Fire and Sword (17 page)

The camps around the High Sooq almost seemed deserted. Some of the fires had old men and women and the youngest children around them, but everyone else was training or forging or herding. Lynan hunched down to the ground and cleared away the snow with his hands. Underneath, the grass was brittle and yellow, the ground hard with frozen water. According to Gudon, once the earth became cold, winter was at its peak. From now on it would get warmer.

He stood up and shrugged off his new poncho—a long, fur-lined garment given him by Korigan—because it was starting to make him sweat. He hardly felt the cold at all anymore, something he put down to that part of him that was Chett rather than to his new nature. He had been so busy since reaching the High Sooq he had not had much time to consider the changes wrought in him by Silona’s blood, and was relieved for it. Silona was not someone he wanted to consider in any way or form.

The air was filled with the smell of burning cow dung, an unexpectedly sweet aroma. In the middle distance cattle clumped together for warmth. He could hear, but not see, the training: the clash of wooden swords, the trot, canter, and gallop of the cavalry, the barked orders.

Lynan recognized Kumul’s voice and kept down the anger and jealousy that rose in him like bile. He hated himself for feeling this way. He had no claim on Jenrosa, had even stopped thinking about her in that way, but the thought of Kumul together with her made him feel spurned. He thought he could have handled it had it been Ager or Gudon or Korigan ... in fact, anyone who hadn’t been so important in Lynan’s life as Kumul.

What did she see in the old fool, anyway?

He cursed himself loudly. Kumul deserved better from him. In fact, Kumul had
always
deserved better from him.

He closed his mind to it, delved deeper to try and make sense of everything that was happening. There were some days when he wished everything would just get on, that winter would finish, that he could ride east and force the issue with Areava and have it decided one way or the other. Then there were other days when he wanted nothing more than to slow everything to a crawl so he had time to understand fully what was happening, especially now that he was making decisions not just for himself but for thousands—tens of thousands!—of other people. He could not even conceive what it must have been like for his mother, who had ruled over millions. Was it something she became inured to?

Lynan could see as far as the end of winter. He would have an army then. But what to do with it? East into Hume? He nodded to himself. He had to secure the Algonka Pass, the only easy way for an army to cross from Grenda Lear’s eastern provinces into the Oceans of Grass. South was desert, occupied by the wilder and even more warlike Southern Chetts, a people about whom he knew nothing, and about whom even the Northern Chetts knew little. If an army trying that route did not die from thirst, they would be butchered in its sleep. That left the north. The plains were protected from Haxus by a spur of the Ufero mountain range that divided the Chetts from the east, and was pierced by a few narrow and dangerous passes that no army could successfully navigate; at least, that’s what Gudon assured him. Assuming that to be true, the Algonka Pass was the key to everything.

And once the pass was in his hands? What next? He shook his head in frustration. He did not know. It would be hard to make a decision about that without more intelligence on what Areava was doing. And there was only one way he could be sure to get that intelligence.

It took him twenty minutes to walk to Ager’s training area, filled with a hundred warriors practicing hard with wooden short swords. Many of them were just beginning and insisted on using the weapon in great slashing arcs; they were paying for it with bruised ribs as their more experienced opponents jabbed at their chests and bellies. Ager was with a small group of Chetts that included Gudon. He was surprised to see that the right hand of a number of the training Chetts were dyed a bright red. Ager was holding the wrists of one of the warriors so her movements had to copy his own as he fenced with Gudon.

“You see that?” Ager told the warrior. “Keep your movements short, concise. Never move just for something to do. Don’t lose your balance on the attack. The only time you lengthen your pace is when you thrust!” With the last word he lunged forward suddenly, his whole body angling over his right knee, his right arm extended; the warrior almost toppled over, but managed to stay on her feet, her body stretched to its limits. Gudon backed up, barely deflecting the blow. Ager stood and freed the warrior. “You see? You don’t lunge as far as you might with a long sword, but you can still get the reach of someone flashing a saber around.”

