Fire and Sword

Chapter 10

A thin layer of snow had settled across the grasslands around the High Sooq. Cattle licked the snow for water and then ate the yellowed grass underneath. Their breaths filled the shallow valley with clouds of steam. Above all the sun shone, distant and weak, but a welcoming sight in the cold, empty blue sky. Lynan sat in the saddle, trying not to grin as he looked out over the strength and wealth of the combined clans.

I belong to them, he thought.

It had been some time now since he had last felt the inhuman rage and yearning that had visited him in the autumn or experienced any terrible nightmares about Silona and her forest, and he could enjoy the day now that the temperature had dropped. For the first time since fleeing the Strangers’ Sooq he felt whole and entirely his own.

With a twinge of guilt he remembered the way he had treated Kumul, but it reminded him he was entirely his own in another way, too. He now made the decisions that affected his future. He had grown up, he realized, and was proud of it.

And with that came new responsibilities. Kumul and Ager had taught him that his decisions affected more than himself; as a prince, his thoughts and actions determined what happened to his followers. In a strange way, the realization reinforced his confidence; he had been right to come to the High Sooq, but he understood that did not mean Kumul had been completely wrong. Ultimately, his future— and the future of his followers—would be determined in the east. That is where he had to look.

Two things I need. An army and the will to use it.

He thought he had the second, and now it was time to go about achieving the first.

Two riders approached, intruding on his isolation. He wished them away, but they came on anyway. He soon recognized Korigan, but it was not until they were much closer that he identified the second. It was the young Terin, chief of the Rain clan and close ally of Korigan. He remembered then he had mentioned to Korigan he wanted to meet with Terin, but had not meant this very morning.

“Korigan said you wanted to see me, your Majesty,” Terin said, a little breathlessly. Lynan, forgetting his own youth, could not help thinking Terin was far too young to be a clan chief.

Lynan opened his mouth to ask him not to call him “your Majesty” but changed his mind. He had asked Korigan and Gudon the same thing, several times, but it made no difference. “Thank you for coming,” he said instead.

Terin looked surprised, as if Lynan requesting his presence was an order he must carry out without hesitation and required no thanks. The idea unsettled Lynan.

“Last night Eynon asked you if your clan had any contact with the mercenaries.”

“That’s right, your Majesty. To the best of my knowledge, no one in my clan has had any such contact.”

“Have you noticed any strange happenings across the border? Any movements of troops or other military activity.”

Terin frowned in thought. “No...” He stopped. “Although in autumn we lost two outriders who were patrolling that part of our territory.”

“What happened to them?” Lynan asked.

Terin shrugged. “Every clan loses some outriders to wolves or a startled boar karak. I sent troops out to find them, but they came back with nothing, not even their mounts.”

“Is it rare to lose the horses as well as the riders?”

“It happens, but not often. The mares know how to find their way back to the clan.”

“They may have seen something,” Korigan suggested.

“Possibly.”

“What do you want me to do?” Terin asked.

“How soon before your clan can safely leave the High Sooq?”

“Not for another two months, your Majesty, but if you order us to go, we will leave tomorrow ...”

“No. I will not place your clan in danger.”

Terin simply nodded, but the look of relief on his face was obvious. “I can send out small troops, though. They can take extra horses with supplies.”

“What do you have in mind?” Korigan asked Lynan.

“I need to know what’s happening on the border. I need to know whether or not the mercenaries are planning to raid into the Oceans of Grass. If they are, and they are going to make their move in spring, there will be some sign of it.”

“My riders can do that,” Terin said. “They know that region better than anyone, and if they know what to look out for, they will not be caught by surprise.”

“They are not to start a fight,” Lynan said quickly. “I need information.”

“What if an opportunity arises to capture a prisoner?” Korigan asked.

“Good, if they can do so without alarming the enemy.”

“They can, your Majesty,” Terin said with confidence.

“Can they leave tomorrow?”

Terin grinned, making himself look almost childlike. “I will send two troops out today. They will be on the border in a week.”

Lynan could not help grinning back. The young chief’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Thank you, Terin.”

Terin bowed his head, wheeled his horse, and galloped back to his camp.

Korigan kneed her horse closer to Lynan’s. “What are you planning?”

“Planning? Nothing at the moment. I have no idea what the mercenaries are intending, if indeed they are intending anything at all. But I think the sooner we give the Chetts something to worry about, the sooner they will unite behind your banner.”

“They will unite behind you whatever may come,” Korigan said confidently.

