The Prize in the Game (19 page)

At last, after much too long, Amagien brought the song to its dramatic conclusion with the charge of the bull and the capture of Atha. Atha, knowing everyone would be looking at her, was grinning back with a little malice in her expression. Elenn wondered what it would do to Atha's reputation to have that song widely sung. She supposed it spoke well of her that she had been so honorable in defeat as to give Conal a praise name.

Everyone drummed their feet politely at the end of the song, Elenn among them. The farmers of Edar around their table were extremely enthusiastic, drumming and cheering. They liked it so much that Elenn was afraid they might ask for a repeat. The old man sitting by Emer had tears in his eyes. But at last Amagien put down the harp and picked up a carving knife. Even so, Elenn was afraid it would be hours before she got any dinner.

Carving could be a slow business. A quiet buzz of conversation rose as everyone began telling each other that they would faint with hunger in another moment. Then one of the farm women came around with a tray of hot fresh griddies. Elenn thanked her and bit into one gratefully. Before the woman had reached the far end of their table with the griddies, Amagien had carved the first piece, the top of the rump, sometimes called the

"hero's portion."

Elenn ate her griddie delicately, catching the crumbs, and watched Amagien put the first serving onto a bronze plate. Everyone watched, admiring his hospitality or just waiting for him to give the plate to Conary and get on. The air of hungry impatience was almost tangible, especially at Elenn's table, where they could not hope to be served for some time. Instead of giving the portion to Conary, Amagien took the plate to Conal and bowed his head to his son.

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A silence spread out from them. Amagien spoke into that silence, his poet's voice filling the room. "Take the hero's portion, my son, for your victory, the first serving to honor the first among the young champions."

Conary closed his eyes. Conal looked sickly up at his father. He reached for the plate slowly but before he could take it Leary leaped to his feet. "Conal's victory I will honor," Leary said loudly, almost shouting. "But I

won't sit still to hear him called first among the young champions. That is yet to be decided."

The woman with the griddies froze, and shrank back against the wall. "That is yet to be decided," Conary echoed. "Divide the hero's portion into three, ap Ross, and share it between the sons of my three sisters."

Amagien hesitated. Finca put her hand on her brother's arm. "Conal has earned it," she said. "What have your other nephews done since they have taken up arms? Maybe it is time to decide." Conary looked at her with dislike.

"What chances have they had this summer?" Elba asked, from Con-ary's other side, in reasonable tones.

Conary turned and gave her the same look. "It will be for the champions of Oriel to choose between my nephews when I am dead," he said. "They will have plenty of time to show their prowess before that, if the gods are kind."

A murmur ran through the hall as everyone invoked the gods to give Conary life and strength.

Elenn joined in, sincerely enough.

Ferdia stood up as soon as the informal prayer was over. "We are not talking about inheriting Oriel now," he said. "But it seems to me that the question of which of the king's nephews is now the best among the young champions could easily be settled by some friendly contestsmdashafter dinner." There was a general laugh at the last two words. To her surprise, Elenn saw that Darag was frowning urgently at Ferdia.

"Very well," Conary said, looking like a man seeing a clear way out of a maze. "We will have contests after dinner, and Orlam ap Ringabur shall arrange and judge them."

"But she's ap Ringabur's sister," Ferdia said. Darag shook his head at him fiercely.

"I am a lawspeaker of Rathadun, I am sworn to judge fairly," Orlam said quietly, yet all the room heard her.

"Nor do you see me sitting with my brother and my parents as royal kin at this feast. Is that a challenge to my honor?"

"No," Ferdia said and sat down. Elenn breathed a sigh of relief. Orlam looked down the table, and sighed herself. "Still, who will say that I can truly decide fairly between my brother and my cousins in such a case as this, when it will be remembered in the far time when it comes to time to choose kings again in Oriel? This is the blind spot I did not see which makes coming home a burden and not a benefit. We are all too close akin here, Conary, your lawspeaker is your niece, and your oracle-priest is your father. You had best set the contests and judge them yourself."

