Reap the Whirlwind

by C. J. Cherryh

  "He didn't hurt Davy, did he?" Kasha asked in alarm.

  "Not a bit, though I wouldn't have reckoned what would have happened if Davy'd tried to fight him. Pup just held on without even bruising the skin. So the boy gives the dog another command and it lets go, though it keeps a mighty suspicious eye on young Davy all the rest of that session. Turns out the boy had another dog when he started learning sword-work that pulled exactly the same stunt Zorsha's did. So he taught this one while he was laid up that everything was all right unless he yelled for help. See what I mean by thinking ahead?"

  "Uh," Kasha grunted, nodding thoughtfully. "Uh-huh. So, what do you see him as? Book?"

  "Not a chance; the boys too inquisitive. Tower, I'd say, and Hand for preference. He's always asking questions, and they all run on how does this work, not why. Showed me why those swords of theirs are curved, and single-edged, and it makes damned good sense for horseback fighting. Going to have some made up for us and start training you good riders with them."

  "So that the blade doesn't lodge and pull out of your hand?" Kasha hazarded.

  He nodded.

  She grinned. "Uh-huh, I wondered about that. Tell you what else would be nice; a bit of a lanyard on the pommel-nut. Lose your blade on the ground and you have a chance to get it back. Lose it on horseback, and you might as well forget it. But loop a lanyard around your wrist, and if it gets knocked out of your hand, you've still got it."

  "Good thought. What do you think of their soft stirrups?"

  "Not much," she said, "And some of the lot I rode with are modifying theirs to match mine. Too damned easy to get your foot caught in the thing, even if it does mean you need a heeled boot to use our kind. I don't fancy being dragged, and I can't see any advantage in the soft stirrups."

  "Fine. Anything else?"

  "We ought to show them our soft iron javelins. If they're really going to be with us, they won't have any problem with getting metal, and the way the soft javelins foul a shield is even more useful in a horseback fight than a ground battle. I mean, figure how much is your horse going to like getting his ears whacked with a stick every time you move your shield, hey? And I don't know how Abodai trained that stallion of his to do some of his tricks, but somebody ought to see if it's the horse or the training. You already know about those laminated bows—"

  "Aye, with lust in my heart. We're working on it, but not just anybody can make a bow. That Losha up here can, but it's a long process. Seems it involves wood, horn, sinew of all damn things, all laminated into the bow, and somehow bone plaques get into it too. We've got one about half made, but with that much work I don't wonder that they won't sell or trade them. Might as well ask a farmer to sell his house. Or his wife!"

  "Sounds like. But the range on those things—"

  "Makes them worth every damn hour you put on them. Well, feeling more like a member of the human race again?"

  "Feeling more like the human race won't reject me, anyway. And it's about time for me to take my watch."

  She got up, did an internal assessment of the wine on her judgment and reflexes, and decided it wasn't too bad. But just as a check, she dropped her wrist-knife down into her hand, and pivoted on her heel to place it in the target she knew was behind her.

  Ardun peered at it as she went to pull it out. "In the black?"

  She shook her head. "No, a hair out."

  "Don't aim for the eye then, until the wine wears off. Throat's a better target."

  "Yes, Father," she replied with mock humility. "Anything you say, Father."

  "Watch your tone, girl; I can still take you any time I want."

  "Don't I just know it." She walked back over to his side of the table and kissed his forehead. "Throat it is. And thanks for getting me out of my depression again."

  He hugged her waist. "Any time, baby-girl. You do me proud, I hope you know that. I'd like to see you with the badge some day."

  "Hm, well that'll depend on who happens to be Master—which is Zorsha at this point, which could be touchy."

  "Seven hells, girl, I told you to think ahead, I didn't tell you to map out the future!"

  "Yes, sir." She bowed. He made a fist and tapped her cheek. She covered the hand with her own for a moment. "I'll bet Yuchai will still be awake; your permission, I'll tell him what you said about him being in Sword—and that you think he belongs in Hand."

  "Do that. It would make me feel better."

  "Suspect it will make him feel better too. And me. And Zorsha. Thanks again, Father."

