Most striking of all were the leaders of the party, two women. One was a strapping blonde with waist-length hair. The other was an equally towering creature with bobbed brown locks.
“We are Dom-shu. We come in peace from our chief, Voyarunta,” said the blonde woman.
From his place in the ranks, Tol grinned. Makaralonga had remembered to use his new name, the one with the double meaning.
She continued. “I am Kiya, eldest born of the chief, and this is my sister, Miya. We have come to make peace between the Dom-shu and the grasslanders of Juramona.”
Egrin rubbed his bearded jaw in puzzlement. He was quite in the dark.
“I will take you to Lord Enkian, marshal of the Eastern Hundred,” Egrin said. “He commands here.”
“What of the great lord Tol?” said the brunette giantess, Miya.
All eyes in the mounted guard turned toward Tol, and Egrin pointed him out.
“Greetings, husband!” Kiya exclaimed. “We are your new wives!”
There was perfect silence for the length of four heartbeats, then all the Ergothians (save the red-faced Tol) burst out laughing. The Dom-shu did not understand what amused the grasslanders so, but they were good-natured enough to join in the merriment.
Tol urged Smoke forward, halting him in front of the two female foresters. He decided not to dismount. The sight of them towering over him would only provoke more laughter.
“I asked for no wives,” he said sternly, when the hilarity subsided.
“It is the wish of our father, Chief Voyarunta,” said Miya. Her dark hair was cut shorter than Tol’s own, but her brown eyes were softer and her face more round than her sister’s.
“We were told the great lords of the grasslanders keep more than one wife,” Kiya added. “Is this not so?”
“Yes, but-”
“It would be a grave insult to the Dom-shu to refuse us,” warned Miya.
Egrin came to the flustered youth’s rescue. “The great lord Tol is overwhelmed by your chiefs offer,” he said. “Give him time to adjust to the magnitude of his good fortune. In the meantime, please be our honored guests in Juramona.”
The Dom-shu strode into town between two lines of riders. Their appearance drew crowds along the route to the High House. Solitary wanderers and traders were common in Juramona, but fierce tribesmen from the Great Green had never been seen here before.
Bringing up the rear of the little column, Egrin and Tol went over the situation in hushed tones.
“Don’t be hasty,” Egrin said. “If it brings peace to the frontier, accepting the Dom-shu’s offer seems a small price to pay.” He smiled. “Besides, what’s wrong with having a wife?”
Tol’s voice rose. “Two wives? I don’t want to get married!”
“Nonsense. It’s time you settled down with a wife… or two,” said Egrin, chuckling. More seriously, he added, “I was married when I was your age.”
Tol was so surprised he reined up. The warden never spoke about his past, and Tol had never dared question the older man.
“Really?” the boy said. “Where is she now?”
Egrin’s face was solemn. “Her soul went to the gods many years ago. That is past. What will you say to Marshal Enkian?”
Tol watched the last of the Dom-shu disappear around the curve of the street leading up to the marshal’s residence. He gave a helpless shrug. “What can I say?”
Enkian Tumult, Lord Mordirin, was descended from Mordirin Ackal, fifth emperor of Ergoth. That unfortunate autocrat had been dethroned by his wife, Empress Kanira, and imprisoned in the Imperial Palace for the rest of his days. The children of Mordirin Ackal were proscribed for a century. When civil war broke out between the Ackals and Pakins, the ruling clan needed all the allies of royal lineage they could muster, and so readmitted the Mordirins to the imperial fold. The Mordirin line no longer had any claim to the throne, but constituted a powerful and wealthy clan in their own right.
Enkian was the physical and temperamental opposite of the late marshal. Where Odovar had been hearty, impetuous, and harsh, Enkian was cool, calculating, and ascetic. Burly Odovar would have made two of Enkian, who was tall but lean, and, like Prince Amaltar, pale skinned and dark of hair and eye.
Enkian had the high forehead and sharp features of the Ackals, and an equally sharp and calculating mind. According to the wags in Juramona, Odovar had been twice the warrior Enkian was, but only half the ruler.
Enkian did not laugh when Tol’s so-called wives were presented. He thanked them sincerely and promised to hold a lengthy parlay on the subject of peace. Reassured, the Dom-shu allowed themselves to be ushered into another room, where their presence was celebrated with beer and many haunches of venison.
Alone with their liege, Egrin and Tol stiffly awaited the verdict on the Dom-shu. The marshal sat in a characteristic pose, fingers folded together under his chin as he considered the matter.
“The women will stay,” he said at last. When Tol looked distressed, he added, “Not as your wives, Master Tol. We’ll keep them as hostages to the Dom-shu’s future good behavior.”
Egrin bowed. “Wisely chosen, my lord.”
“You won’t imprison them, will you, my lord?” asked Tol.
“That wouldn’t be friendly, would it? No, they shall be guests of the Eastern Hundred, and provided suitable quarters. You shall live with them, Master Tol, and keep a close eye on them.”
Again the youth looked alarmed. “What if they expect me to be a husband to them?”
“Carry a sword at all times,” replied Enkian dryly. He did not smile at his own joke, but asked, “Can either of you fathom why the Dom-shu would choose this time to make peace? We invaded their land and executed their chief not two months past.”
Egrin said, “Perhaps that’s why, my lord. The foresters respect strength. Considering what’s happened, maybe they understand the empire must be dealt with, not opposed.”
He was referring to the severance of relations between Ergoth and Silvanost, which had come about once the elves’ scheme to arm the forest tribes became known. Trade between the two nations had been cut off, and Silvanesti prestige had suffered a grave reverse among all the nations of the west.
Enkian sat back in his chair thoughtfully. “You may be right, warden,” he said. “It seems the empire has much to thank you for, Master Tol. We must find a proper place for you in the ranks of the Great Horde. Have you considered what you would like to do?”
This very question had occupied Tol’s thoughts fully in the weeks since his return to Juramona. He had discussed his future with everyone close to him-Egrin, Felryn, Crake, Narren, even Pagas and old Lord Wanthred. He could ask for assignment to any spot in Ergoth, to any horde in the emperor’s service. Ambition required that he choose a position close to the seat of power in the capital, Daltigoth, or at least on a frontier where danger paved the road to fame. A picked band of warriors was hunting Morthur Dermount in the Great Green-joining them would put him squarely on the path to advancement in the empire.
He took a deep breath. “I wish to remain in Juramona, my lord. And”-he glanced sideways at Egrin-”I would like Durazen’s old command.”
Enkian was startled. “Why would you want command of the foot guards?”
“I learned in the forest a warrior’s worth lies not in how he arrives at a battle, but how he fights once there. I believe foot soldiers can fight and win as surely as any horsemen, my lord, given the right training and leadership.”