Fire and Sword (6 page)

After a moment Korigan stood erect, and the other Chetts followed her example. She replaced his hat and held him gently by the arm. “For as long as you wish it, this clan is your family and your home.”

“The white wolf?” Lynan asked Gudon. They were sitting together on a crest overlooking the Chett camp, then-mares cropping grass behind them. Above them stars sprinkled a perfectly clear sky, and beneath them dozens of small fires outlined the corral. They could hear faintly the lowing of the clan’s herd, and occasionally the rumbling call of the bulls.

“Long ago, little master, when my clan was nothing more than a small tribe of two or three families, legend says we were protected from the predations of other tribes by a lone white grass wolf. He could only be seen at night, from far away. He became our totem, and eventually one of our gods.

“And here you are. You came to the Chetts near death, and then were resurrected with skin as white as a mare’s milk, and on your first hunt, single-handed, you slew a grass wolf that threatened our clan’s queen.”

“I was trying to save you,” Lynan said bluntly.

“Truth, little master. But you can see why Korigan would call you the white wolf.”

Lynan hugged his knees. “I don’t want the clan to expect too much of me, Gudon. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“That will not happen.”

For a while neither of them said anything, until a shooting star flashed above them. Gudon pointed at it. “A good sign. We are protected, you see.”

“I have a feeling you are not nearly so superstitious as you make out,” Lynan said. Gudon looked at him questioningly. “You are a pragmatic Chett. Like your queen.”

“That would not be unexpected. We are cousins.”

“And destinies can be made.”

“Now what can the little master mean by that?”

“When we first met on the river, you told me that destiny serves no one.”

“Truth.”

“Not truth, Gudon. You saved me from Jes Prado, for which I will always thank you, but you knew who I was.”

Gudon nodded.

“And you knew I would be valuable to your queen.”

Gudon sighed deeply, then said: “You wanted to go to the Oceans of Grass.”

“And you wanted me to go to the Oceans of Grass, but not fall into the hands of another clan, especially one whose chief was in opposition to Korigan. Truth?”

“Yes, little master,” the Chett said, his voice low. “I will help your queen, but the price will be high.”

“Korigan understands this,” Gudon said without hesitation.

“How long before we reach the High Sooq?”

“Many days, especially with the herd. It will be winter when we get there.”

As autumn deepened, the cold started to take hold of the plains. The first sign of oncoming winter was a frost in the morning, at first so gentle it disappeared soon after the sun rose, but after a few days thick enough to survive until mid-morning. When the herd was started, the brittle grass could be heard crunching under their hooves. At this time Korigan ordered the slaughter of the steers, and the clan spent two days at one camp so the meat could be salted and the hides cured. The meat was kept in special tents, painted a bright white to reflect the sun’s light and keep cool the meat still waiting to be cured. While the steers were being culled, as much grass as possible was gathered, some of it bundled as feed for the cattle in deepest winter, and the rest winnowed for the seeds necessary to make bread. Whenever the clan came across trees and bushes, their fruit was collected and stored.

Compared to their progress before catching up with the herd, Lynan thought they were crawling along at a snail’s pace, but he enjoyed not being in a rush to get somewhere or in a rush to get away from someone. He spent most of the day with Gudon riding on the edge of the clan, learning about the Oceans of Grass, its creatures and plants and clans, and about the seasons, about the Chett gods and beliefs and customs. Lynan drank in anything Gudon could teach him, and when Gudon’s memory was faulty or incomplete, Makon would join them to fill in the gaps. Lynan never stopped asking questions.

For most of the time, Kumul, Ager, and Jenrosa rode with the main group, sticking together for company and to keep out of the way of the Chetts trying to keep the herd moving. They were never alone for long, since children and outriders on rest often accompanied them, plying them with questions about the east and about Lynan. Ager and Jenrosa enjoyed the journey. Like Lynan, they appreciated being secure for the first time since leaving Kendra all those months ago, but Kumul felt the frustration of inaction. He regretted every day wasted by not working on getting Lynan back to Kendra and every day that took them farther and farther away from civilization and deeper into the unknown Oceans of Grass.

