“For some time, I hunted with the men and sported with their slaves, yet even in sport I wondered as to my purpose in being there. Time spent with slaves is most amusing, but surely that could not have been the reason for my presence.” The other males chuckled at this, though he called uncle did not join their amusement. Again his gaze came to me, then was it quickly withdrawn. I lay within the furs, listening to Ceralt’s tale, awaiting the time I might work toward my release.
“And then a thing occurred which was most unexpected,” continued Ceralt, his light-eyed gaze sliding to me. “I and my hunting party of some twenty men were taken captive by females, large, armed females who called themselves warriors and bore arms as though they were men.”
Lialt joined the other males in exclamations of surprise and incredulity, yet Ceralt did not allow an interruption. “These females,” said he above their voices, “were led by one called Jalav, a wench of great beauty and ability, one who had never known the restraint of a man’s wishes. Wild and untutored was she, a true child of savages; she stood nearly the height of a man, was possessed of black hair and eyes, did not deign to cover her large and tempting breasts, and had been born beneath the sign of the hadat.”
No sound now came from the males, yet the eyes of one and all rested upon me in something much like shock. Lialt alone was sober of face, as though he knew the meaning of Ceralt’s words, yet the others continued to stare in shock.
“Aye,” said Ceralt, nodding as his eyes fixed upon me. “In such a way were we told of a wench who would toil with us to save our people, and though the Snows spoke of her many and many a kalod ago, still do we all easily recall the admonition that we must seek her, for she would not seek us. At once, I knew the wench for what she must be, and determined to return her to our village so that the wish of the Snows might be fulfilled, yet the deciding and the doing were not accomplished with equal ease. ”
The eyes of the males returned to Ceralt as he sighed and shifted about. “The wench,” said he, “was not one who might be expected to obey the wishes of others. She was first and unchallenged among her wenches, and though I succeeded in securing her as a slave, still was there much difficulty with her. At last, she and her wenches were brought to the city of Ranistard, a city which had lost most of its women, and there I attempted to civilize her so that she might have an easier time of adjustment in our village. This attempt, too, was a failure, for she insisted upon incurring the wrath of the High Seat of Ranistard, a man with little understanding of the manner in which a wench should be disciplined. Galiose and I disagreed as to how she was to be treated, I was ejected from Ranistard, and the wench was lashed.”
A familiar hardness and coldness had entered the tone of Ceralt, and those males who looked upon him did so with discomfort. Lialt studied the floor beneath his folded legs, not caring to lift his gaze, and all was silent as the males awaited the continuing of Ceralt’s words. Ceralt took a breath to banish the anger which had held him, and then he continued.
“I was determined to retrieve the wench,” said he, “from the rubble of Ranistard if necessary, yet arrival at the woods near the city showed that the wench had effected her own escape, though not as successfully as one would have wished. Not only had she been lashed to the bone by Galiose, but she had also been set upon by enemy savage wenches, who had touched her many times with their spears. Lialt felt she would die of her wounds, though she did not, and we both feel that her survival is but another indication that she is indeed the one the Snows have spoken of. As I am the one who was sent to fetch her to us, I also feel that the wench was meant for me. As soon as she is well, I shall draw her from the circle of choice, and no man may come between us save at the peril of his life.”
Again was the hardness in Ceralt’s voice, and those before him made no denial of his words. He called Uncle also sat in silence, yet the stiffness of his shoulders spoke well of his anger. He was not pleased with that which he had heard, and it took but a moment for him to find a basis for argument.
“That the wench is the one spoken of by the Snows may well be,” said he, his voice giving the statement no support. “However, I find difficulty in understanding your other contention, Ceralt. Surely it was the High Rider of our village, not a man called Ceralt, who was sent to fetch the girl. Why, then, do you assume that she is to be yours? Perhaps she was meant for another, such as Lialt, our Pathfinder, or Hamiral, my son, who is first among your riders. That it was you who brought her to us proves little.”
“On the contrary, Uncle,” replied Ceralt, holding the attention of the other male. “My having brought her must be proof to all that it is my intention to keep her. I determined that she would be mine when first I saw her, and will allow none to deny me. She is not to be Lialt’s or Hamiral’s, but mine! Are my words clear to you?”
He called Uncle once again fell to anger, yet this time his anger was not contained. “And what of my daughter Famira?” he demanded in a shout, one fist held up before his darkened face. “It was she you were to draw from the circle, not some draggled she-savage! Is she now to be shamed in such a way, discarded before being claimed? Have you no honor?”
“Honor!” echoed Ceralt, rage claiming him as well. “And when, Uncle, was it my announced intention that I would smile upon Famira? The announcement and hope were yours, thinking to see the son of your daughter in the place your own son could not claim! Famira does not tempt me, nor would I have chosen her merely to quiet your insolent tongue! Famira will be chosen by another one, hopefully, who possesses much leather to use upon her! Then might she prove a fitting mate!”
Wordless with outrage, he called Uncle rose to his feet and stormed from the room, causing the door to fall closed behind him with much of a thunder. Ceralt and Lialt and the other males watched him gone, then he called Garrim took a deep breath and chuckled somewhat.
“I, for one, do not regret your words to him, Ceralt,” said he. “He presumes upon his position as your mother’s brother, and such does not sit well with any of us. Perhaps he thought respect for his age would keep him free of your wrath.”
“I do not respect age,” said Ceralt, settling himself in comfort once again. “It is wisdom I respect, Garrim, and only now do I feel that I am in the presence of wisdom. Do my Elders wish to question their High Rider?”
The males before Ceralt looked upon one another soberly, each considering the question put to them, yet it was Garrim who continued to speak.
“As I see it,” said he, “the matter before us is not who the wench shall belong to, but rather to ascertain as thoroughly as possible if she be the one the Snows have spoken of. Are we agreed?”
The others nodded and murmured, no sign of dissention among them, all pleased that Garrim spoke for them. The male was tall and dark, thinner than the others, yet possessed of a dignity that was not lost upon one who saw him. Some gray appeared in his hair, as it did in the hair of the others, yet was his gaze steady rather than infirm. Ceralt nodded in approval of their decision, and smiled warmly.
“Wisdom might ever be counted upon to seek the heart of the matter,” said he. “If it is your wish to speak to the wench, please do so.”