Lynan shook his head. “No. The surprise we pulled at last night’s meeting will wear off soon, and some of the those chiefs who are opposed to you will realize there is no danger in opposing me. I have brought no army with me and the affairs of the east are not important to them.”

Korigan thought about Lynan’s words, and nodded. “You may be right. But Terin’s troops may not return with information for several weeks, if they return with anything.”

“Then we must keep the clans busy.”

“How? They are already busy with winter.”

“Then they must be kept even busier,” Lynan said. “We must train them. We must make an army.”

It was rare for the two circles to be called twice in one winter, but none of the chiefs refused Lynan’s request. It was held soon after dawn, and the first circle gathered eagerly around the central fire to warm themselves.

When Herita called Lynan to speak, he immediately declared his intention.

“The mercenaries pose a real threat to the Chetts. Many of you will remember what they did to your clans before the Slaver War. We must stop those times from coming back. The only way to do this is to ride against the mercenaries before they ride against us.”

No voices were raised in disagreement, and there were even a few cheers.

“For a Chett army to operate effectively, it will have to be trained to fight as one.”

His words were met with a stupefied silence.

“Trained?” Akota asked after a while. “Us? Trained to fight?”

“Yes,” Lynan said evenly.

“But we are the Chetts,” she said, obviously confused by the notion. “We are trained as warriors as soon as we are old enough to ride, and that is before we are old enough to walk.”

“Nevertheless, to fight against the mercenaries, to fight in the east, you will need training, and to fight against Areava, if she is directing mercenaries against you, you will need training.”

Akota looked as if she was about to continue, but shook her head. Instead, another chief stood up.

“My name is Katan, and I am chief of the Ocean clan.”

Herita glanced at Lynan, and he nodded for Katan to continue.

“What exactly can anyone from the east teach us about fighting?”

There was a general murmur of agreement from the gathered Chetts.

Lynan smiled slightly. “No one doubts the worth of the Chetts when it comes to courage, and to skill with bow and saber. I do not think anyone on the continent of Theare could teach the Chetts anything in that regard.”

“Then what training are you talking about?”

“Great fighters do not necessarily make great soldiers.”

“They are just words,” Katan said derisively.

“They are more than words,” Kumul said, stepping forward to stand beside Lynan. “I have seen what happens when a trained army fights an untrained rabble. It is always a massacre. No fighter, no matter now brave or skilled in the individual use of weapons, can match a trained soldier.”

Katan puffed out his chest. “I can prove otherwise.”

Lynan regarded him for a moment, then said: “Very well. What do you suggest?”

“My fighting skill against the best soldier from the east. I challenge Kumul Alarn.”

The members of both circles gave an approving roar.

“I accept,” Kumul said. There was another roar of approval. Kumul held his head high and pulled back his shoulders, his hand on his sword. Lynan felt suddenly small next to the giant. Even Katan wilted a little, but he did not recall the challenge.

Lynan waited until the noise subsided and said: “No.”

Kumul gaped at him. “Lad, who else—?”

“Ager.”

Ager shuffled forward to stand by Lynan’s other side. He was grinning like an amiable dolt.

“This is foolishness!” Katan blustered. “Defeating your crookback would prove nothing!”

“On the other hand, if my crookback was to defeat you, it would prove everything.” He put his arm around Ager’s shoulder. “Captain Parmer was trained as a soldier, not simply as a fighter. He fought during the Slaver War as a commander in the Kendra Spears. In a battle, I would trust him with my life.”

“Do you revoke your challenge, Katan?” Herita said loudly enough for both circles to hear.

“No,” the chief grumbled.

Herita turned to Ager. “You are challenged, Ager Parmer. What weapon?”

“Katan can fight with any weapon he chooses,” Ager said offhandedly. He patted the saber by his side. “I will fight with this.”

“As will I,” Katan agreed.

The first circle widened to make space for the combatants.

“And the rules?” Herita asked the two combatants.

“I would not have this to the death,” Lynan said. Both Katan and Ager agreed.

“The first to lose his weapon?” Herita suggested.

“The first to draw blood,” Katan said.

Herita looked at Ager, and he nodded. “Very well. The first to draw blood. If either is killed accidentally, the other will pay full five cattle to the dead man’s family, including a bull not older than four years.”

“I will pay for Ager,” Korigan said from the second ring.

Ager grinned his thanks to the queen, and drew his saber. Katan, still obviously unhappy at being involved in such an unfair fight, drew his own. The two men stood ten paces apart.