She limped away, smiling gratefully. She looked up and saw Lynan, bowed deeply, then hurried on.

“What was that about?” Lynan asked Ager.

“Fencing lesson—”

“Not that. The bowing.”

Ager glanced at Gudon, who seemed pleased with himself. “You
are
a prince of the realm,” Ager said offhandedly.

“I was one of those yesterday, too, and no one bowed to me like that then.”

“Ah, but yesterday no one belonged to the Red Hands,” Gudon said.

“The red what?”

“Like the Red Shields,” Ager explained. “Except with them it’s their hands. Shields would have been difficult since the Chetts don’t use them as a rule.”

“Red Shields? Red Hands? What are you getting at, Ager?”

“Your bodyguard, your Majesty,” Gudon said.

“My bodyguard?” Lynan was astounded. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I need an
army
.”

“You’ll get both,” Ager told him. “The Red Hands are sworn to protect you, no matter what comes. They will die for you. You should be proud.”

Lynan closed his eyes.
I don’t want anyone else to die for me.
He sighed.
Then throw away the army,
he told himself.
Leave the Chetts; flee the continent altogether.

He knew he would do none of those things.

He opened his eyes and nodded wearily. “How long have you two been planning this?”

“Since three nights ago,” Ager said cheerily.

“Why?”

Ager and Gudon exchanged one of those glances again.

“Something happened three nights ago, didn’t it?” Lynan asked.

“Yes, your Majesty, but not directly against you.”

“Ah, I see. It was directed against you, or Gudon.”

“Truth, little master,” Gudon said, “perhaps both of us at the same time, or maybe against you through us. We don’t know.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Yes,” Ager said bluntly.

“When do my bodyguards start... well... bodyguarding.”

Gudon looked over his shoulder and nodded to someone. Lynan heard two sets of footsteps behind him. He turned and saw two large Chetts, one female, one male, each with bright red right hands. They bowed deeply to him, then waited. Their faces were impassive. He saw from the designs on their ponchos that the man belonged to the White Wolf clan, and the woman to the Owl clan.

“They start now, your Majesty.”

“And who is their captain?”

Gudon bowed low this time. “If the little master will accept me.”

Lynan felt a surge of affection for his two friends, and pride. “But their captain cannot stay with them.”

Gudon looked at him questioningly.

“I have a mission for you.” He turned to Ager. “Go back to your training, old crookback. I need to discuss matters with my new captain of the royal bodyguard.”

“The Red Hands, your Majesty,” Ager corrected him.

Lynan smiled slightly. “Indeed. My Red Hands.”

Ager finished the training soon after Lynan and Gudon left; he had more training scheduled for the afternoon and needed to rest. A group of four Chetts were waiting for him behind his tent. He recognized the symbol of the Ocean clan on their ponchos. Three of them were middle-aged, the fourth a young woman. All were armed.

Wonderful. Where’s Gudon when I need him?

He looked around for other support, but there was no one else in sight. He glanced down at his wooden sword; his own saber was in his tent. With his crooked back he could never run away from them. He breathed deeply and walked straight up to them.

“I’m tired,” he told them gruffly. “Get out of my way, please.”

The young woman stepped forward; a long scar ran down her cheek. “This won’t take long, Ager Crookback.”

Ager nodded. “Who’s first, then? Or is it all of you at the same time?” He hefted the wooden sword in his hand. Its weight gave him some comfort. If he connected with a head or two before he was skewered, he might survive the confrontation.

The woman looked at him strangely. “We don’t understand.”

“You’re going to kill me. Let’s not twaddle around.”

“Kill you? Why?”

“For slaying your chief, his wife, and his son. Pretty good reasons in clan politics, I daresay.”

The woman’s expression changed as she understood. She laughed suddenly, the sound warm and lively. She was pretty, and the scar added something mysterious to her beauty rather than detracting from it. Ager did not want to kill her. “We have come to pay you allegiance.”

“It is to Korigan you should be paying your allegiance.”

“You do not understand. She is our queen. You are our chief.”

Ager blinked at them. “I am not a Chett.”

