beside mine.
I smiled. “People are there,” I told him. “We will probably meet at least one of the great inGara herds as we travel farther north.”
“Very well, if you say so!” he said, smiling in return. “But it still looks as though this grassland runs empty and open all the way to the edges of the world.”
The land truly did give that appearance. I had not come onto the steppe for two years—more than two now. I had not realized until this moment how much I had missed the broad land and infinite sky. “Come,” I said to him—to all the Lau. “This is a good season to journey across the steppe. Very few of your people have ever seen the high north.” I nudged my mare, and we rode away from the scattered trees and into the wide grasslands.
We traveled more slowly after that, letting the horses graze much more because we had run out of grain. When horses must graze, a journey may be as slow and comfortable as anyone could wish. We had plenty of time now to hunt the small animals of the steppe, and learn each other’s languages—and learn other things as well. Rakasa would not trouble himself much over sorcery, but Bara wished to learn how to guard his mind against sorcery, and Tano the same. Almost every day, Aras took one or the other aside. Almost every day, that one came back silent and shaken. I remembered very well how that had been for me, and pretended not to notice.
We continued to practice with the long swords as well. Geras was calm when he sparred, impossible to fluster. He was perfectly aware that he could not match Ugaro strength, but he knew how to use his long reach to advantage. Sometimes he could defeat an Ugaro opponent. Suyet was faster, but otherwise could not match Geras. Rakasa and Bara and I were all close to equally matched, but Bara was the more difficult opponent because he disliked losing, while Rakasa minded that less. None of us could match Aras for skill, though if an Ugaro sparred him carefully and avoided defeat long enough, sometimes he would become tired enough to agree to step back, permitting the match to end in a draw.
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