“Start,” Herita said.

Katan immediately charged forward, whirling his saber in the air above his head. Instead of retreating from the attack, Ager ducked and lunged forward. The blades snickered and Katan’s saber was suddenly flying through the air. It landed in the ground point first, vibrating like a reed.

“Just as well we’re going to first blood,” Ager said lightly.

Katan cursed loudly, retrieved the saber and again advanced on the crookback, but more cautiously than before.

For every step Katan took forward, Ager took one back. Lynan watched with amused understanding, having himself dueled with the captain.

Katan lunged with exasperation. Ager easily deflected the blade, then took one step closer, half-lunged, and scraped the edge of his sabre along Katan’s arm, opening a long cut. Katan roared and retreated, clutching his sword arm with his free hand; blood seeped between his fingers.

“And that’s that,” Ager said with mild satisfaction, sheathing his weapon.

“The duel is over,” Herita announced. “Captain Ager Parmer was victorious. Katan of the Ocean clan is defeated.”

Lynan spoke to both circles. “No one doubts Katan’s courage or skill. But all of you must now see how Ager’s training—despite his crookback and one eye—gave him the advantage.”

“You would all train us to fight like the crookback?” came a voice from the second circle. “Like a beetle scuttling under the grass?”

There was some laughter, but most of the Chetts remained silent; they knew Ager had more than proved himself in a fair fight.

“In hand-to-hand combat on foot, none of us could do worse than fight like Ager,” Lynan replied without anger. “But Kumul will also train some of you to fight like cavalry.”

“No disrespect to Kumul Alarn,” Akota said, “but we are already horse warriors.”

“And that will be a great advantage to the army,” Lynan said equably. “But Kumul will train those selected as shock cavalry.”

“We will lose our mobility,” another Chett from the second circle said.

“Well trained cavalry never loses its mobility,” Kumul countered.

Eynon stood up, and Herita nodded to him to speak. “How large will this army be?”

“At first, each clan will give ten of its warriors,” Lynan said. “Those ten will help to train ten others, and so on until each clan has given the equivalent of one of its horns to the army. That will leave more than enough for each clan to protect its families and cattle.”

“And who will command it?” Eynon demanded. “Korigan?”

“I will not command it,” Korigan said. “Lynan Rosetheme will.”

“But you will ride with it.”

“I will, Eynon, but so may you if that is your wish.”

“In what role?” Eynon asked. “I will not be reduced to an outrider.” There was a rumble of agreement from the other members of the first circle.

Lynan went to Eynon and stared up into his scarred face. “No good commander would waste such an experienced leader as yourself.”

Eynon turned his eyes away. The prince’s hard, snow-white skin sent a shiver down his spine. “As it should be,” he said quickly.

Herita waited for any other chiefs who wished to speak, but none stood to claim the right.

“It seems you will have your army,” Herita said to Lynan.

Jenrosa could not believe the heat put out by the small stone furnaces. The High Sooq was covered in several fingers of snow, but in this part of the village the snow melted even before it reached the ground. She watched Chetts stripped to the waist raking carbon beds, pumping small, horn-shaped bellows, taking out red-hot cups filled with molten steel, and pouring them into molds. Ever since the two circles had agreed with Lynan to create an army, the clans had been busy casting new weapons—sabers, spear heads, and arrow points, including a new spear head and sword according to designs specified by Kumul and Ager.

She had been to the large foundry in Kendra, controlled by the Theurgia of Fire, and though their construction was impressive, the heat it produced was nowhere near as intense as that produced by these primitive Chett furnaces.

She noticed a Chett who crouched near the furnace mouth but seemed to take no part in the activity around her. Her face and throat and small breasts glimmered with sweat, and her eyes were shut tight in concentration. Jenrosa watched more closely, and saw the Chett’s lips moving.

She is a magicker, Jenrosa thought with surprise. She knew the Chetts had shamans, practitioners of magic looked down upon by the masters of the Theurgia, but this woman was more than a mere shaman, Jenrosa was sure.

Just then Jenrosa was politely hustled out of the way by two men pulling a hand-drawn cart. They quickly unloaded empty molds by the furnace, then loaded up again with filled ones. They left, panting with the effort of pulling so much weight. Jenrosa returned to her position to watch the Chett magicker, but there was a man there now, his lips moving in a silent chant. Jenrosa looked up, saw the first magicker standing to one side and stretching her muscles. The woman glanced around and saw Jenrosa staring at her.

