Destiny's Star (13 page)

“SO.” Haya sat on her stool and surveyed the tent crammed full of warriors. “We sit in senel, and my token is here before me. The city dwellers are secure in their tent and well guarded. You have seen the bodies of the warrior-priests. Seo, Quartis, and I have given you our truths.

“It would seem that there are three paths before us,” Haya continued. “We can let the city dwellers go on their way, with the tributes that they earned with the City Singer’s tale.”

A few of the warriors nodded, and others shook their heads.

“We can hold the city dwellers here, and wait for the arrival of the warrior-priests who may come. We do not know when this might happen, for we do not know where the messengers headed when they rode off.”

More nods to that statement. Haya was fairly sure that warrior-priests would arrive within days, but there was no way to know for sure.

The young ones were circling about, refilling mugs with kavage. Haya watched them as they moved, so serious and intent. Seo had let their intentions slip, and it was clear the young ones wished to be taken seriously.

“The final path is to kill them both, and give their bodies to the sky.”

A clatter as Gilla started, spilling her pitcher. There was a stir as she moved to clean up the kavage and the warrior she’d spilled it on. Haya sighed. Gilla was a strong one, serious and dependable, but she had a soft heart.

“The decision is mine to make. But I would hear everyone’s truths. What say you, Seo?” Haya sat, and took up her mug of kavage.

Seo stood. “Change may be on the wind for the Plains, but not for our traditions. The warrior-priests rode in with Quartis and attacked the city dwellers with no explanation. No insults were exchanged that I know of, no tokens asked for. Even after Elder Thea Haya stated that they had been offered the shelter of her tent, still the warrior-priests attacked—and attacked Haya in the bargain.” He shook his head in disgust. “I have no love of change, and no love for city dwellers who fall from the sky. But the arrogance of the warrior-priests is as large as the sky itself.”

Helfers stood next. “The Storyteller threw fire, burning the warrior-priest to a crisp. I have never seen such a thing, but I believe your truths. Can we risk releasing such a weapon onto the Plains?” Helfers looked around. “What if he throws such fire during the dry season, when the risk of grass fires is high? He could wipe out camps and herds with a wave of his hand.” Helfers shook his head. “I heard the Singer’s tale and was much impressed. Yet, I say they should be killed for the threat they represent.”

Another warrior stood and took up the token, and so it went well into the night. Haya listened to all, taking each truth, and tried to weigh each truth in balance with the truths of the city dwellers.

Finally, when all had said their truths, she stood. “I thank you all for the gift of your truths. As Elder Thea of this camp, the decision is mine to make. I will consider all these truths and the safety of our children in making my decision. This senel is at an end.”

She sat down as the warriors began to stream out of the tent, talking among themselves. The young ones were milling around in the back of the tent, arguing about something. They probably were fighting about who would do the dishes.

“Not an easy decision to make,” Quartis said softly.

“No.” Haya sighed. “But one that must be made, and swiftly.”

“Sleep on it.” Seo stood and stretched. “Share with me this night, since your tent has no top. In the morn—”

He cut off his words as Gilla approached, followed by the other young warriors.

Haya looked them over. “What?” she asked sharply. Gilla sank to her knees, then pressed her head to the ground before Haya. The others followed her action, abasing themselves.

 

 

GILLA shook, and swallowed hard. She’d been willing when the others had told her to do the talking, but now her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth. “Elders,” Gilla’s voice quavered, “we would quest.”

“Eh?” Seo’s voice boomed over her head. “Quest?”

“How so, child?” Haya did not sound pleased. “A quest is a warrior calling. It is not for children.”

Gilla winced at that but plunged on, rushing her words. “Elder Thea Haya, we wish to quest in aid of the Singer Ezren Silvertongue and his Token-Bearer, Bethral of the Horse.”

There was a long silence from the elders. It almost killed Gilla to stay still and silent, and wait, trying to look as mature as was possible, pressed to the ground.

“Rise, all of you,” Haya said.

Gilla lifted her head, releasing a slow breath of relief. The elders were willing to listen. They would be heard, and might be taken seriously. She rose to her feet, and the others did as well, staying behind her.

Gilla straightened her shoulders. “Elder Thea Haya of the Tribe of the Snake, we have thought and discussed among ourselves, man and woman, element to element. We wish to go with the lost ones to see them safe to their home, as guides and guardians. I speak as a woman of the Snake and as Fire, to offer my sword and my aid.”

“Well, they know the ritual,” Quartis said, a slight smile on his face. “The tradition is that such quests are taken by eight warriors. Four men and four women, one pair for each of the four elements.”

Gilla looked at Lander, for him to speak next, but Haya cut him off. “Before you perform a ritual you have no right to, best you explain why.”

“Our hospitality is broken,” Gilla said. “I would restore the name of our Tribe and the honor of our tents.”

Haya looked at Lander, and raised an eyebrow.

Lander took a deep breath. “Elder Thea Haya of the Tribe of the Snake, we have thought and discussed among ourselves, man and woman, element to element. We wish to go with the lost ones to see them safe to their home, as guides and guardians. I speak as a man of the Snake and as Earth, to offer my sword and my aid.”

Haya’s gaze fell on Chell. “Just your tribe and element.”

Chell spoke with her usual confidence. “I speak as a woman of the Boar and as Water. I wish to escort the lost ones, and see them to their home.”

“I speak as a man of the Cat and as Water,” Arbon’s voice rumbled out. “For I wish to earn a place as a warlord someday, and the quest would add to my honor.”

“That’s honest,” Seo growled.

“I speak as a man of the Hawk and as Fire,” El said. “I wish to follow Gilla.”

Gilla blushed.

“I speak as a woman of the Snake and as Earth.” Cosana wiped her hands on her thighs. “I, too, wish to restore the honor of this camp.”

