Fire and Sword (9 page)

Olio smiled. “You are m—m-more and m-m-more like our m-m-mother.”

“I hope I have her luck in war.”

“You will have no need of luck.”

Areava could already hear the sounds of battle in her mind. She could smell smoke and blood and fear. She could see heaps of dying and wounded, and battered pennants waving from broken spears. “Perhaps,” she said quietly. “But I will take any I can get.”

The riders halted at the crest of a small hill. Some distance away was a glade of arrow trees circling a permanent lake, something rare in the Oceans of Grass. The glade was surrounded in turn by a deep green carpet of vegetation that spread out for leagues in every direction. Regularly spaced around the glade were collections of brightly colored tents, each collection marked by different pennants, and around the tents milled thousands of cattle.

“The High Sooq,” Korigan said, stretching in her saddle, looking even more lithe than usual. For a moment Lynan felt a twinge of desire; the urge surprised him.

“This is the richest grazing land on the continent,” she told him. “From here, you can see the entire wealth of the Northern Chetts.”

Lynan could not believe how many cattle there were. “Surely they will eat it out?” he said.

“Most of the grazing will be gone by midwinter. Then we give them the feed we’ve stored. By the end of winter that will be gone, and the clans will scatter to find spring grass. By the time we all meet here again next year, the land here will have regenerated.”

“Do we wait for all your people to arrive before moving down?” Kumul asked. The riders had left the White Wolf clan the day before.

“No,” Korigan answered. “We go down now. There will be a meeting tonight of the clan heads, and I want to see how hard my opponents will push me before they’re aware that Prince Lynan is among us.” She glanced quickly at Kumul. “Or you.”

Kumul did not feign modesty. It had been a long time since his reputation as captain of Elynd Chisal’s Red Shields had given him any pleasure or fed his pride. It was just a fact of his life and had served him better than worse in the years since the end of the Slaver War—it was his reputation that had secured him the position of constable under Queen Usharna. “So you are concerned for Lynan’s safety?” he asked sourly.

“Of course,” she admitted. “But it is time for his Majesty to take these risks.”

Kumul shook his head. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

“Will you stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here?” Lynan said, but without anger. “What is your plan, Korigan?”

“Tonight’s meeting will be a test for me. If it ends in my favor, we announce your presence. If it does not, we keep you a secret; I will not risk your safety unnecessarily.”

“It won’t be a secret once the rest of your clan arrives,” Kumul said. “They will all be eager to tell their news.”

“News is the currency of such gatherings,” Gudon agreed.

“If the meeting goes badly for our cause, your Majesty,” Korigan said, “then I will give you an escort of a thousand warriors to take you back to the east of the Oceans of Grass. There you can follow Kumul’s plan, if you so wish, and I will join you when I may, or you can travel to some other part of the kingdom to find support among the people of Chandra or Hume.”

Lynan said nothing, but his heart felt truly heavy for the first time since recovering from his wounds at the end of summer. He knew if the Chetts did not support him, no one else would, even if they sympathized with his cause: Areava was the rightful queen of Grenda Lear, and none of the rulers among the eastern provinces would willingly stand for Lynan against her.

A hand rested on his arm, and he turned to see Ager looking at him.
“Whatever
happens, Lynan, your friends will stay with you.”

Lynan smiled then, and the weight in his heart eased. “We should go down,” he said lightly. “Let us see how the clans treat a queen.” He bowed a little to Korigan.

Korigan returned the gesture and matched his smile. “Or, indeed, a king,” she said.

On the way to the sooq they rode past three encampments. Lynan, Ager, and Kumul all stayed in the middle of the group, their hats pulled low over their faces. Jenrosa, who was not so differently shaped from the Chetts, and after spending most of the autumn on the plains not much lighter in color, happily rode on the edge, although she had to hide her long sandy hair under a wide-brimmed hat. She was fascinated by the patterns the clans used to decorate their tents and ponchos. There seemed to be no rule to the colors anyone used, but the designs themselves were unique to each clan.

Gudon was riding by her side. “This the Sun clan,” he told her. Their design was a bright yellow circle surrounded by white crooked rays, like lightning flashes. The motif was repeated everywhere within the clan, but with subtle differences: one tent had the motif on a blue field, another in the middle of a series of concentric circles.

