by Pemry Janes
“The first day of the Conclave Games has come to an end. The competitors brought much honor to their spirits, competing as they once did. The scores have been tabulated. It was close. I call to the podium, Copper Huffer, son of Amber Blaze and Brown Bristle. Rock, son of Ardent and One Claw. Springstep, daughter of Bloodclaws and Dashing Mist. Come and be lauded.”
She slapped Rock on the back. “You did it! Well done.” Leraine had to shout over the applause to be heard. She gave him a little push and he made his way to the podium, head bowed and cheeks flushed.
Rock stood awkwardly on the podium, next to a grinning Springstep. Copper Huffer towered above the both of them, fists held high. Leraine could place him now. He’d come in only sixth or eighth in the race, but he had won the stone toss with a comfortable margin. He must have done well in the jumping contest as well.
The cheering died down quickly when the shaman indicated he needed silence again. “Do not think anything less of yourself if you have not made it to this podium. All of you, contestant and attendee, honor the Great Spirits by participating. We keep the memory of the Conclave alive through these games. Still, like in the first Games, some rose above others.”
The shaman stepped back and another stepped forward, carrying a silver statue. It was small, no taller than Leraine’s hand, and had few features. Man or woman, young or old, clothed or nude. Hard to tell. The shaman walked over to Rock and presented it. “For the World Spirit.”
That set tongues waggling. It was easy to tell what spirits Springstep and Copper Huffer represented, but Rock had no draen nor did he dress like one of the People.
The shamans ignored the hushed whispers rising from the crowd. Another walked over to Copper Huffer, while another went to Springstep. The white gold statue went to Copper Huffer, while Springstep received the golden one. She’d won the Three Games and by extension, so had the Wolf tribe. At least she wasn’t a Truce Warrior, unlike Copper Huffer.
***
Eurik paid little attention to Springstep and her words. She spoke of gratitude and honor, but he was more interested in the crowd. He couldn’t see everybody’s reaction when his parents were announced, but was anybody paying more attention to him than to Springstep right now?
Looking around, he saw that it did look like some were paying attention to him. Though was that because of his parents or the “spirit” he represented. He’d have to be deaf not to have noticed their reaction at the shaman’s announcement.
Finally, Springstep finished and it didn’t seem either one of them was expected to speak. Good. I . . . would not know what to say to all these people. The idea alone made him uncomfortable.
Stepping off the podium he met Silver Fang again. “Third place. But it got you what you wanted,” she said.
“Yes. Though I’m not sure it was enough. I—” He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. A woman approached them. Her draen was on the left side, like Silver Fang’s, though she wore a leather vest with metal plates decorating it and a padded linen shirt underneath that quite a few people wore.
“You,” she said. “I heard the shamans say your parents were One Claw and Ardent. What was their tribe?”
Could it be? Had this strategy already born fruit? “They were from different tribes.”
Silver Fang laid a hand on his arm and spoke up. “Perhaps this is a conversation held best at another time. My friend had to give it his all. He is tired, and famished.” That was true, though he hadn’t told her so yet.
“This won’t take long. Was your mother Ardent? Of Caetiwo?” Her eyes bored into him. One hand flexing, the other on the knife on her belt.
Hope blossomed in Eurik’s chest. Does this woman know my mother? Except she doesn’t look that much older than me. Would she not have been a child when my mother left? Before he could ask the question, though, Silver Fang spoke up again and stepped forward.
“Sept leader, allow me to introduce myself. I am Silver Fang, daughter of Raven Eye.”
The woman’s smile had a lot of teeth. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve heard plenty of your . . . great accomplishment.” Then she sighed. “Fine, fine. I’m Fervent, daughter of Stern Anvil. There, happy. Now, how about your companion intro—”
Another woman, hair gray as steel and with a large scar on the right side of her face, took a hold of Fervent’s arm. “Fervent, something’s—” Fervent ripped her arm out of the older woman’s grip. The scarred person grabbed Fervent’s arm again and pulled her toward her.
A few quick, whispered words broke Fervent’s stare and she gave the weathered warrior her full attention. “What? Are you sure? Where . . .”
Silver Fang pushed Eurik away and cut him off before he could ask what she was doing with a shushing sound. He soon could neither hear nor see Fervent, only then did Silver Fang speak. “That was close.”
“Why did you prevent me from answering her? Yes, I recognized the name. You were obvious. But I have this now,” he said, hefting the statue. “The idea was that I could offer that to end, to stop . . .”
He grimaced and switched to Linese. “To end the hostilities between us. That’s half the reason I agreed to this plan. And she obviously knew something of my mother.”
“If you had offered that, she would have tried to murder you then and there.”
He frowned. “How could you know that?” Though thinking back, he realized her grip on the knife had been very tight. Like she was trying to strangle the hilt.
Silver Fang looked back and at the people talking to each other. “It was obvious. She stood ready, she’d called upon the Great Serpent. She was actually poised to murder someone standing on the holy stone of Chappenuioc!”
“Wait, someone else got murdered?” The person that had spoken was an older man with a long draen that reached his shoulder blade. He’d been talking to a few others, but had spun around at Silver Fang’s words.