“I speak as a woman of the Snake and as Air.” Tenna trembled as she spoke, her voice soft and meek. “I, too, would restore our honor.”

“I speak as a man of the Fox and as Air,” Ouse said. “I would learn my enemy, even as I aid them.”

Haya snorted. “Children asking to quest. Next the sun will come down from the sky and heat my kavage.”

Quartis raised an eyebrow. “There are already people falling out of the sky. Be careful what you call down upon us.”

Haya rolled her eyes.

Lander took a step forward. “Elder Thea, I have made no secret that I wish to be a singer someday. What songs I may sing are yet to be determined. But these people offer a glimpse into other ways and lands. I would learn their language, of their towns and peoples.”

“Is this a good thing?” Quartis asked.

“Is any learning wasted?” Lander countered. “If an enemy wields a weapon that is unfamiliar, do we hesitate to learn its arts?”

Seo coughed, giving Haya a sideways glance.

Gilla held her breath.

“You are still children, and will remain children until the ceremony takes place,” Haya growled. “I will hear no more of this. Be about your chores, and swiftly.”

Gilla didn’t wait to be told twice. She moved, grabbing as many mugs as she could, and headed out of the tent.

 

 

HAYA watched them go, and shook her head. “They’re a bold group.”

Seo gave her a rare smile. “Brave, to face down an ehat like you,” he said slyly.

Haya snorted.

“Change sweeps the Plains, like a grass fire at the height of summer. It destroys, but it brings new growth.” Quartis stood slowly. “I wonder if Keir the Cat fully appreciates what he has started.”

“This cannot all be laid at his tent,” Haya said. “He did not throw city dwellers through the sky at us.”

“They are so young, those children.” Seo sighed. “They still seem as babies to my eyes.”

“But it is well thought out—this plan of theirs,” Quartis pointed out. “And it speaks to your concerns. It offers your protection but removes them from your tents. You offer aid, but do not send your more experienced warriors.”

Seo nodded. “We walk a fine line between the two sides and the warrior-priests, and protect ourselves. Who can challenge that?”

“But they sacrifice their first year of service under the warlord.” Haya protested.

“They can fight for a warlord later,” Seo said. “If they go with the city dwellers, the warrior-priests may make them fight anyway.”

“I hate this,” Haya said suddenly. “They are so young—their legs are barely sturdy enough to carry them past the horizon.”

“That is the pain we face each year: to send our young to war and battle,” Quartis agreed. “Young warriors, young horses, we send them too soon.”

“The sun rises.” Haya stood again. “Come, both of you, share my pallet. We will talk once we have slept.”

“I’d welcome that.” Quartis rose.

They’d taken only a few steps when one of the warriors entered the tent. “Elder Seo, come quickly.”

“What?”

“It’s another warrior-priest, Elder.”

EZREN woke slowly, warm and comfortable on his pallet, the blankets wrapped around him.

Odd how those felt pads could almost be more comfortable than a featherbed. He drowsed for a while, enjoying the faint spicy smell of the blankets. Gurtle fur even stuffed the pillows.

With eyes still closed, he drew a deep breath, enjoying the warmth and comfort for just a moment longer. He felt rather odd. Tired, but restless. Starved, come to think of it. Part of him wanted to stay in bed for another few days.

The other part wanted to roast an ox and eat it whole.

Hunger won out. Ezren opened his eyes.

The warriors had rigged a top for the burnt-out portion of the tent. They’d managed to close the sides as well. The braziers were placed carefully, and they glowed with coals. Ezren wondered for a moment what the fuel was. There were no trees on the Plains that he had seen. Where did the wood come from? He would have to remember to ask.

Bethral was sitting up on her pallet, dressed in her armor, sword across her lap, facing the flap. His breath hitched in his throat to see her profile. A veritable Angel of Light. The living embodiment of tales of warrior women—tall, fierce, beaut—

“Good morning,” Bethral said softly as Ezren blinked his eyes clear. “How do you feel?”

“Were you on guard all night?” Ezren demanded, rising up on his elbow.

“Yes.” Bethral gestured to one of the braziers. “There’s warm kavage, but I warn you it’s strong.”

“Good.” Ezren sat up, the blankets falling away, and reached for the mug she handed him. “Why did you—”

Bethral raised a finger. “Best to keep your voice low. We’ve guards around the tent, and they could learn our language as fast as you’re learning theirs.”

Ezren took a sip of kavage, and blinked at its strength. Bethral handed him a bowl of gurt, and he took a handful.

“As to why, well, what do you remember of yesterday, Storyteller?”

“I remember the attack, and . . .” Ezren thought for a bit. “I killed someone, didn’t I? With the wild magic?”

“You did,” Bethral responded. “The warrior-priest had a lance in his hand, Storyteller. If you hadn’t—if the magic hadn’t—lashed out, you would have died. I could not protect you.”

“Your leg,” Ezren whispered.

Bethral smiled, and rubbed her hand on her thigh. “Healed. As if it had never happened.”

“He kicked you.” Ezren growled at the memory. “I saw bone and blood—”

“He took advantage of an enemy’s weakness.” Bethral shrugged. “I would have done the same.”

“I doubt that,” Ezren said. “The wild magic healed it.”

“It’s not the first time,” Bethral said slowly. “That time . . . in the swamp . . .”

Ezren swallowed hard. He’d become conscious in a rush, on an altar in the swamp, where a blood mage had plunged a dagger into his chest. He’d turned his head, seen Bethral lying there, dead, her eyes glazed—

“Perhaps you have some control over it now?” Bethral asked.

Ezren shook his head. “I would love to claim so, Lady, but the truth is that I don’t remember much beyond the attack.”

Bethral gave him an odd, unsure look. “Do you remember anything—”