After a few days, Ager began spending more time away from Kumul and Jenrosa and started mixing with the Chetts themselves. On one day he drove the queen’s wagon under the supervision of its master, an old and nearly toothless Chett named Kisojny. It took him a while to get used to pulling such a huge load and controlling eight horses, but Kisojny was a patient teacher. Once Ager got the hang of it, they spent the rest of the day telling each other jokes. Ager was surprised to learn that the Chetts—not merchant seamen—possessed the crudest sense of humor in the world, and he decided that living with a huge herd of cattle and a dozen bulls all their lives probably explained it.

Ager’s drift from his companions was driven partly by his curiosity and his need to do something other than let his mare guide him across the Oceans of Grass, but mostly it was to give Kumul and Jenrosa time together. They did not mean to exclude him from their conversations, but increasingly the two talked to each other, leaving Ager on the boundary. He was glad Kumul had Jenrosa to distract him from his own growing depression, but wondered if it was for the best. Jenrosa was with them because she had been with Lynan on the night King Berayma was murdered, and had to flee the palace with the prince. Ager did not know what Jenrosa had been doing with Lynan that night, but he was sure they had not been discussing the history of Grenda Lear. How did Lynan feel about Jenrosa now?

It was certainly clear to Ager who Jenrosa preferred to spend time with.

Lynan rode from the corral into the cold night air. For the second time he felt he was being flooded by a dark hunger, and the smell of the cattle was driving him insane. A wind was blowing from the south, numbing his cheeks and hands; on the horizon, lit by moonlight, he could see masses of anvil-shaped clouds heading toward him.

When the corral was out of sight, he stopped and twisted his hands into the reins; his eyes were knitted shut and his jaws clamped together. He wanted to feed and drink, wanted to feel the taste of warm blood on his lips. The mare underneath him was tense and wanted to run, but Lynan kept the reins hard into the pit of his stomach.

Slowly, the wind blew away all scent of the herd, and his head started to clear. He breathed deeply and slumped in the saddle. The mare relaxed underneath him and started cropping at the grass.

It had been easier this time to deal with it, and he wondered if it was because he was farther away from Silona and her supernatural influence. Somehow, he was sure, more than the vampire’s blood now flowed through his veins. He looked east and remembered all the things—good and bad— that he had left behind. The homesickness he had felt for the first few weeks of his escape from Kendra was now little more than memory. His gaze turned west then, out over the great plains that seemed to have no boundary. He was nothing but a speck out here, and the feeling of insignificance appealed to him. The wind picked up and his poncho winged around him. He tightened the hat toggle under his chin. The horse started to whinny; it wanted to be back with her sisters.

A rider was coming toward him. A Chett. Too tall for Gudon. Maybe Makon. No, he told himself, recognizing the rider’s obvious self-possession. It was Korigan. She pulled up beside him. “I wondered what you were doing out here by yourself, especially on a night like this.”

“I like nights like this,” he said.

She looked around, and Lynan could see the pleasure in her face as she
gazed
out over the Oceans of Grass, the same pleasure he felt.

“I like them, too,” she admitted. “They are wild, and somehow free of all humankind. It’s as if our race did not exist at all. Have you ever felt that?”

Her words sent a shiver down his back; he remembered his dreams of Silona, and imagined she must have existed long before humanity ever did.

“Only out here,” Lynan answered quickly. “In the east you cannot ignore the existence of civilization.”

“This
is
your home, isn’t it?”

Lynan nodded. “I feel it is so.”

Korigan bowed her head in thought for a moment, and then said: “I am sorry I came between you and Kumul.”

“We did not need you to come between us. He still thinks I am nothing but an overweened, somewhat irresponsible child.”

“You are not that.”

“Not anymore.”

“He loves you.”

“I know, and I love him. He has been my father for as long as I can remember.”

“Have you told him that?”

Lynan blinked. “No. It is not something he needs to hear.”

Korigan shrugged. “But I need to hear something from you. Did you choose to go to the High Sooq because you thought it was the best course, or because it would cross Kumul?”

“Both, probably. I find it hard to remember what I was thinking that night; I just remember the anger.”

“He was angry that night as well.”