“The Sun has long been an ally of the White Wolf,” Gudon continued, “since one enjoys the day and the other the night and they do not get in each other’s way. This next clan is a different matter.”

“Let me guess,” Jenrosa said, laughing. “The Owl clan.” There was no mistaking their motif.

“Yes, and like the White Wolf, a predator of the night. Its chief is Piktar, and he was an enemy of Korigan’s father. That animosity has been passed to my queen.”

Animosity or not, the Chetts inhabiting the camp seemed as interested in their passing as those of the Sun clan. “They don’t seem hostile,” she said.

“We are not at war,” Gudon explained. “And this is the High Sooq. There will be no fighting here. Indeed, it is not unheard of for young White Wolf warriors to take a husband or wife from the Owl clan.” As he said the words, he found time to smile and wave at a particularly lithe Chett riding by in the opposite direction, the owl design clearly blazoned on her poncho. She smiled and waved back.

“A Chett can marry anyone she wants?”

“Truth. A warrior can also choose which clan to ally herself with after marriage. Sometimes, to avoid disharmony, two warriors from different clans may marry and join a third, neutral clan.”

“I thought your clans were family based.”

“They still are, largely, but the clan tradition and history is more important than any bloodline.”

The last encampment they rode by had a design of three wavy lines. “The River clan?” Jenrosa suggested.

Gudon shook his head. “The Ocean clan.”

“The Oceans of Grass?”

“No.”

“That’s odd, isn’t it? Your people belong to the plains, not the sea.”

“Now, but our oldest stories are about the sea. We came from across the ocean may centuries ago.”

“Which ocean?”

“The Sea Between.”

“You come from the Far Kingdom?”

Gudon shrugged. “Who can tell what is truth or myth in the old stories? None of us is that wise.”

“Are they your clan’s enemy or ally?”

“Ally most recently. They were the first clan defeated by Korigan’s father in the war to unite all the clans under his leadership. They have been loyal ever since.”

Something in Gudon’s voice made Jenrosa wonder if he really believed the Ocean clan had ever been an ally, but before she could ask more questions they were riding between tall arrow trees, and their mares, who now could smell the water above the smell of the cattle filling the land around, picked up their pace. As they continued, the trees grew closer together, tall bushes filling any empty space. The trail became crisscrossed with the shadows of branches and leaves.

Their first glimpse of the sooq was a hint of azure glistening behind the vegetation. As they got closer, the arrow trees started thinning out, replaced by palms and ferns. Brightly colored birds scattered into the sky. Permanent, mud-brick homes started to appear, built like those Jenrosa had seen at the Strangers’ Sooq.

“Which clan owns the sooq?” she asked Gudon.

“No clan. Those who live here permanently are not like other Chetts. They do not keep their own cattle.”

“Then how do they make a living?”

“They receive a tithe from the clans who visit in winter and make some profit from trade. There is plenty of grass for their bread, and the trees here produce the most succulent fruit, and the lake is filled with fish. It is an easy life compared to that led by most Chetts.”

They reached the lake shore and dismounted. Suddenly they were surrounded by smiling children who took their reins and led the horses down to drink. Adults clustered around Korigan, most with clay platters laden with food. Jenrosa watched Korigan carefully take something small from each plate and eat it. As her hand touched a platter, its owner would briefly place her or his hand on top.

“They are greeting her in their way,” Gudon told Jenrosa. “By sharing their food, she is bound to protect them.”

“They do this with all the clan leaders?”

Gudon nodded. “This way no one is their enemy, and the clans know that no other clan can take the sooq and hold it against them in winter.”

When Korigan had finished, the locals started singing, a slow ululation that rose and descended in pitch like waves. “They seem very happy about it,” Jenrosa said.

“Truth, for one year came when Korigan’s father did not take the food.” Gudon’s voice had become grim.

“He took the sooq from these people?”

“Not as such, but by refusing to protect it, he was throwing a challenge to all those clans not allied to him, a challenge they could not ignore. In that winter was the greatest and most terrible battle in our civil war. Many warriors fell.”

“What happened?”

“Korigan’s father became king,” Gudon said simply.

“So anyone opposed to Korigan could do the same thing?”

