Shifting Plains

by Jean Johnson

  The girl, knocked off her balance by the blow, stumbled over the edge of the low, flat bridge and tumbled into the stream. Water splashed up around her as she landed; then she twisted and struggled to keep her head up. Seeing that she wasn’t going to drown immediately reassured Kodan, allowing him to focus on the two Mornai men.

  The pair stared at the approaching Shifterai in alarm. Kodan lifted his hand, slowing his fellow shapeshifters. His objective was to get the attention of these men off the girl, not to trample them—it was tempting to trample them for striking down a woman, but there could have been a legitimate reason by Mornai cultural standards. Warband members were reminded over and over again that the cultures of the lands they rode through had to be respected, or they could bring down more trouble on their heads than that warband could handle.

  Both men wore the woven blue headbands of a Mornai Alder, and the younger of the two had a stone bound to the center of his headband. That meant he was the village Aldeman, the local leader. It galled Kodan to see the woman, with her brown hair plastered to her skin, her dark blouse, vest, and skirts all soaking wet, struggling to right herself, but if this was a matter of village discipline, he knew he should not interfere directly.

  All he could do was distract them from her. Bringing his mare to a stop, Kodan leaned over the pommel. “You are the Aldeman of Five Springs?”

  “I am Aldeman Tronnen, yes. This is Alder Bludod. You are a Shifterai warband, yes?” the middle-aged man asked as his elderly companion bowed, palms pressed flat together in homage. Both ignored the girl splashing up onto the bank.

  “Yes. I am Warleader Kodan, multerai of Clan Cat, Family Tiger, South Paw Warband. We have business to discuss.” Kodan started to say more, but two things stopped him. The morning wind that carried the young woman’s damp scent, and the Alder’s exclamation.

  “You are a gift of the Goddess brought to us!” the white-bearded man praised, hands lifted in salute. “The River flows and delivers blessings to the land!”

  “Our scribe was killed a handful of days ago by some bandits,” the Aldeman explained quickly, forcing Kodan’s thoughts back to the business at hand. “We are not fighters; we are farmers and fishermen. We are therefore willing to pay you and your fellow Shifterai an agreeable sum if you will track down the criminals responsible for this heinous crime and put an end to them.”

  Kenyen chuckled at that. Kodan couldn’t blame his brother; he had told the others the details of his plan to squeeze extra money out of the village of Five Springs. It looked like the Aldeman was handing his very own plan to him, wrapped in a bow. Movement from the girl stopped him from agreeing with the village leader. She was edging her way around the far side of the bridge, trying to sneak off as unobtrusively as her dripping self could manage.

  His gaze caught the attention of the Aldeman. Craning his neck, he scowled at the girl. “Get you to my wife, and learn your place!”

  She lifted her chin, showing a defiance that was familiar on the Plains, but not something Kodan had ever seen in the women of the Valley. She looked a bit wild as she defied the startled Alders, but defy them she did. “My place is as a free woman and a scribe. I will not be your servant, and I will not let you steal from me! That land is mine, as my father’s heir!—And I am not a bastard; my name is in the priest’s book!”

  Definitely the scribe’s daughter . . . and definitely not a Mornai, Kodan thought, pleased by her show of spirit.

  His amusement was cut abruptly short when the Aldeman lunged at her, fist upraised. “—Defy me in front of strangers? I will beat your place into you for this!”

  The girl yanked up her sodden skirts and sprinted up the road, fleeing his wrath. Instinct drove Kodan’s heels into the ribs of his mount. The startled mare bounded forward. Years of hunting his fellow humans told him where the woman would most likely try to dodge him . . . and within only a few moments, his outstretched arm snatched her off her feet as she sought to leap between two of the trees lining the dirt road. Just as he had calculated.

  Tightening his legs around his steed, strengthening the muscles in his arm, he hauled the yelling, squirming, kicking woman onto his lap. She didn’t go willingly; indeed, he barely had enough warning to thicken the skin of his throat, protecting the tender flesh from her thumping fist. Reining in his mare, who was made nervous by his squirming bundle, he guided the horse back toward the others.

