by Andre Norton
And so you shall, but no more this night, Diric interrupted. Now he yawned. These words of yours have stilled some of my anxieties, and now my own body is demanding the rest I denied it.
Shana tried to hold back her own yawn, and failed; when Lorryn added his, it was obvious that none of them were going to be able to work or speak with unclouded minds.
I shall devise a meeting for you and yours, Shana, and Lorryn and his sister, Diric promised. And I think—I think I shall facilitate that by granting the Corn People a great honor in the morning.
He arched a brow at Lorryn, who smiled, and asked the expected question. And what honor will that be. Iron Priest?
Why, I shall invite you to be of my household and share my tent, Diric replied. And you, of course, will agree immediately, conscious of the enormity of the honor and the protection my rank will give you.
Of course, Lorryn said, with an ironic bow. And being as we are only Com People, not warriors, with nothing of value to Jamal, he will see this as no more than your desperate scrambling for a success to equal his taking of four green-eyed demons as prisoners.
Diric grinned broadly, his white teeth shining in the darkness of his face. He motioned to them to rise, and did so himself. Shana heard his joints popping as he did so, and wondered, not for the first time, just how old he was. Why, I could almost believe you to be as crafty as an Iron Priest yourself, oh wizard.
And I, Lorryn said, with a chuckle that Shana echoed as they both stood to leave, could almost believe you to be as crafty as a halfblood, oh Priest!
Myre flew lazy circles in the sky above the encampment full of those strange, black-skinned people, and watched everything that was going on below her. It was no great task to sharpen her eyesight until an eagle would be myopic by comparison; though she flew so high that she was scarcely visible even as a dot to those below her, she could count the rings on a woman's fingers, the number of rattles on a baby's toy.
And after dark, there would be one more warrior prowling the pathways between the tents. It was easy enough to counterfeit the iron jewelry so long as it didn't need to bear close inspection or the light of day.
She had learned a great deal this way. Not as much as she had in the elven trade-cities, however.
She'd been dividing her time between the wizards' Citadel, generally disguised as a rock formation in Caellach Gwain's favorite cavern for meeting with his band of conspirators, and the trade-cities in several guises, all of them rather clever. But the best and most entertaining spying she'd done had come when she chose another shape and another household to infiltrate: that of a male slave in the house of Rena's would-be husband.
She stayed there longer than she would have liked—but what she learned made up for the danger.
From there she once again took wing and returned to the new Citadel of the wizards. It was easy enough to slip into the cave complex and hide herself among the rocks of the unfinished portions to eavesdrop. That, too, took longer than she wished, but was well rewarded.
She learned that Shana and Keman were not with the wizards; she learned what direction they had gone in. That was how she had found them; following their track to its logical conclusion.
And she learned firsthand that the wizards themselves were spending far too much time debating who should be in charge, and far too little time on their own defenses.
Nothing that she had learned was going to be pleasant news for her big brother, now that she had found him, but she intended to deliver that news at a particularly bad time for him…
She was watching one tent in particular, there was someone in it that she wished to have a chat with.
There. Good. As she had hoped, Jamal strode out of his tent with a stiff-legged gait that bespoke a fair amount of temper held firmly in check. When he was in a temper, he always went out hunting, and he always went alone.
As she had seen before, he paused only long enough to collect his bow and arrows from the weapons rack in its shelter at the side of the wagon, and strode out of the encampment. No one ventured to stop him; everyone knew what he was like in this state, and no one wanted him to vent that temper on anything other than a few wild beasts.
Once Jamal reached the grasses at the edge of the encampment, he broke into the ground-devouring lope typical of these people when they were not riding their cattle. They could cover as much ground as any wolf when they chose, and right now, Jamal seemed intent on bettering his record.
Excellent. She needed him to be well out of sight or sound of the encampment for what she planned next.
She continued to circle, but now the center of her orbit was Jamal, a tiny black figure flowing through the grass as a dolphin flowed through water.
Soon… soon…
Abruptly he changed direction, and as she saw which way he was going, she thrilled with pleasure. I couldn't have planned this better. He was heading for a shallow blind canyon, so remote from the camp, it might as well have been in elven lands. There was a spring at the back of it, and two horns often came there to graze; that was probably why he was going there.
She waited, a falcon preparing to swoop, as he reached the mouth of the canyon, paused for a moment, then moved inside.
Yes!
She dove, wings flattened tightly to her body, falling from the sky, a dark stone out of heaven. Wind rushed against her nostrils, against her eyes, forcing her to pull her second lid over them to protect them, forcing the comers of her mouth back.
At the last possible moment she flipped and opened her wings, back-winging in a thunder of wingbeats, breaking her fall and turning it into a true and graceful landing at the entrance to the valley.
And Jamal whipped around, mouth falling open in surprise, bow and arrows dropping from nerveless fingers, as he gaped at the creature that had suddenly appeared to block his way.
He froze for just a moment; then, eyes narrowing, he snatched up his weapons again and prepared to sell his life dearly.
Myre laughed.