“It is hot work,” she said, smiling.

“You were performing magic,” Jenrosa said.

“Oh, yes,” the woman said, and walked over to where there was some snow. She picked up handfuls of it and rubbed them over her face and chest.

Jenrosa approached her diffidently. “I did not know any of the Chett could do that.”

The woman looked at her strangely. “Why should we not be able to?”

“You have no Theurgia.”

The woman nodded genially. “Truth. Does that matter?”

Jenrosa did not know what to say. She had always believed that magic occurred because the Theurgia existed to organize and practice it; magic could not exist without the combined weight of knowledge accrued—painstakingly slowly—over centuries. Anything else was illusion or simple shamanism, that minor magic that could be gathered from the natural world.

The woman looked around for her shirt and poncho and quickly dressed, and then, before Jenrosa could react, reached out for Jenrosa’s hands and studied each carefully. “Ah, I see you have some ability.”

“I was only a student.”

The woman looked surprised. “I sense a great deal more than that.” She looked carefully at Jenrosa’s face, her large brown eyes gentle, unblinking. “Truth, I sense something very great in you.”

Without knowing why, Jenrosa admitted: “I can work magic across disciplines.”

“Disciplines?”

“I was able to perform magic from several theurgia: fire, air, water ...”

“This was special?”

“Yes. In Kendra.”

The woman laughed and shook her head. “Not on the Oceans of Grass. Imagine learning to crawl, but not to walk or run or climb. This is a mystery to me.”

“Are you a teacher?”

The woman shrugged. “Lasthear is many things,” she said. “I am rider, warrior, mother, magicker and sometimes, only sometimes, a teacher.”

“Are there many like you?” Jenrosa asked, surprised.

“Every clan has at least one magicker; some have two or more. I am a good one, many will tell you, but no Truespeaker.”

“A Truespeaker? Like Gudon’s mother?”

“Gudon of Korigan’s clan?” Jenrosa nodded. “Yes, she was the Chetts’ last Truespeaker. Alas, a Truespeaker is rare, maybe one every two or three generations among all the Chett. They are honored by every clan. Gudon’s mother taught me when I was young. Since she died, none have come to claim her place.”

“Lasthear, could you teach me?”

It was Lasthear’s turn to be surprised. “I would like to teach you, but you are with Korigan.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“I am Ocean clan. It would not be proper for me to teach you. You should find a magicker in the White Wolf clan.”

“But the Truespeaker taught you, and she was of the White Wolf clan.”

“The Truespeaker belongs to no clan, no matter which one she is born into.”

“Oh.”

“I know there are good magickers riding with Korigan,” Lasthear said.

“I have two, in fact,” said a voice behind them. Jenrosa turned to see Korigan herself. For a moment she could not help feeling envious of the queen’s noble and athletic frame, not to mention her beautiful Chett face.

“The weapon-making goes well,” Lasthear said.

“I can see,” the queen said, but did not seem interested in what was happening at the furnace. She joined them, smiling easily at Jenrosa. “Could we talk?”

“Of course.”

“You must excuse me,” Lasthear said diplomatically. “I am tired and must rest before it is my turn again to sing to the fire.”

Korigan nodded and Lasthear withdrew. Jenrosa looked after her with some regret. She wished they could have continued their discussion.

Korigan put an arm through Jenrosa’s and started walking toward the lake. The still blue waters seemed like the sky turned upside down, and the reflections of clouds scudded across its surface.

“What is it you wish to talk about?” Jenrosa asked.

Korigan hesitated, then said: “About Lynan.”

“Lynan?”

“I think he has demonstrated a great deal of maturity for one so young.”

“You mean by agreeing with you on matters of strategy?”

“Perhaps,” Korigan said uneasily. “I was thinking more of the way he handled his responsibilities as a leader.”

“Essential qualities for a future king.”

Korigan stopped suddenly. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I don’t even understand you; how can I make fun of you?”

“My motives are clear enough.”

“Are they? I know you want Lynan to be king of Grenda Lear. But why should you risk the whole of the Chett nation on such an unlikely horse? The Oceans of Grass are practically inviolate.”

“They weren’t once. You are too young to remember the Slaver War.”

“You’ve banded together since then. The mercenaries aren’t a threat to your people.”

“You underestimate the ability of the mercenary captains to learn and adapt just as we have.”

Jenrosa nodded, conceding the point. “But this is about more than Rendle and his ilk, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“This is about you and your crown.”