  A grunt escaped him when she switched from hitting to biting, twisting and sinking her teeth into his shoulder, but he endured. This close, her scent could not be denied; she was the same woman as the tigress, and the same one who had handled the scribe’s satchel. He endured all of this, until she kicked his mount, making the mare rear.

  Increasing the mass of his muscles, Kodan squeezed the breath out of her with his left arm, while his right fought the nervous mare back onto the ground. Once the mare was settled, he met the woman’s scared green eyes with a low warning growl. “Do not kick my horse again.”

  As much as he wanted to reassure her that he wouldn’t harm her, he had to put on a show for the two Mornai villagers. Easing his grip just enough to let her breathe, though not nearly enough to let her go, he nudged his mount forward once more, back toward the others.

  “Bring her here!” the Aldeman ordered imperiously. He was unlacing his cuffs, no doubt intending to roll them up before thrashing her; his words confirmed Kodan’s guess. “That demon-child is long past due for having the insolence beaten out of her.”

  With both villagers facing Kodan—or rather, the girl in his arms—neither of them saw the dark looks on the faces of the warband waiting on the other side of the brook. Kodan stopped his mare a few yards away. “Don’t trouble yourself. We’ll take her off your hands, as part of our payment for destroying the local bandits.”

  The woman in his arms sucked in a sharp breath. Not wanting her to reveal that the bandits were dead, Kodan squeezed her again in warning. She subsided. Both the Aldeman and the Alder looked troubled by Kodan’s claim, but after a moment of brow-creasing thought, the village leader nodded curtly.

  “You have a deal.”

  The elder of the two Mornai hurried to join his leader. Kodan sharpened his hearing as the white-haired man gripped the sleeve of the gray-haired one.

  “Tronnen, you know what they’re like,” Alder Bludod muttered. “I wouldn’t give a lame goat to the Shifterai, much less a girl!”

  What the . . . ? Kodan glanced up at the others in the warband, but no one else looked like they had heard. Not that he could really tell, since they were still scowling over the physical threats that had been offered toward the girl. The younger Mornai’s equally low-voiced response troubled him even further.

  “Any other girl, I would agree, and protect her with my life,” Tronnen muttered. “But her blood is as bad as her mother’s. The River flows and washes away all debris; you know this as well as I do. We’ll be well rid of her, and you’ll finally have her land as part of your own. You can bless the Goddess for getting rid of the foreign trash in our midst, delivering these men in time for our need. I am merely Her servant, seeing the opportunity She has granted us.”

  The woman in Kodan’s arms struggled again. Something odd was going on, but he didn’t think now was the moment to ask questions. Any show of confusion on his part would weaken his bargaining stance in the eyes of these Valley men. But he couldn’t let her frighten his mare again. Kodan tightened his grip a little, growling under his breath at her. “Cooperate, and you will be unharmed. Fight me . . . and I will give you back to them, and their mercy. Make your choice.”

  She stilled in his arms, letting him guide his steed back to the others with no further problems.

  “Lead the way to your Aldehall,” Kodan directed the two men. “We will write up a contract, decide on the rest of our payment, and settle the matter of your bandit problem.”

  The girl on his lap jerked and looked at him, green eyes wide. They narrowed after a second. Then she ducke
d her head, but not before Kodan saw the mirth tugging at the corner of her mouth. She knows what my plan is. Good. That means she’s quick-witted, as well as quick-tongued. Pleased with that thought, Kodan led his warband in following the two Mornai men.

  Manolo rode up next to him. “Your father is having a fit, Kodan. As am I. We do not trade in—”

  Kodan shook his head, cutting him off. “—That is not a topic I want discussed right now. I have another task for you.”

  Quirking his brow, Manolo eyed the young warlord. “And what would that be?”

  Lowering his voice, Kodan spoke below the hearing level of the two villagers. “I believe this woman is the late scribe’s daughter. Find the priest’s book of names. I want you to verify whether or not she has a legal claim to his lands—but don’t let the Alders know what you’re looking for.”