Silver Fang herself froze at the man’s words. “What do you mean, someone else?”
“You hadn’t heard? Someone killed a shaman, Inkpaw of the Fox tribe.” His gaze slid over to Eurik. “It must have been an outsider. Shouldn’t be allowed to set foot in Chappenuioc.”
This time, Silver Fang didn’t come to his defense. In fact, she looked pale.
Eurik turned away from the man. “Are you all right?”
“I . . . yes. I just . . . hadn’t expected that. Come, we best get back.”
Chapter 15
A Hard Trial
The news was on everybody’s lips when they reached Snake territory. The living sword was the only one who could speak about anything else. “Hey you two. How was it? Did you win? Did anybody die? I mean, other than that shaman. Come on, give me details.”
Leraine shook her head. “Show some respect, Misthell. And take it seriously.”
“Yes, I’d gathered from your earlier words that it was unusual,” Rock said. He spoke in Linesan. Leraine wasn’t sure that was a good idea, given that she’d overheard more than one speculate that an outsider must have killed Inkpaw.
“Unusual?” She refused to speak Linese. Not here, not when others could hear and wonder what they were talking about. “I . . . you’d have to ask the loretellers if this has ever happened before. Yes, people have been killed within Chappenuioc. Sometimes during a contest, accidents happen. Sometimes, passions run too high. But they are cast out, their bodies buried, their spirits severed.”
Leraine dared not elaborate on that. It touched on secrets not to be shared with those not People. She shook her head. “A terrible fate. But one of us would have to be truly mad to even attempt to kill a shaman.”
However, there was someone, something, that had done exactly that only yesterday. It must have been the same culprit. It was better than another answer. However, nobody but the shamans knew of that murder. People’s suspicions would be focused elsewhere. This would only put more logs on the smoldering fire.
Nothing to be done
for that, not by her. Instead, she turned to their own little problem. “I think it’s best if you stayed with the other outsiders. Fervent will no doubt look for you and she knows who I am.”
“I do not like running away,” Rock said, switching to Thelauk as well. “Best to face a problem and deal with it.”
“I can’t disagree. But your ability to create walls and the like might be very useful in the Outsiders Quarter soon.”
Rock frowned. “How so?”
Right, he had little experience with humans. “In case some decide to take justice into their own hands. A wall should at least delay them and perhaps prevent a tragedy.”
“Ah. I . . . had read about that. But how do you know the killer is not an outsider? How will I know they are, uh, an angry group?”
She gave him a look. He wasn’t that bad at reading people. But perhaps he wasn’t asking how to recognize angry people. “If there are no guardians with them, you can be sure it is not sanctioned by the shamans.”
Rock nodded.
“And I can help too,” Misthell said. “I’m great at distractions. I razzle, then dazzle, and it’ll be dawn before they realize what happened.”
“Yes. It couldn’t hurt. I think,” Rock said.
“Come, I’ll help you gather your belongings. I’ll also talk to the shamans, find out if Fervent has approached them about you. But first we need to find you a safer place to stay.”
***
The Outsiders Quarter lay along the Road on its north side, farther away from Chappenuioc. It didn’t look as nice as the other quarters either. No worked wooden panels or colorful fabrics, only wooden poles driven into the ground twice the height of a human at a five step interval.
The dwellings within were a mishmash of wagons, lean-tos, and tents. Some looked like the ones Ghajir and his caravan had used, others were more like pointed cones or rectangular pyramids.
The only sizable open spaces were pens where a variety of animals were held. From the ordinary cow, pig, and horse to more exotic species such as a bird taller than Eurik but with very small wings. Its beak looked quite dangerous and each had a leg shackled to a steel rod in the ground in the center of their pen.
“Not much room left for someone to put down their sleeping mat,” Eurik said. He watched a lizarian throw a dead rat at the giant birds; one snatched it out of the air and bit it in half. “There are people here from beyond the Wall.”
“Yes,” Silver Fang said. “Outsiders may not understand the festival’s true importance, but they can grasp what an opportunity for trade it is. Come, we’ll try to find Captain Slyvair. Perhaps he has room to spare.”
It took a while to find someone who knew the orc. He did stand out with his dwarven-forged arm and bald head. It was on their way to his tent at the south end of the Outsiders Quarter that they ran across him.
“Eurik! Congratulations on ending up on the victor’s podium.”
Perun, however, stomped over to him. “You cost me five coppers! You threw like a girl!”
“What?”
“If he threw like a girl, he would have ended up in first place,” Silver Fang said at the same time.
Perun gave her a look, then sketched a shrug with his shoulders. “Maybe. Don’t change the fact that if he’d done as he was supposed to, I’d have won big. Did you know the odds on him winning?”
“I did not. Not that I would have bet on Rock anyway. I knew he was not there to win.”
The boy’s eyes grew a size, then he turned back to Eurik and shoved him. “What the hells? What were you thinking?”
“Please calm down. I just wanted to get the names of my parents out. I’d hoped someone knew them.” He grimaced. It had worked, after a fashion.
“But you’re not here for that,” Slyvair said. “Or to celebrate your third place.” He gave Silver Fang a look. “Are you kicking him out?”