“I cannot pretended that Lynan has not made my position among my people more secure.”

“But it isn’t enough, is it?”

“Not for the Chetts. Ever since we came under the sway of the throne of Grenda Lear over a hundred years ago, we have paid obeisance to distant monarchs. It has cost us nothing. Now it may cost us a great deal.”

“Because you support Lynan?”

“Of course, but there are other factors. If Grenda Lear is unstable, then Haxus may try and bring us under its influence, and its king sits much closer to our territory. Or what if Hume secedes from the kingdom? Where can they expand? Not south into Chandra—Kendra would never allow that. North into Haxus? No, they are too small, and would fall to Haxus instead. They can only expand west, into the Oceans of Grass.”

“But why push Lynan to be king?”

“Because I know that Hume is pushing the throne for increased trade benefits. Now that Areava needs all the support she can get, she is likely to give way to those demands.”

“What has that to do with Lynan?”

“Hume can only increase its trade two ways. The first is at the expense of those trading rights given to its greatest rival, Chandra. Areava won’t do that because she also needs King Tomar’s support.”

“What’s the second way?”

“Areava can give Hume control over the Algonka Pass, the only link between the east and west of this continent for most of its length. As far as anyone in the east is concerned, ownership of the pass would give Hume symbolic control over the Oceans of Grass.”

And suddenly Jenrosa understood. “But King Lynan would support you against Hume.”

Korigan nodded. “We don’t want possession of the pass. We want it to remain a free caravan route, belonging to no king or queen. That way trade continues to flourish between east and west.”

“For someone isolated in the Oceans of Grass, you have a very good grasp of kingdom politics.”

“Don’t make Kumul’s mistake of thinking we are nothing but nomad barbarians.” Jenrosa opened her mouth to object, but Korigan held up her hand to stop her. “You know it is true. I can see it in everything Kumul says, in the way he looks at me and other Chetts. Most in the east look down on us as being little more than herders and horse warriors and potential slaves; Kumul may be more generous than that, but we are still barbarians to him.

“We may not have great cities or palaces, Jenrosa, but that does not mean we are stupid and ignorant.”

“No. No it does not.”

“I see you have some influence with Kumul.”

Jenrosa looked up sharply. “Meaning?”

“You and Kumul are more than friends.”

“Have you been spying on me?” Jenrosa demanded.

Korigan smiled ruefully. “You are in my kingdom now, Jenrosa Alucar. Nothing happens here without my knowing about it. But I did not spy on you. Your relationship with Kumul of the Red Shields is common knowledge among my people. Although I cannot say if Lynan is aware of it, I think not.”

“It is none of your business.”

“In and of itself, no. But I am concerned what effect it might have on Lynan if he learns that you and Kumul are in love with each other.”

Jenrosa blushed, making her sandy hair stand out even more than it usually did among the Chetts. “Who said anything about love?”

“I will speak of it if you won’t. I don’t think Lynan is in love with you, but am I right in suggesting he once thought he was in love with you?”

“That’s something you should ask him.”

“But I’m asking you.”

“Perhaps he once thought that.”

“The fact that he may no longer think that will not stop him being jealous of Kumul. Losing love is one thing, but losing it to another is a hard blow.”

“I can’t change the way Kumul and I have ... grown ... to feel about each other.”

“Will you tell Lynan, then?”

Jenrosa moved away from Korigan. “I told you, this is no one else’s business.”

“I wish it were so,” Korigan called after her, but Jenrosa did not answer.

Away from the lake village, real winter had hold. Cattle huddled together, their heads bowed against the cold southerlies. A band of ten mounted Chetts huddled in the lee of a shallow hill wishing they were back in their huts or around one of the hundreds of campfires. They were from different clans and did not talk to each other. Kumul stayed apart from them, seemingly impervious to the weather.

“You have no armor to speak of,” he was saying to them. “What you call spears are nothing more than javelins. Your horses are well trained but don’t ride well close together. You’re not cavalry.”

Some of the Chetts looked defiantly at him.

“I repeat, you are not cavalry.” Kumul bit the words out. “You see that single arrow tree three hundred paces north?”

The Chetts looked over their shoulders. One or two nodded.

“Take your mounts there and back here.”

“Is that all?” one of the Chetts asked.

“Keep them to a walk.”

Six minutes later the group were back, still cold. Their mounts looked even less happy.

“Now do it again, at a fast walk.”

A little less than six minutes later they were back again.