  He waved a hand at her. "Off with you. Or I'll dock your pay for being late."

  She laughed and ducked out the door, heading for the Master's quarters with a lightened step.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Don't shout. Whatever you do, don't shout. Tent walls do not muffle voices. "Why didn't you stop them?" Halun demanded, on the verge of hissing with anger, standing nearly nose to nose with Jegrai's brother. He clenched his hands into tight fists in an attempt to keep his impotent rage under control. "Why didn't you do something?"

  "How was I to stop them?" Iridai growled, teeth clenched, arms crossed tightly over his burly, leather-armored chest as if to keep his own anger pent. "I was the one who roused them up in the first place! What was I to do when they ceased listening to me—betray them to Jegrai? They declared themselves and rode out before I would ever have been able to do even that!"

  Halun's anger passed as quickly as it had flared, and he forced himself to relax, closing his eyes as much from a wave of pure weariness as anything else. Watch yourself; if you make an enemy of this man, you'll destroy everything. Damned barbarians. Say something to placate him, or you'll strangle your hopes with your own two hands. "I'm sorry, Iridai; I shouldn't have said that. All of us misjudged this time, I think. It certainly wasn't your fault that those young hotheads were even more hotheaded than we thought. You couldn't have predicted that. Forgive me for accusing you. I had no right."

  "Ai, that is something less than truth, wise one," Iridai admitted, his own anger quenched by Halun's capitulation and -apology. "I knew how wild they were—and with my talk of honor and dishonor I drove them to their deaths as surely as though it were my hand that held the blade." This was Iridai's tent; it was as martial and spare of comfort as the nomad himself. There were none of the piles of cushions to sit on that could be found elsewhere; one sat on the bare carpet. Iridai went from standing to sitting in a single graceful motion that maddened Halun because of his inability to imitate it.

  Halun folded himself slowly and carefully down onto what seemed to be a marginally softer spot. He longed briefly, but sharply, for his chairs, his restful bed, his long, comfortable robes. He couldn't even be easy in his clothing. These breeches and long tunics did not feel right, binding up in unexpected places. "You're being far too hard on yourself—"

  "Am I?" Iridai snorted, tossing his braids over his shoulders with his right hand. "You heard all my lofty speeches to them about returning to the old ways—did you not see them, one and all, discarding those new swords at Jegrai's feet along with their armbands? And who was to blame for that?"

  Halun saw signs that told him Iridai was about to fall into a melancholy from which it might take days to wake him. Damned fool, this is no time to go into a brood! "And who was to blame for them staying in the Vale?" he demanded harshly. "They could have gone away from here—there was no one stopping them. Jegrai made no moves to hunt them down until they started the trouble. East might be closed, but there is north, south—even west; they could have been over the pass and gone long before Jegrai alerted the Order that they were rebels. No one would have pursued them, not Jegrai, certainly not Felaras. But no—instead those lazy fools made their camp in the single most obvious place in the Vale, and proceeded to raid the very folk Jegrai had sworn to protect. They weren't just asking to be wiped out, they were opening their arms to destruction and embracing it!" Just like the fool primitives they are, no matter how much they boast about valuing knowledge!


  Iridai raised his head at that, narrowed his eyes, and nodded his round head thoughtfully.

  "We are, perhaps, well rid of them," Halun continued, deliberately choosing the most callous phrases he could. "Clearly they could not keep secrets; I think we may thank the gods that none of them were taken alive to betray us—although I must admit that Jegrai's ruthlessness took me somewhat by surprise. I did not expect him to be quite so thorough. I am sorry that Vredai has lost so many fine warriors—but it seems clear to me that they were warriors that were unable to think, or to plan. If Vredai is to prosper, its warriors must learn to use their wits as well as their hands."

  "Truly spoken," Iridai agreed, though with some reluctance in his voice. "It is not a truth I care to hear, but it is nonetheless truth. As for Jegrai—once again I have underestimated him. I have mistaken his cleaving to the old ways for weakness. I shall not repeat that mistake."

  At least you have that much sense, my uneasy ally. "Our concerns now are for the living, Iridai, and not the dead. How has this affected the others, those who are disaffected, but not yet rebellious?"