“You defeated our chief in combat. His wife and child were killed with him. There is no one left of his immediate family. Katan killed his own brother when he was only fourteen to make sure he had no rivals within the clan. You are our chief now.”

“I see,” he said, not really seeing at all. The Chetts stared at him impassively. “Is there some kind of ceremony?” he asked and, uninvited, the thought of ritual scarring or circumcision popped into his head.

The woman shook her head. “You became our chief the moment you killed Katan. No one has risen to challenge you.”

“What if I don’t want to be a chief?”

“There is nothing you can do about it,” the woman said flatly.

“I see,” he repeated. For a moment longer the five of them stood in front of his tent. Ager shuffled his weight to another foot. “I have to rest now,” he said.

“Of course,” the woman said, and the group started walking away.

Ager suddenly realized he had no idea what was expected of him in his new position. “Wait,” Ager said. The group stopped and looked back at him. “What’s your name?” he asked the young woman.

“Morfast,” she said.

“I will come and see you tonight,” he said to the group.

Morfast nodded, and the group left.

For a while longer Ager stood there, bewildered, then shook his head and entered his tent.

Jenrosa’s head was resting against Kumul’s chest. She could hear his heartbeat, and in some way being that close to him was more intimate than their lovemaking. His right hand coiled and uncoiled her hair, his left hand stroked her arm. It seemed strange to her they could share this moment of peace and solitude in the middle of the High Sooq, their tent surrounded by the tents of thousands of others.

“I think the training went well today,” Kumul said after a while. “I have never seen a people so accustomed to being on horseback, but I thought discipline would be a problem. I was wrong.”

Jenrosa said nothing. She did not want to talk about the preparations for war.

“Have you found someone to take on your magic training?” he asked.

“No. There is no Truespeaker among the clans right now.”

“But the White Wolf clan has magickers.”

“I haven’t talked to Korigan about it.” She did not mention that after their last encounter she did not want to talk to Korigan at all.

For a moment they fell silent again, then Kumul asked: “Have you talked with Lynan recently?”

“No. You?”

“No. But I should. He must know that we... that you and I...”

“Are lovers,” she finished for him. Why did he hesitate? “Do you think that’s wise?”

“What do you mean?”

“How will he take it?”

“He is our prince. He has a right to know.”

“He has no such right,” Jenrosa said firmly. “I don’t remember lovers reporting to the queen in Kendra. Why should we do as much for Lynan?”

“It isn’t the same.”

“Because he was interested in me?”

“No.” Kumul sat up.

Jenrosa disentangled herself from his arms and sighed deeply. Their peace and solitude was gone. Lynan might as well have been standing in front of them.

“Because
I
owe it to him,” Kumul went on. “I did not understand how much he had grown up since his exile, and it caused a breach between us. I tried to keep information from him. That was wrong.” He rubbed his temples with the fingers of one hand. He went on in a quieter voice. “He has changed too much. Is still changing. He needs our support more than ever, or who knows what may become of him.”

“Our love for each other is not a matter of state. It is our business.”

“He is not just our prince,” Kumul said gently, and put his arm around her.

“No. He is your son.”
And I am partly responsible for turning him into what he now is. Lynan the White Wolf. Silona’s Lynan.
She could not stop a shudder from passing through her. She half expected Kumul to edge away, but instead he pulled her even closer.

“Yes. Ever since his father died, he has been my son.”

A cold finger seemed to trace its way along her spine. The words had sounded more like a premonition than a confession, and she could not help the feeling of dread that settled in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that nothing was different.

Korigan could not sleep. The future loomed before her like a dark wall; she stood on the brink of great victory or great disaster, and she could not tell which. The fact that it was a future of her own making made her situation ironic but did not change it. Ever since her father had died she had struggled to secure her throne, and when Gudon’s message had reached her from the Strangers’ Sooq all those months ago she had known immediately she had a way to do it. Gudon saving Lynan’s life and bringing him west with him had been a gift from the gods, and she had used the gift to best effect. But the cost...