While the Chetts looked as miserable as ever, and even more confused, the horses seemed more aware of the world around them.

“Now do the distance at a trot. When you get back, do it at a canter, then a gallop.”

By the time they had finished the three runs, both mounts and riders were warmer; the exercise had also piqued their interest.

“Again,” Kumul told them. “At a fast walk. Line abreast, and no more than three paces between each of you.”

This time, Kumul watched them carefully. He had never seen anyone sit on a horse more naturally than a Chett, and the bond between a Chett and his mare seemed almost telepathic to him, but Chetts rode together with less discipline and grace.

“You had trouble keeping the distance close,” he told them when they got back.

“It got crowded,” one of the Chetts said.

“Get used to it. This time keep the same distance, but move at a trot.”

The result was even more disorganized. Kumul made them do it at a fast walk again, and this time the mares and riders managed to reach the arrow tree in something like a dressed line. He then told them to do it at the canter. A mess.

“Now again, but slow to a trot.”

Better, and by now the Chetts were getting the idea behind the changing pace and constant distance. Their mounts were getting used to working close to other horses.

“Let’s try it at a gallop!” one of the Chetts said excitedly.

“Not yet,” Kumul said firmly. “That’s enough for the day.”

“But we’re just getting started!” the same Chett complained.

Kumul could not help grinning at them. He liked their enthusiasm. He knew they would need it in the days and weeks to come.

“I said that was enough for the day. Back here tomorrow, same time.”

The Chetts nodded and drifted away.

“Now the saber is an interesting weapon,” Ager said, “and useful from the back of a horse. But when you’re on foot, there are better weapons.”

The group of Chetts gathered before him watched and listened with keen interest. As with Kumul’s group, they were from more than one clan. News of the crookback’s victory over Katan had spread like a grass fire, and they wanted to learn how he did it. They were also curious about what was inside the sack he was carrying.

“But Chetts do not fight on foot,” one of them said.

“Not yet,” Ager said under his breath, then out loud: “The lessons you learn from me will be useful if you fight standing, riding, crouching, or crawling.” He pointed to the Chett who had spoken. “What’s your name?”

“Orlma.”

“Come here, Orlma.”

The Chett looked nervously at his fellows but did as asked. Ager dropped his sack and pulled out two wooden swords, one shaped like a saber and the other shorter and broader in comparison.

“The short sword,” Ager said, and the Chetts heard something like reverence in his voice.

“This is heavier than any saber I’ve ever used,” Orlma said, hefting the dummy weapon.

“And by the time I’ve finished training all of you, your own sabers will feel as light as a feather. Attack me.”

The Chett grinned. “I will not make the same mistake that Katan made, Captain Crookback.”

“Glad to hear it. Now attack me.”

Orlma moved forward cautiously, his saber held slightly above waist level, its tip raised slightly. He expected his opponent to retreat before his longer reach, but instead Ager waited with what seemed like boredom. ‘“Get on with it, will you?”

The Chett scowled and raised the saber above his head to slash down, but before he could do anything more he felt the hard tip of Ager’s weapon punch him in the chest and he fell back on his rump. He could not believe the one-eyed crook-back, who usually moved with evident difficulty and lack of grace, could move so fast.

“Again!” Ager ordered. The Chett scrambled to his feet, held out his saber again, and waited to see if Ager would advance. He did. Seeing his chance, Orlma turned his wrist and swept the saber inward, aiming for the crookback’s stomach. Ager retreated half a step, letting the saber whistle past, then lunged, catching his opponent on the chest again.

“I will figure out how you do that,” Orlma said, picking himself off the ground for a second time.

“No need,” Ager told him. “I’ll tell you. Stand as you were before.”

The Chett did so. Ager stood within striking distance of him. “Could either of us miss at this distance?” he asked the other Chetts. They all shook their head. “Slowly, start your attack,” he told his opponent. Orlma swung his arm back, and Ager simply jabbed forward so the point of the short sword rested over the Chett’s heart.

“My enemy has to make two moves with his saber to strike me,” Ager told his audience. “I only have to make one. This is the advantage of a stabbing weapon over a slashing weapon.”

“But when you beat Katan, you were using a saber,” one of the Chetts pointed out.

“That’s because I know how to fight on foot, and Katan doesn’t. If you only have a saber or cutlass, keep your movements as small as possible. It’s not necessary to cut off your enemy’s head to kill him. Severing an artery will do the job as well, and almost as quickly. More importantly, it isn’t necessary to kill your enemies to win a battle; you can put them out of action and kill them later. Draw your sabers.” Ager inspected three of the swords. “Just as I thought. You whet them on the same plane.”