  "I—I do not know," Iridai admitted. "I could guess, but . . ."

  Halun shook his head. "Speculation is useless to us. We must know, and know exactly. Else we act as foolishly as those foolish boys."

  "That is again truth. And a truth I will act on." Iridai stood, his dark face now showing considerably more resolution than he had demonstrated when he'd risen to greet Halun.

  "Good," Halun responded, getting slowly and painfully to his feet. Oh, gods, will I ever see a chair again? Is power worth my aching knees? Ah, stupid question. "Let us each go to those he knows best—you to the warriors, myself to Gortan and those who have been passed over when the Shaman made his yearly choices. And we will see."

  "Aye," Iridai replied, his eyes beginning to show some life again. "We will see—and then, we will act."

  * * *

  "But if the world is a ball, and it is turning," Jegrai objected, sorely perplexed, "why aren't we flung off of it?"

  Jegrai, clad resplendently in a new sleeveless tunic of scarlet and breeches of soft black cotton—more of the handiwork of the Order's looms and his mother's hands—was theoretically holding court. What this actually meant was that he was sprawled in the one chair that had survived the Vredai flight into the west, under the shade of the tree beside his tent. Teo, looking like a servitor in his comfortably shabby brown clothing, lounged in the grass beside him, doing his best to explain Jegrai's questions about the book he was currently devouring. As Teo had predicted, the Khene was beginning to fathom the mysteries of the written word, and had graduated to the level of the beginning science texts the novices read.

  While Jegrai sat "in court," any of the Vredai with a grievance, real or imagined, could approach him to have it dealt with. In actuality, few of them did. The Khene was scrupulously fair—and notoriously impartial. So much so that those whose claims were a little shaky, or who might have some dealings they preferred to remain something less than public, had a very strong reason to settle their grievances in some court other than the Khene's.

  So Jegrai had ample leisure to cross-examine Teo during these afternoon sessions, and took full advantage of the fact. He had little enough leisure at any other time. The Khene of Vredai was no less a worker than any of his people.

  "Well?" he demanded.

  Teo's brow was creased with thought. "I'm trying to come up with an example that makes sense, Jegrai," he began, when a stir at the edge of the camp caught the Khene's eye, and he motioned to his friend to hold his peace for a moment.

  "Trouble?" Teo asked, sitting up straighter.

  "Maybe. . . ." Jegrai squinted against the bright sunlight and the ever-present dust kicked up within the camp. The commotion resolved itself into three adults heading straight for him, followed by a horde of children, followed in turn by half the women of the camp. One of the adults was the young warrior Agroda, dressed in his finest—pale leather tunic and breeches, and so festooned with red-and-black bands and ribbons that he looked like a walking festival all by himself. But the other two—

  One was a young woman of the Vale folk, with hair like a skein of spun sunlight; and the other, gold locks going to silver, looked to be her father.

  Jegrai's heart sank to his boot-heels—

  Until they came close enough for him to see their expressions. The young woman, dressed in a finely embroidered divided skirt, an equally elaborately embellished vest, and a delicately embroidered shirt that was so transparent it would have been obscene had the vest not been laced tightly over it, had the demure look of a cat that has just eaten the family dinner and knows the dog will get the blame. The older man, in a handsome set of riding leathers and an equally intricately embroidered shirt, was attempting to look sober, perhaps stern—and failing utterly. Every time he schooled his mouth to sobriety, he would glance at the girl or the Vredai, and a smile would begin to escape again. And Agroda was wearing the most fatuously foolish grin Jegrai had ever seen on a human face in his entire life.

  The odd little party came to a halt the proper distance from Jegrai's chair. Agroda made one step forward, put right hand to left shoulder, and made the slight nod that was the formal salutation of Vredai to Khene.

  "Speak," Jegrai responded, trying to keep his face still and impassive, but hoping wildly that this was what he thought it was.

  "May we speak in Trade-tongue, oh Khene?" came the reply. "This good man of the Vale is also a warrior; he speaks but little of our tongue, and it were ill-courtesy to discuss what concerns him so closely in a language not his own."