She shook her head. “His plan worked, but not as he wanted. His mother . . .” Eurik sighed and motioned for her to continue. Keeping it a secret seemed less than useful at this time. “Stands accused of murdering the mother of Fervent. She is the current leader of Caetiwo. And she is attending the festival.”
“And now you’re hiding from her.” Slyvair crossed his arms. “Yes, she wouldn’t kill you within the Inza structure. They have very strict laws against violence there. Even the guards must take solemn vows and use quarterstaffs. Still, how far will she go if she learns you’re here?”
“I don’t know. She might have been on the verge of breaking those laws when she confronted me.”
“In the heat of the moment, perhaps,” Silver Fang quickly said. “But with some time for her liver to settle, she will do the smart thing. Go to the shamans and demand justice. Just killing you when you are a guest of Urumoy would put her sept at odds with ours. It risks breaking the Great Trust. But Fervent may need some time to realize that. Best to give her that time.”
Slyvair frowned at Silver Fang. “You could think of no other place to stay?”
“There is another reason,” Eurik said. “Silver Fang worries about the people here. A shaman was killed within Chappenuioc and some of the Mochedan suspect—well, someone who isn’t Mochedan.”
Slyvair bared his teeth and growled deep in his throat. “I’d heard something about that. But I thought it an exaggeration. That someone had merely had an accident. How serious is it?”
Silver Fang looked around. “Perhaps we should talk of this somewhere more private.” She looked down at Perun.
The boy squinted. “You’re not sending me away. I can hear whatever you want to talk about. I can keep a secret.”
Slyvair rested a hand on Perun’s head. “You sure, boy?”
“Yeah.” He ducked out from underneath the orc’s large hand. “I’m not a child. I’m thirteen now!”
“Well, then. We’ll retire to my tent. Come.”
It was a short walk. Slyvair’s tent wasn’t very big, however, and got more cramped with four people inside. The orc and his ward sat on their sleeping mats while Eurik took a seat on the ground at the back of the tent. Silver Fang squatted near the entrance, eyes downcast.
“There’s a little space to our right. You could fit one of those stone shelters of yours. If I decide to let you stay here,” Slyvair said. He turned his attention to Silver Fang. “Now out with it. You know something about this murder and it is obviously serious.”
“I suspect. I . . . worry.” Her jaw worked but no more words came.
Slyvair huffed. “Well?”
Silver Fang twined her fingers and pressed her thumbs against one another. “I don’t know much of this murder, I have no special insight in this murder. But I worry it may form a pattern.”
“Your broken bones!” Eurik reared back, his cheeks heating up as three pairs of eyes stared at him. “Sorry, I should not have spoken so loudly. But Silver Fang, something happened yesterday. I healed the fractures in your arms, someone struck you with great force. You refused to speak about it.”
“You healed me, yes.” Again, she fell silent.
“You are usually more forthright, girl,” Slyvair said. “Now we have to drag the words out of you. And you speak carefully. Have your priests ordered you not to speak?”
“Shamans, Captain Slyvair. Priests serve gods and my people have no need for their sort.” Silver Fang said nothing more.
“One day you must explain to me the difference. Hmm, but you wouldn’t have us retire to my tent if you didn’t intend to tell us anything.”
“Oh, it’s a riddle,” Perun said. “You . . . you can’t talk about something. But you want to warn us?”
Silver Fang tapped her thumbs together.
Slyvair let out a short bark of laughter. “Following the letter of the command, but not its spirit.” He sobered and plucked his lip with his right hand. “We only traveled together for a short while. But you struck me as one who held her own honor very high. You must be very
worried to skirt around your people’s laws like this.”
“This wasn’t the first shaman who was murdered,” Eurik said. It made sense. Whatever had happened yesterday, it had happened in the heart of Chappenuioc. Few books had gone into detail about this place, but all agreed that no outsider was allowed there. And Silver Fang had gone in the company of a shaman, one he didn’t recall seeing afterward. Nor was she one of the shamans judging the contests.
“Someone’s killing off Mochedan priests—shamans—during their most important festival,” Slyvair said. “Yeah, I can see why they’d want to keep that below the surface. And you caught the murderer?”
Silver Fang made a motion with her head. It could be a yes, or a no.
“The murderer caught you,” Perun said. He grinned when Silver Fang bobbed her head.
Slyvair leaned forward. “But the injuries you sustained were the ones you’d get if you’d fought back. You got a look at the murderer. You know who they are.”
Silver Fang, however, shook her head after hesitating.
Perun’s frown deepened. “But how can you fight someone and not know what they look like? That don’t make sense! Oh, unless he was wearing a mask. Was he disguised?”
“Hey, you already had your turn,” Misthell said.
“But I made a right guess! So I get another.”
“That’s not in the rules.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Is too.”
The living sword’s words rang out. “Is not!”
“Misthell!” “Perun!”
Slyvair and Eurik looked at one another. The orc looked away while he muttered an apology.
“I should go,” Silver Fang said and she turned halfway toward the entrance. “All I can say is that you all need to be careful. I do not know what will happen. But I worry things will grow worse and that the people here may become a target.”