"Not I," Conary said. "That is advice, not a judgment, and I reject it. If you will not decide, I call on you to choose another to judge these contests."

Orlam stood up and sighed again. Elenn moved a little away from her. She looked different, more serious, older. Everyone kept very quiet, hardly moving. Orlam pulled off her pearl circlet and dropped it onto Elenn's lap. Elenn took careful hold of it; it was delicate work and could be crushed easily. Orlam let down her hair, shaking it until it was loose around her face.

She extended her hands, palms up and then down.

"Before all the gods of home and hearth and of our people, and especially Damona, Lady of Justice," she said, "I am Orlam ap Ringabur, a lawspeaker of Rathadun, and this is my judgment." She looked all around the hall, making eye contact with everyone in turn. She did not
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take any less time with the farmers than with the champions. Nobody fidgeted while she was doing it. Elenn could hardly breathe as her eyes followed Orlam's gaze. Darag looked calm. Leary looked defiant. Conal looked desperately unhappy.

"These three young champions are the heirs of Oriel," she said at last. "Nobody here could choose between them without room for some to say that there was bias, one way or another.

There must be four contests, each arranged and judged by the other four kings of Tir Isarnagiri." She paused,' lowered her hands, and everyone drew in their breath all at once. "I do appreciate that this isn't going to happen immediately after dinner," she added. There was a feeble laugh. Orlam sank down beside Elenn, looking exhausted.

"And for now?" Amagien asked. Elenn offered Orlam her circlet back, but she shook her head vigorously.

"Put aside that portion," Conary said. "Serve the rest of us first, for we are all hungry. The young men can wait for their meat until all is decided, for honor is the best sauce, as they say."

For the first time, Darag looked as if he wanted to speak, but he just shook his head. When the woman with the griddies came to him, Elenn noticed that he took two.

Elenn offered Orlam the circlet again, under the table, questioning with her eyes. "Keep it,"

Orlam said. "It'll look good on you. And I never want to wear the thing again. But for that pressing on my head, reminding me that my mother gave it to me and it was my grandmother's, I'd have felt I could have judged fairly myself."

"But if it was your grandmother's, it's an heirloom, and I can't take it," Elenn insisted.

"It was given to me freely," Orlam said. "And now I want you to have it. It won't weigh so heavily on you. Wear it, and remember to make good choices."

"Thank you," Elenn said after a moment, turning it in her hand. It was very beautiful.

"How are they going to manage to get the four kings to judge?" Casmal asked from across the table.

"That's their problem now," Orlam said.

"It's only Muin that could be a problem as far as I can see," Ferdia said, looking self-conscious, glancing at

Atha and then at Elenn.

"Damona alone knows how they will decide," Casmal said.

"It's her business to know," Orlam said, smiling a little.

"They should be able to choose fairly, as they have no stake in the outcome," Elenn said.

Casmal opened his mouth to comment, then looked at Orlam and thought better of whatever he was about to say. Elenn smiled at him encouragingly. "They're bringing us some meat at last," he said.

15

(EMER)

"Are you feeling any better?" Conal asked, bending over her. Emer lay still and wished that the deck below her would do the same. "Is the storm over?" she asked. It had stopped raining and the heaving of the deck was definitely better than it had been. She was chilled all through.

"We've rowed around the cape and we're inside the bay here, so it's more sheltered," Conal said.

"What cape?" Emer asked.

"The wind has changed again and it's all wrong for Oriel. We had a choice of going back to the Isles or making for Fialdun, and decided not to go back. So this is the Firth of Anlar we're going into."

Emer's stomach heaved. Going back to the Isles was unthinkable. It would have taken them another day and night at best, and leave them with the prospect of attempting the crossing again later in the season, when the winds would be worse. "How long before we reach shore?" she asked.

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"I don't know," Conal said. "Not long, I hope. I wish we were there already. Shall I see if they'll spare some water for you? You look almost green."