Put your toys away, my friend, she rumbled at him in his own tongue. And I call you friend most deliberately. It is said among your people that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend,' is it not?
Jamal nodded cautiously, clearly taken aback again, as much by her ability to speak his language as by the speech itself.
Well, then, Myre chuckled, I am your friend. My enemies are yours. Shall I name them?
At his second nod, she did so, and watched as his own eyes narrowed in satisfaction at each name.
Iron Priest Diric. The two Com People. And— She paused significantly. The so-called demons, Shana and Keman. Who are not demons, but something else.
Like you? Jamal said, quickly, and she gave him a mental accolade for his quickness.
One of them, she told him. Which—I will tell you later. But for now, you and I have plans to lay. Between them, we will both have our revenge, and you—you will have the leadership of the Iron People to share with no one.
Jamal smiled, and stood up, now completely relaxed. He saluted her, recognizing a kindred spirit in a strange body. She returned his salute, and smiled her own smile. Things were going precisely as she had planned.
Life—was very, very good.
Chapter 8
DIRIC ISSUED THE promised invitation in the morning, and Lorryn and his sister arrived promptly on the heels of his messenger, with all their belongings. Not that they had any real possessions to pack up and move! Even by the standards of a nomad, they had been traveling lightly burdened. When they presented themselves so promptly, with shy smiles and their feet in boots that were wet with dew, he wondered what Shana was going to think when she learned that Lorryn's sister was not another wizard…
He welcomed them himself, as was proper for people he had taken into his household, and then left their disposition among his tents to Kala, his wife. He would not usurp even a particle of her authority, and where the management of tents and living arrangements was concerned, tradition declared that the wi
fe's word was the only word.
You are certain you do not wish to see them disposed? she replied, with a quizzical lift of her eyebrow.
So long as you do not put them in our bed, I shall be content with your wise judgment, he told her.
She kept that eyebrow raised. Many men do not see it that way was her comment.
Diric snorted. And that is both a shame and a disgrace; what, must they prove themselves men by giving no responsibility whatsoever to the women in their lives? Can their pride not bear it, that their woman would dictate even the disposition of a pot or a rug?
The young warriors must needs be the masters in their tents, was all she said, as she left with the youngsters in tow. Before long, I fear they must be such masters that they will admit no woman to their ranks.
Diric could only shake his bead, but it occurred to him that this was just another symptom of how Jamal was undermining even the traditions of Forge Clan. Even the First Smith had beside Him the First Wife, who gave Him the fire for His forges from the hearth that She guarded, and taught Him every secret that flame and coals held! Had She not constructed the bellows Herself, and tended them while He forged out the world? While He created the sky, the sun, and the moon. She caught the sparks of the forge and set them in the night sky as stars, the smoke from the fire and placed it there as clouds. While He forged the earth and the seas. She created the delicate filigree of plants to clothe it. When He turned His attention to filling it with life, She added the ornamental touches of Her own—song and bright feathers for the birds, horns and antlers for the grazing beasts, scales and fur and hair in all the colors of water, earth, and sky.
The man who forgot all that was not only impious, but a fool, depriving himself of good counsel and a good friend…
Whoever fails to honor his help and mate by honoring all her due authority has no sense and little judgment.
And besides—why would anyone want to take on more work, when there was someone there to share it?
Hmm. Well, it is not the work such fools are taking on, but the power. The women still must do the work, handicapped by the fact that it is a fool who ordered it.
Well, that was but one more place where he differed from Jamal, and it was small wonder that the War Chief could not find a single maiden willing to enter his tent as a wife, given his well-known feelings on the subject of a woman's place. Perhaps that accounted for his preoccupation with conflict—
He scolded himself for allowing his mind to wander as Kala led them away, smiling. Their children were all grown, and she often found time hanging heavily on her hands with only the tasks for two to occupy her. She was never happier than when they had guests, and this long trek so far from other clans had made the possibility of guests unlikely. Kala knew everything that was in his mind, and he could not have trusted the security of these two pale-skinned strangers into more certain and capable hands. Before long, she would have seduced their trust out of them, and it would be trust well placed. Kala could answer every question they had, and surely they had many.
Kala will also gleefully take it upon herself to clothe the maiden properly, and it is just as well that she seems pliant and cooperative, for Kala will not be denied!
Now he had another facet of his plot to think on: how to manufacture an excuse to see the captives frequently. They were, technically, under the jurisdiction of Jamal, and Jamal would take it askance if he called on them too many more times. The First Smith did not send portents that often that Diric would be able to use a portent as an excuse, either.
There were no inquiries about my late-night summons, though, so that excuse does remain fresh to be used again. Next time, however, he must make certain to have some physical evidence of a portent.
Priest Diric!
The voice at his tent flap startled him, the more so since it was an unfamiliar one. He composed himself quickly; perhaps he had been hasty in thinking his portent-ruse would not be needed. Enter, he said, in a deep, even tone, putting on all of the dignity of his office.