  I notice he doesn't mention the daughter, Jegrai thought, valiantly keeping his face straight. Which means she probably knows our tongue as well as friend Teo. And I would not care to speculate on where or how she learned our speech.

  "Gladly," he replied. "It is only courtesy. And the warrior and his—daughter?—are welcome here. Is this a call for judgment, Agroda?"

  "Of a kind," the young man replied, casting such a fond look on the young girl that Jegrai nearly choked on a laugh. "I would have my Khene to meet Venn Elian, and his eldest daughter Briya. He was once a man of the sword in the service of the Princes of Yazkirn; now he and his daughter are both breeders and trainers of fine horses."

  Oh-ho! Jegrai sat up a tiny bit straighter. So there is more to this than a lovesick lad!

  The older man stepped forward and nodded; Jegrai returned the nod. The older man cleared his throat self-consciously. "I had occasion to meet your warrior, Khene Jegrai, under something less than ideal circumstances."

  Elian's command of Trade-tongue was excellent, as might have been expected in a horsebreeder, who probably dealt with traders on a regular basis. "Oh, so?' Jegrai replied blandly. "Was he trying to steal one of your stallions?"

  The girl giggled, and the corners of her father's mouth twitched. "No, Khene—I fear he was trying to slip his mare into my breeding herd."

  Jegrai gave Agroda a long look; the young man shrugged. "It was ordered that there be no stealing and no raiding," he said unrepentantly. "How else was one to get a tall-horse foal?"

  "I was far less angry than in admiration, Khene," the horsebreeder hastened to say, laugh-wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his dark blue eyes. "And I will tell you that I had been looking to your beasts with a certain speculation. They are small, aye, and something less than beautiful, but they have a quickness and a stamina that are admirable qualities. I had thought of coming to some accommodation, but only idly, when your warrior forestalled me."

  "And he kindly did not take his whip to my back!" Agroda laughed.

  The horsebreeder coughed. "I—ah—detained him—"

  "He ran me down into the corner of his field on his tall-horse stallion." Agroda hung his head mournfully. "I, mindful of my Khene's orders against raising hand or weapon against the Vale folk, I ran like a rabbit. But the horse was faster."

  Elkin was doing h
is best to ignore the interruptions, but the laugh-wrinkles were growing deeper. "We spoke—"

  Agroda raised his head, and sobered a little. "Fairly, Khene, he was in his rights to demand a judgment, but he wished to speak seriously of crossbreeding."

  "When I finally got him to hold still long enough to speak to him!" Elian chuckled richly. "Aye, and glad I was to know Trade-tongue. We left the mare to the attentions of my stallion; on his return to redeem her he sought me out and we spoke again."

  "I thought, 'This is a most wise man.' I wished to have more speech of him."

  "On this occasion, I spoke of a horse-colt I could not seem to gentle—"

  "—and I offered to see what I could do if he would breed another of my mares to his stallion."

  "Khene, if it were not that I have wizards in the mountains above me, I would have thought your warrior a wizard!" Elian's face glowed with enthusiasm. "I had resigned myself to gelding this one, which would have been a sad loss—but in less time than I ever would have dreamed, he had it gentled and broken to saddle and halter!"

  "Na, Venn." Agroda blushed. "It was only that the colt has too tender a mouth, I told you so. You frightened and hurt him with the bit—never meaning to—and he smelled pain on you thereafter. Me, I do not smell like you, I do not look nor sound like you, and I put on him a halter with nothing to hurt his silly mouth. He lost his fear very quickly—and quicker still when you gave him of sweet-root. Now when he smells you he thinks of long gallops and more sweet-root! So long as he neck-reins and answers to the knee, you need never subject him to a bit, and he will go gladly for you—"

  "Your warrior is too modest," Elian said mock sternly. "He saw at once what I never thought of."

  "So this is where you have been spending your time, Agroda?" Jegrai asked. "With this good man? We missed you at practice and the hunt, but I think your time was better used than ours, now! But surely not all your days were spent in gentling one colt?"

  "Ah . . . well . . ." Agroda blushed even redder.