  Again, the young woman in his arms looked up at him, wonder and confusion in her stare. She shivered after a moment, looking away. The day wasn’t yet warm enough to dry her clothes, but Kodan didn’t think it was that cold. Nodding, Manolo let his own mare lag by a few paces, giving them a semblance of privacy.

  The scribe’s daughter frowned up at him. “Why . . . ?”

  Her voice caught the attention of the Alder, who glanced over his shoulder. Kodan shook his head, silencing her. She squirmed a little in his grip; belatedly, he realized she was slipping off his lap and shifted his squeeze to a scoop, hitching her higher. She squirmed again, no doubt prodded by the saddlehorn, then settled in place without further fuss.

  Relieved, Kodan held her a little more gently, though he didn’t relax his vigil. This woman, whatever her name was, belonged with her own kind. His people, not these river-dwellers. Of all the wealth he had secured for his warband and the Family Tiger this year, she would be the richest.

  He was not about to let this particular prize get away.

  The Shifterai kept a hand on Tava even after they dismounted and entered the Aldehall. She wanted to bolt, but those fingers, their warmth radiating through the damp, baggy brown linen of her sleeve, were a tangible warning that she wouldn’t get far right now. Her father had stressed over and over that it wasn’t a good idea for her to reveal her shapeshifting abilities to anyone else in Five Springs. Even now, exposure could bring her far more problems than using her abilities might solve.

  Of course, the reason was that the Alders would have exiled her to the Plains for being a shapeshifter, and here she was, about to be sold off to the shapeshifters in exchange for eradicating bandits who were already dead . . . but as much as the situation was ironic, the fact that these Shifterai were trying to dupe the Aldeman and his cronies pleased her in a twisted-about way. Aldeman Tronnen is trying to trick me out of my land, and these Shifterai are trying to trick him out of his money . . . the River flows and does eventually level all the hills and valleys in the land . . .

  Alder Bludod hobbled off to blow the summoning horn. The man holding her arm, Kodan, ordered one of his fellow warriors to fetch some scraps of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from one of the wagons they had brought with them. When the youth came back with the requested materials, half of the village Alders had gathered in the hall, and more were entering, filling the room with the babble of their voices, most of them praising the warband’s presence in their midst and discussing the threat posed by the bandits that had slain their scribe.

  With visible reluctance, Aldeman Tronnen gestured curtly for Tava to take her place at the scribe’s table, where the writing supplies had been settled. The leader of the warband released her, but he did follow her to the table, ensuring she couldn’t slip out one of the side doors in the bench-lined hall.

  Settling onto the stool behind the small table, Tava squared the pieces of parchment, examined the cut of the quill to make sure it would make an acceptable nib, and tested the ink in the small, tightly corked bottle. Then she set everything down and stretched out her hand, palm up. About to begin speaking, the Aldeman paused mid-breath, frowning at her.

  “. . . What are you doing, girl? Write this down!”

  “Twelve scepterai, please.” Only the force of habit, and a certain stubborn pride in her work, kept both her tone and her words polite.

  Aldeman Tronnen wasn’t the only one in the hall to choke. The other Alders, most of them graybeards, spluttered and muttered among themselves, frowning in disapproval at the still-damp girl sitting patiently in their midst. The Aldeman scowled at her, hands going to his hips.

  “Twelve scepterai? You expect us to pay you, let alone that much?”

  “I am the only scribe you have,” Tava replied, keeping her voice calm, her words implacable. “These Shifterai want a written contract. You cannot read nor write, nor can anyone else in this village read and write well enough to make up a contract . . . and twelve scepterai is the price for writing a contract. Coin first, contract after—do not think you can force me to write,” she added quickly, smoothly, as his fingers clenched into fists. “The only person in this village who can read besides myself is the priest . . . but he doesn’t write well enough to scribe a contract, and he certainly doesn’t read well enough to be able to know what extra clauses I might put into this contract, if you try to beat me into submission. You might end up with a contract giving away your land, if you tried.

  “Twelve scepterai, for an honest contract. No more, no less. Of course, you can always do your best to convince these Shifterai to accept a verbal contract . . .” she offered, letting her voice trail into the quiet that filled the hall.

  As she hoped—though she still wasn’t sure of his motives—the warband leader, Kodan, folded his arms across his chest. “We want a written contract.”