“It is the only way to make them properly sharp,” Orlma said.

Ager drew his own saber and invited Orlma to feel its edge.

“It is rough.”

Ager pulled a short branch from his sack and laid it over two rocks. “Cut it with your saber,” he told Orlma.

The Chett swung as high as possible and slashed down. His blade sank deep into the branch. He tugged and pulled at the weapon to free it, then held up the branch to show the others how deep he had cut. “If that was an enemy’s body, it would have sliced through his kidneys!” he boasted.

Ager grinned. “How true. Put it back.”

Ager now slashed down with his own saber. The blade did not cut nearly as deep, but it came out of the wood without effort and the cut it left behind was wide and jagged. He held up the branch. “If this had been an enemy’s body, it would have destroyed more than his kidneys. A wound like this cannot be repaired, and my saber comes out easily.”

There was an astonished murmur from his audience.

“I want you to go now and make a wooden saber and a wooden short sword for yourselves. Have them done by tomorrow, and we’ll start your training.”

After the evening meal Lynan stepped back from the campfire and his circle of friends. He found himself more at peace when alone, something which confused him. He had grown up alone, Kumul’s careful guardianship a light and sometimes forbiddingly remote presence, but during their flight from Kendra to the Oceans of Grass he had learned to rely on the steady companionship and protection of Kumul and Ager, Jenrosa and Gudon. He still cared for them all dearly, but increasingly felt the need to set himself apart, to keep some distance between his new life and his old.

The firelight reflected off his hard, pale skin, and he traced a blue vein on one arm with a finger. He felt a pulse and ridiculously felt relief. He knew he was no vampire, but he also knew instinctively that he was no longer entirely human. He wondered how much of his new-found confidence—his changed nature—was due to Silona’s blood. He wanted to be a creature of his own making, based on his own experiences and learning, but could not shake the thought that something of Silona’s single-mindedness and grim need for isolation had been transferred to him.

He watched his companions, crouching for warmth around the fire. Gudon was smiling, head bowed next to Ager’s. The two had become firm friends, and Lynan could see some similarity in their spirits, a combination of cynicism about and acceptance of the way the world was ordered. Next to Ager was Korigan, someone Lynan felt was as torn as he between two natures. Not much older than he, she was already wise in the ways of a monarch. In her was a fierce determination that frightened him a little, but was also something he now recognized in himself. Then there was Jenrosa, who still seemed beautiful to him despite her familiarity. She never snapped at him anymore, nor made fun of him in front of the others. When she looked at him, he saw sadness in her eyes, and guilt at what her actions in saving his life had made him become. He did not know how to tell her that she had done right, and it occurred to him that he did not yet know himself whether in fact she had done right. And beside Jenrosa was Kumul, father-not-father, guardian and bully, adviser and old war horse. There was a tension between them now, and it saddened Lynan.

As Lynan watched, he saw Kumul and Jenrosa hold hands. The contact was brief, but sudden awareness hit him like a blow to the stomach. He stopped breathing.

No. It isn’t possible.

The two quickly glanced at each other, a joining as brief and intimate as their holding hands.

Lynan turned from the fire and walked into the night.

“We have some of the new swords you asked to be made,” Gudon told Ager. “Only a handful so far.”

“Already?” Ager was surprised. The forges had only been working for three days.

“We would have had them yesterday, but the first mold cracked.”

“Can I see them?”

“Of course. We must go to the village.”

The two made their excuses and left. Ager gathered his poncho around him as the warmth of the fire receded. He looked with envy at Gudon, striding along as if it was a balmy summer afternoon. He did not think the cold was something he would ever get used to. His breath frosted in the night air and he had to hurry to keep up with the Chett. Their feet crunching on brittle grass was the only sound except for the distant lowing of the cattle.

They passed between arrow trees, catching glimpses of other campfires. Ager could not see anyone else, but could somehow feel the weight of the thousands of Chetts that surrounded them.

There must be as many people here as there are in the cities of Sparro or Daavis, he thought, but they may as well be ghosts.

As he drew closer to the village, he could hear the sound of the furnace and hammer, of fiery steel hissing as it was poured into molds. Mechanical sounds, and out of place here on the Oceans of Grass. Up ahead he saw the yellow glimmer of molten metal and the angry red of hot coals.