Lynan snorted. “He thought I would always follow him.”

“Well, now that you are coming into your own, I think you will find he will always follow you.”

There was a gust of wind. Snowflakes fell onto Lynan’s hand and instantly melted.

“The Sleeping Storms,” Lynan muttered. Korigan’s expression showed her surprise. “Gudon told me that these cold autumn southerlies almost always brought snow, and that it marked the time when many animals start their hibernation.”

“You have been spending a great deal of time with Gudon learning about the Oceans of Grass and we who live on it. That is good. But it is not the hibernating animals that give the storms their name.”

“No?”

“I remember a late autumn when I was campaigning with my father against a rebel Chett clan. We got caught by one these storms. The next day we found two of our outriders had frozen to death. They fell asleep and never woke up. That is why we call them the Sleeping Storms.” More snow flurried around them. “We should go back.”

“I will not fall asleep,” Lynan said.

“But your horse may.”

“There is a storm coming,” Ager said.

“It’s just a breeze,” Kumul replied. He was using a whetstone on his sword and was barely conscious of the wind starting to howl around the tent they were in.

“I can feel it in my bones. Ever since my back was sliced open by an ax, I’ve been sensitive to storms. They make my muscles ache.”

“Rubbish,” Kumul grunted.

“I have heard similar stories from others with serious wounds,” Jenrosa said reasonably, restraining the urge to snap at Kumul; she was getting tired of his abrupt manner. She knew he worried constantly about Lynan and the changes that had been wrought in him—partly through her own intervention when she saved his life—but she and Ager were also concerned. Lynan was their friend as well, after all.

Kumul wiped the blade clean with a corner of his poncho, then licked his thumb and ran it along the flat near the sharp edge. The edge started to pull on his skin and he knew it was sharp enough. He now quickly sliced the whetstone along the edge at contrary angles, slightly serrating it, then repeated the test with his thumb. He nicked it twice.

The tent’s flap snapped open and waved furiously in a sudden gust.

“God’s death!” Kumul cursed and reached across to retie the flap. A whirl of snow blew in before he could finish.

“I told you there was a storm coming,” Ager said smugly.

Kumul gave him a sour look. “Snow. That’s all we need. It’ll halve the clan’s pace.”

“After all our rushing around in summer I thought you’d appreciate a more sedate pace.”

“There are things to be done, and we can’t do them here.”

“Lynan made a decision for himself,” Ager said gently. “It’s what we’ve always wanted him to do.”

“It wasn’t just for himself,” Jenrosa pointed out. “He made a decision for all of us.”

“He’s our prince,” Ager countered. “And now he’s our leader as well.”

“He’ll be a damn sight more than a prince if this Chett queen has her way,” Kumul said.

“What do you mean?” Jenrosa asked.

Ager and Kumul exchanged quick glances. Ager nodded.

“Korigan believes Lynan should seek the throne,” Kumul said stiffly.

“I don’t understand. Why would Korigan want Lynan to become king of the Chetts?”

“Not her throne,” Ager answered. “Korigan thinks Lynan should usurp Areava.”

Jenrosa’s gray eyes widened in surprise. “Oh.”

“And Kumul disagrees,” Ager finished.

“And you?”

Ager shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”

“You agreed with me the other night,” Kumul said.

“I agreed with you about not going to the High Sooq. I said nothing one way or the other about Lynan taking the throne of Grenda Lear.”

Kumul stared down at the ground. He seemed to draw in on himself. Jenrosa sat next to him. “Kumul, is there another way?”

“What do you mean?” Kumul growled.

“Can Lynan return to Kendra and take up where he left off? Is that possible?”

“I don’t see why not. If we reveal Orkid and Dejanus as the murderers of Berayma, nothing can stop Lynan from resuming his position in the palace.”

“And you will be constable again, and Ager a captain in the Royal Guard.”

“And you back to your studies with the Theurgia of Stars. Yes. Isn’t that what we all want?”

“Is that what you want, still?”

“Yes.”

“And what of Areava and the Twenty Houses?”

“Areava’s not stupid. She will make up with Lynan. The Twenty Houses will do what they’re told.”