  “Then you pay her,” Tronnen ordered the warband leader.

  Tava kept her hand out, shifting her attention to the younger man. “Twenty scepterai, for a written contract.”

  “You just said it was twelve!” the warleader protested, unfolding his arms.

  “Twelve for my fellow Mornai. Twenty for outlanders.”

  Again, the Alders whispered among themselves, but with less scowling than before; her altered demand had amused the men of Five Springs, despite her unwomanly boldness. Tava waited, palm up on the writing desk. To her relief, the dark-haired Shifterai merely looked amused, not offended; he curled up the corner of his mouth as he studied her.

  Digging into a pouch at his waist, he pulled out a small gold coin, worth far more than the score of copper she had requested. Holding it over her palm, he leaned close and murmured, “I—like most of my fellow Shifterai—can read and write well enough to follow a contract. You will earn this money honestly, with a fair and true accounting of our business transaction.”

  Closing her fingers around the small but heavy coin, Tava waited until he backed away. Tucking the precious money into her belt pouch, she picked up the quill, ready to dip it into the inkwell and begin scribing the terms of their agreement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the older Shifterai handing something to their dark-haired leader. Not just something, but the priest’s book.

  She couldn’t pay closer attention to their actions, however, because Aldeman Tronnen had already begun his rambling, pompous version of a business discussion. That forced her to concentrate, so she could pick out the key points and write them on one of the scraps of parchment as a list of things to either include or discard from the coming agreement. Pompous windbag . . . if he’d get off of the topic of how grateful Five Springs is for these beasts’ presence, we could actually get this over with so I can plot how I’m going to make my escape . . .

  Behind her and to her left, the warleader muttered something to his men, gesturing briefly. Three of them separated from the rest, each one coming up to her side, stooping over her shoulder, and inhaling deeply. Sniffing her. Disconcerted, Tava edged away as much as she could, given her seated position. They didn’t touch her, but they did sniff at her, deeply, audibly. No doubt they were getting a noseful of mud fr
om her still-wet skirts, but she worried that they were smelling something different about her.

  Even the village Aldeman thought their actions strange. Breaking off his speech, he eyed the trio of Shifterai warily. “. . . What are you doing?”

  A flick of Kodan’s hand dismissed the three collared men. They nodded and jogged out of the Aldehall without uttering a word. The warleader hooked his thumbs into his belt and smiled. “Surveying our payment, of course. Longwinded preambles of your thanks and appreciation can be saved for afterward. They do not belong in a contract negotiation. You have a problem, a group of renegades and outlaws to the south of Five Springs. These bandits have slain your scribe . . . Vanamon, yes?”

  “His name was Varamon,” Tava interjected, speaking firmly. “Varamon Vel Tith. My father.”

  “Silence, girl!” Tronnen ordered her. “Yes, Varamon was slain by some bandits; the girl brought his body home just a few days ago. We want you to eradicate them, so they will endanger no other travelers.”

  “So . . . if we have slain these bandits, you will pay us an agreed-upon sum, correct?” Kodan asked. The Aldeman nodded impatiently, flipping his hand. The warlord glanced around at the Alders seated on their benches, who nodded in turn, agreeing with their elected leader. Kodan nodded as well. “Good. Write this down, scribe:

  “The Aldeman of Five Springs, with the acceptance of his fellow Alders, agrees to pay the South Paw Warband of Clan Cat, Family Tiger, after the slaughter of the criminals responsible for the death of the scribe Varamon Vel Tith, who was accosted by them on the roads south of Five Springs. This payment shall be rendered by the villagers of Five Springs upon Truth Stone-clarified proof that the South Paw Warband of Family Tiger has indeed slain the bandits responsible for the death of said scribe. Said payment shall be as follows . . .”

  “Pardon, but we need to fetch a Truth Stone first,” Tronnen interjected, cutting him off as the younger man paused for breath. “The one we had at the Aldehall faltered and cracked a turning of Sister Moon ago, and we have not yet bothered to replace it. Varamon owned two; he would have carried one with him, but the other should still be at his home.”