The young man who entered was arrayed as a warrior, but his torque bore the crossed spears of the War Chief, which meant that he was one of Jamal's men, and not, say, a herds man seeking divine consultation. He gave the full bow of respect, however, if a fraction belatedly, when Diric bent a stem gaze on him.
So in that much, at least, I still have some power among the tents.
Priest Diric, I am come from the War Chief, he said, as he rose from his bow.
Diric waited for the man to speak his piece, but he seemed to be struggling with the words. Odd. If this was a challenge from Jamal, would he be so reticent? Surely Jamal would have sent a bolder man.
The War Chief begs a favor of you, a gift of your time, the man said at last.
Diric raised one eyebrow. A gift of my time? My time is always at the service of my people; the War Chief knows that. What is it that required favor?
The man shifted his weight uncomfortably. It is—the slaves, Priest Diric, the new captives. He wishes you to assume the questioning of the new captives as to their origin and the disposition of their people.
Now both eyebrows rose, and Diric's surprise was unfeigned. I? he replied incredulously. I? Are not such questions the proper realm of the War Chief?
The man's discomfort grew. This is true, yet he requests that you assume this questioning, and send him word of what you learn.
Diric assumed a stern expression. What possible reason can he have for this? My time is as valuable as his—and dedicated to the well-being of all the clan, not only the warriors! He had best have a compelling reason for asking me to devote my time to the questioning of demons for the purpose of making war upon them! There is nothing in all of the edicts of the First Smith that demands we make war upon demons, for gain or for good.
Now, this was something of an about-face for Diric, who had been trying to get more access to the prisoners, not less, but he hoped that the man would forget this and blurt something out under the pressure of the moment. And besides, there was a tale of the First Smith and the clever Sandfox—
If I protest, like the Fox, that I do not want that rich, red meat, I truly hate that rich, red meat, and none but fools eat rich, red meat, perhaps the meat will be left unguarded…
He was not disappointed.
They—they will no longer speak to him, Priest Diric, the man got out under the pressure of his disapproving glare. The female has told the males with her to refuse to speak to him. Jamal is reluctant to put them to the question, for they could and would say anything to end it, and he would have no way of telling truth from falsehood. He gulped, and sweat stood out on his forehead. The female says that she will speak only to you from henceforth.
Diric did not ease his glare in the slightest. Oh? And for what reason does the female demon say she will speak only to me? I do not think I care for this—it is altogether too suspicious. Perhaps the demons wish me some harm! Perhaps they fear the power of the First Smith and seek to rid themselves of the First Priest so that they can act without hindrance!
I do not want that rich, red meat!
Whatever Shana had done, it had embarrassed and angered Jamal—but she had done it in such a way that losing his temper would have only brought further shame upon him. Oh, she was clever, that maiden! Mentally he applauded her while giving no outward indication of his glee.
She says— The man's voice was a whisper now, as shame for his Chief became shame he shared. She says she has given him repeated proofs that she and hers are no demons, and that she is the War Chief of her own people. She says that he refused to treat her with the respect of leader for leader. He treated her with scorn, and she returns scorn for scorn. She says that you gave her the proper respect of a war-captive, and that as a consequence, she will speak only with you from henceforth. She made this declaration this morning, before many witnesses.
Oh, my! How quickly she learns, this clever maiden! She has used custom against him in a way he cannot refute! H
e wanted to laugh aloud, but he kept his demeanor grave. Very well, he replied, after a moment's pause, as if he were considering the request. I will speak with the prisoners on Jamal's behalf. It could be that these are not demons, and even if they are, I will trust in the power of the First Smith to protect me from their ill wishing. Perhaps courtesy will win from them what contempt would not.
He could not keep himself from adding that last; the temptation was too great to overcome. The warrior only ducked his head a little between his shoulders, as if he could hide his shame by imitating a tortoise.
You may bring the female to me as I break my fast, Diric added, and waved a dismissing hand. The warrior seemed only too pleased to escape.
Kala returned from settling their two guests, burdened with his morning meal. They are charming children, and the girl looks well in that jabba of pale cream, she said, settling the tray beside him. The one that I made for Besheba, but which she outgrew ere I finished the embroidery?
He nodded, even though he hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about. Most clothing looked alike to him, except that it was new or old, this color or that, but Kala's one failing was that she never could believe that. I think she will be more comfortable properly clothed, and it was kind of you to think on, he said, his voice warm with approval. Now—here is a sudden change in things, and I have need of your thoughts! Jamal sent to me a man but a few moments ago—
He described Jamal's messenger and the message, while Kala sat completely still, absorbing all of it. Her dark eyes flashed with pleasure at Shana's cleverness, and she nodded her round head vigorously.
Ah, that was well done, husband! she exclaimed, but not so loudly that her voice would carry past the walls of the tent, or past the floor beneath. Now we may put forth your 0wn scheme the easier!
I wish you to remain with me for this little while, he said, making his wish a request. If you can spare the time, that is. You are better with locks than I; perhaps you can determine a way in which to unlock the collars, and make it possible to remove them without revealing that they are no longer locked.