“Only if they had the support of enough clans.”

The singing stopped, and one among the locals, a woman slightly bent with age and with hair as gray as smoke, came forward, her hands extended in greeting. Korigan took them in her own. The two spoke a few words to each other, which Jenrosa was too far away to hear, and then went arm-in-arm to one of the houses and disappeared inside. The locals started to disperse. Korigan’s own followers split up into small groups, most of which sat on the ground or went to the lake’s edge to look out over the water. Jenrosa and Gudon were joined by Lynan, Kumul, Ager, and Makon.

“That went well,” Makon said.

“Who was the old woman? The local chief?” Jenrosa asked.

“Herita. She is their oldest, and so speaks for them. They have no chief as such.”

“What did Korigan and Herita say to each other?” Gudon asked his brother.

“Korigan asked about the other chiefs. Herita said they all took food, but a few of them seemed grim.”

“That’s not good news,” Kumul said.

“There are many reasons to be grim in this life,” Gudon pointed out. “But, yes, we could have hoped for a better sign.”

“Who can come to this meeting tonight?” Kumul asked.

“All of us, but only in the second circle.”

“The second circle?”

“The first circle—the inner circle—is for the chiefs. Their followers, the fifty they may bring with them, form the second circle around them.”

“Do the followers bring their weapons?”

“Have you ever seen a Chett without one?”

Kumul shook his head. “Does this meeting ever end in bloodshed?”

“Sometimes, but never between the chiefs, only their followers. There has been no such violence since Korigan’s father became king.”

“You never give him a name,” Lynan said.

“Who, little master?”

“Korigan’s father.”

Gudon looked steadily at the prince. “His name means many things for us Chetts, even those of his own clan. It means unity and purpose. It also means bloodshed and strife. We use it only when we have to.”

“May I know the name?”

Gudon nodded. “It was Lynan.”

It was almost dark. Korigan and her party made their way to the meeting of the two circles. Jenrosa and Kumul walked at the back of the group and briefly—too briefly for either of them—held hands.

“I wish we had more time alone together,” Jenrosa said.

Kumul laughed. “It was hard enough when we were with just the White Wolf clan. Now that we are with the whole Chett nation ...” He shook his head in frustration.

“Maybe we can volunteer for scouting duty,” she suggested. “Just the two of us and a tent.”

Kumul considered the suggestion. “Do you think we’d get much scouting done?”

“That would depend on what we were looking for.”

“Yes, I can see that. Would we need a map, or maybe a Chett guide?”

“I already know the way,” she said.

“Well, that’s useful.”

As the party passed the camps of different clans, its reception swung from easy greetings to sullen silence.

“Do you think Korigan will be in danger tonight?”

“Almost certainly. I am more concerned for Lynan’s safety. He does not understand what he is getting himself into.”

“Do any of us?”

Kumul shrugged. “Maybe none of us has since fleeing Kendra.” He loosened his sword in its sheath.

Jenrosa risked holding his hand again. “Please be careful. I want nothing to happen to you.”

* * *

The meeting was held away from the sooq at the end of the long shallow valley now inhabited by all seventeen major Chett clans and dozens of the minor ones. Nearly thirty chiefs had elected to come, most with fifty followers. The first circle sat around a blazing fire. The second circle, filled with well over a thousand warriors, was packed tightly, its members standing to make more room. Lynan and his companions were near the inner rim of the circle, but the dark helped disguise them; only Kumul’s height stood out in the crowd, but everyone’s attention was focused on the chiefs.

Herita, without clan or supporters, spoke first, welcoming all to the High Sooq; she then asked if anyone wished to speak. Lynan expected Korigan to claim the right to speak first, but she stayed seated and said nothing. Even Herita looked at her expectantly, but after a short while asked again if anyone wanted to speak.

“What is Korigan doing?” Lynan asked Gudon.

“Waiting to see who dares to take her privilege,” Gudon said. “If her opponents are well organized, there will be one clan chief leading them, and she or he will take this opportunity. Korigan wants to know who it is.”

But no chief answered Herita’s call.

Herita returned to stand before Korigan. “My queen, will you not speak to your people?” Some of the other chiefs echoed the call.

Korigan stood up slowly. “I accept the honor of speaking first.”