"It would only come out again," Emer said. That was what had happened last time. A hot drink might be different, but she knew that was impossible on a boat. "How are the others?"

"Laig and Leary are pretty near as sick as you are, and lying down on the other side. Darag's feeling a bit unsettled but rowing, and Nid is running about as cheerfully as if the ship were a chariot. Darag says it's a pity we didn't bring Ferdia, who knows all about boats."

"Ferdia isn't in the contest. He'll be all right back at Ardmachan with Elenn," Emer said.

"And how about you?" She clutched the wet blanket around her more tightly for the tiny bit of warmth and comfort it provided.

"I felt bad for a while, but I took a turn rowing and I found looking out at the horizon made me feel better."

"Do you think I should try it?"

"I can't see what harm it would do," Conal said.

He bent and put out his hand. Emer didn't want to move at all, but she took it and pulled herself up. Standing made her head swim, and almost at once she retched, heaving and gagging over the rail though there was nothing left to come out.

Conal kept his arm around her, supporting her. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Not your fault my stomach is heaving," she said and clutched the rail. She clamped her teeth and looked out at the horizon as Conal had recommended. To her surprise, there was a steep-sided rocky coast quite close.

"My fault you came at all," Conal said. "You could have lived your whole life on land and never known that the sea made you heave."

She laughed. One of the sailors came pushing past them and they moved to let her go by. "I'd have missed seeing the Isles then. And missed the contests. And missed being with you."

Conal smiled down and tightened his arm around her. Even feeling so terrible the touch was a great comfort to her.

"It's so good to be away from our families," she said. A gull soared out ahead of the ship and she followed it through the air with her eyes. The half month of contests in the Isles had been wonderful. The weather on the way over had been smooth and she'd barely felt ill at all. Gren and Skatha had treated them like adults and given them a room to themselves. Maybe it was because the Isles were so close to Demedia, but they seemed to have a positively Vincan attitude to blanket-sharing, smiling indulgently. They hadn't even blinked when Atha went off with Darag after supper every night, though Emer had. She felt there was something very strange about the pairing, as if she wasn't sure which of them was more of a danger to the other. She didn't think she would ever like Darag.

There had been contests all day, then feasting and sweet nights alone with Conal. She couldn't even feel a ghost of desire with her stomach wanting to turn itself inside out, but she could still remember. She smiled.

The contests had gone well, too. Darag had won the spearthrowing, but Conal had won the sword-fighting.

She was still kicking herself about the chariot race, but it had been very close. Conal hadn't reproached her for it, and there were other chances. Next time, they'd do it. Lagin, Muin, and then Connat. Cruachan. Maga.

But she didn't want to think about that yet. She looked at Conal and pushed the thought away. She was feeling a little better.

"If we're landing in Anlar we'll be away from them a little longer."

"Lew ap Ross of Anlar is my uncle," Conal said regretfully.

"Of course, your father's brother, how could I forget?" she said, her heart sinking and her
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stomach with it. She looked at the shore and saw a palisade around a hill and limewashed buildings curving up inside it. There was a scattering of small buildings around the shore. It was shadowed by the higher hills all around, making it seem a gloomy place. "Is that Fial-dun?"

she asked.

"Fialdun at the head of the bay," Conal replied, clearly quoting something. Then, in quite another tone, "I

must get them to change the banner. Lew will think he's being invaded again."

"He's not at war with the Isles, is he?" Emer asked. Surely she would have heard.

"No, but his wife and daughter were killed raiding them last year, so feelings are running high.

There isn't a war, but Lew personally has a bloodfeud with Atha. One ship couldn't really be an invasion, but it could be

Atha coming to challenge his champion to single combat. It's the kind of thing she made her reputation doing."

"She can't challenge him. He's a king," Emer said.

"Challenge his champion, I said," Conal said. "Wake up. But anyway, I think that if we put an Oriel oak branch under the Eye of the Isles, he'd find it reassuring."