Gudon directed him to a hut before they reached the furnaces. New weapons were stacked neatly against wooden frames. He saw his short swords and eagerly picked up one by its tang.

“When will they be finished?”

“Soon. We are using bone for the hilt, and leather and sinew to finish the grip. What do you think?”

“Hard to tell before the grip’s finished, but the weight feels right.” Ager took it out of the hut and held it up so he could study it under moonlight. The blade was unpolished, and seemed flat and dull. “They need some work, but I think they’ll be fine.”

“If we’d had more time, we would have forged them, but to get the numbers you want we had to use molds.”

Ager grunted. Still holding the tang, he placed the sword point on a large rock and stepped on the blade. The point skidded across the rock, sending sparks into the air. “It’s strong.” He whacked the edge of the blade against the rock and heard a satisfying thwang. “The blade is not brittle at all. This is good work.” He replaced the unfinished sword in the hut.

“Let’s get back to the fire. I’m freezing.”

Gudon grinned at him. “You will have time to get used to it.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I hope not.”

They were halfway back when Gudon stopped. He frowned and cocked his head as if listening for something.

“What’s wrong?” Ager asked.

“Something is not right.”

“What exactly?”

“I don’t—”

Before he could finish, three dark shapes rose from the darkness around them. Ager saw moonlight glimmer off steel. Without shout or cry, their attackers were upon them. Ager had time to draw his saber, but it was knocked out of his hand before he could raise it. He threw himself forward against the legs of his closest assailant and they went down together. Ager clawed for his enemy’s face, found something soft, and gouged as hard as he could. A woman screamed. He rolled off the body and felt on the ground for his sword. He heard a blade whistling through the air and rolled again, heard it bite into the ground where his head had just been. He lashed out with his foot and kicked the sword away, then scrambled to his feet. A fist whacked into his ear. He shouted in pain, ducked, and charged forward, but his attacker had moved and he stumbled back to the ground. He turned onto his back in time to see a dark silhouette looming above him, a sword raised high. Then the figure jerked and fell, and Ager saw Gudon whirl away to meet the surviving attackers.

Cursing, Ager got to his feet for the second time, retrieved the fallen enemy’s sword, and joined Gudon. The pair split apart, forcing the attackers in different directions. The moon swung behind Ager and he gasped in surprised.

“Katan!” he hissed. The Chett tried to retreat, but Ager was furious and redoubled his efforts. Their blades struck sparks into the night. Ager lunged, lunged again, trying to use the point, but Katan was too quick and had learned something from their first bout in front of the two circles. Ager parried a swipe at his neck, crossed his right leg over his left and swung a full circle. He hard Katan’s sword swish past his ear. The edge of his saber sank into the Chett’s flank and shuddered when it hit the rib cage. Katan moaned, his eyes looked up in surprise, and he fell in a heap.

Ager spun around and saw Gudon wiping his blade on the poncho of the dead woman at his feet.

“It was Katan,” Ager said, pointing at the chief’s corpse.

“Katan’s wife,” Gudon said. Together they went to the first enemy Gudon had slain.

“Katan’s son?” Ager asked.

Gudon nodded. “Neither father nor son were that good with the saber. The woman was very good. Better than me.”

“How did you beat her?”

Gudon grunted. “She was bleeding from one eye.”

“Ah.” Ager threw down his borrowed saber and found his own. “Who do you think they were after? You for supporting Korigan, or me for humiliating Katan in front of the two circles?”

“Or was Katan working to whittle away some of Korigan and Lynan’s support?”

“On his own initiative?”

Gudon shrugged. “No way to tell. Were you hurt?”

“My ear’s numb and I hear bells inside my head.”

“At least you’re not hearing air whistle through a cut throat.”

Other Chetts appeared, carrying torches. In a short time they were surrounded by a small crowd.

“We should move on in case others from the Ocean clan make an appearance and decide to take their revenge,” Gudon said in a low voice.

They soon left the crowd behind. “If Katan was after us to weaken Lynan’s position,” Ager said, “and Katan was only one among however many disgruntled chiefs, then they could try and kill Lynan himself.”

“Truth.”

“He needs a bodyguard.”

“Truth.”

“And a bodyguard needs a captain. Someone who knows how Chetts think. Someone who will choose only the most loyal warriors.”

Gudon considered the suggestion. “Do you have an ideas?”

“I’m sure something will come to you,” Ager said, and then: “I don’t think you’ll have to look far.”