“No,” said I, a contempt entering me to match Rilas’. “Sigurr fears I will lead our warriors in attack against the city his males dwell in, therefore are we to know naught of the city till I and a small band of our warriors are led there by those Sigurri now held captive within Bellinard. Once Bellinard is ours, the Sigurri may be freed.”
“I see there is much set to our hands,” Rilas mused, sipping at the daru she held, her gaze distant from the tent. “The city of Bellinard must be taken and held, yet these males termed Sigurri must not be slain. What will occur should the Bellinard males use the Sigurri males to battle against us?”
Rilas seemed vexed at the thought, and it came to me how little she knew of the doings of males.
“The Sigurri will not be used so,” I informed her, knowing I spoke the truth. “They are now held as slaves by the Bellinard males, and slaves are not given weapons with which they may free themselves. Do you forget that I, too, was held slave in Bellinard?”
“Indeed had I forgotten,” smiled Rilas, a smile of revenge in the offing. “Should those who wronged you survive our attack, their disposition must certainly be yours.”
“I shall allow none to deny me the pleasure,” I smiled in return, setting the daru pot down so that I might stretch at ease upon the leather. “There are those in Bellinard, both male and female, who shall find my wrath to be no small thing. Should they survive they will regret their survival, for I mean to show them mercy.”
Rilas began to reply, then swallowed the words, knowing in some manner that I did not wish to speak of mercy. Mercy was a doing of males, far more cruel than any manner of torture conceived of by Midanna. With the black leather of the tent floor comfortably beneath my back and legs, I allowed the weariness deep within my flesh to flow free. There were many things I had learned among males, yet few would find approval among Midanna. When the city was mine, I would see with what approval the males themselves faced them.
“If you hunger, I would share Mida’s bounty with you,” said Rilas, and then her finger came to the scar still easily visible upon my thigh. “This mark and the others like it—the thought came earlier that you had perhaps walked the lines for enemies, yet, surely this cannot be. You have long been absent from the lands of Midanna, and, most importantly, you continue to live.”
My flesh twinged to the touch of her finger, my mind returning to the fey I had acquired the scars. I had escaped over the wall of Ranistard the darkness previous, weak with pain and lack of sustenance, seeking no more than my freedom from the capture of males. Then had I met a small band of Silla, two hands of warriors and one who stood as war leader among them, who had also escaped from the city. To keep from being struck down like a herd beast, I had walked the lines for them, passing each warrior and her spear in an attempt to reach the sword at the end of the lines. The toll taken by the spears had been too heavy, and I had been unable to reach the sword stood so enticingly before me. Wrapped in pain, covering the ground with streams of lifeblood, I had fallen short of the sword, unable to rise again, unable to avenge myself.
“Indeed did I walk the lines for enemy Midanna,” I growled, forcing my eyes to the tent roof to keep from sending my lust for vengeance toward the Keeper. “Had Mida not intervened I would now be naught save picked bones, yellowing in the light of the fey, that or crippled beyond hope. It has long been my wish to one fey meet those faith again.”
“May Mida hear your prayer and smile upon you,” said Rilas, a soft understanding to her tone. Her hand came to me where I lay and touched my shoulder, then she rose easily to her feet to go to the tent entrance. Clearly did I hear her call for provender so that we might feed, yet I felt no urge to rise from my back in anticipation of what might be brought. Once again was I among Midanna, once again was it possible for Jalav to rest secure among her own. Rilas returned to seat herself once more yet my eyes had closed and did not care to open. The air was fresh and clean, the tent was dim, the fey was early, and I had been upon the trail since before the new light. When Rilas did not soon speak again, another spoke in her place and I slept.
When I awoke there was provender awaiting me, that and freshly brewed daru. Rilas had already fed, yet she sat in silence the while I fed, observing the proper manner in which one partakes of Mida’s bounty. She sat cross-legged, as did I, finding her long though slit clan covering no hindrance to the position. When at last I had finished the cut of parvan, she watched a moment as I sipped at my daru, then spoke.
“I would now speak of the greatest change about you,” said she, her expression carefully hooded. “For many kalod have I seen the carving which was your life sign, hanging upon its leather between your breasts. I believe I know the lines of it as well as I know the lines of my own, yet those self-same lines now comprise other than that which was. What has been done to your life sign, Jalav, and what meaning does it hold?”
Her face, no longer youthful, seemed strained beneath the careful expression which hooded it. Her hand had crept to her own life sign, communing with it as I had often communed with mine, seeking a comfort her eyes denied her. Much did I wish I might give her such comfort, yet comfort was not for Midanna.
“My life sign has been touched by both Mida and Sigurr,” said I, finding an acceptance of sorts in the knowledge that naught might be done to change matters once more. “Its substance now resembles Mida’s Crystals, and within it roils Sigurr’s breath, a sign to his Sigurri that I ride in his name. I am to lead the Midanna to victory in Bellinard, then am I to seek out the Sigurri. All has been decided by the gods; you and I, mere mortals, have naught else to do save obey.”
Rilas’ light eyes came to my face, searching deeply for that which I had no knowledge of, finding naught of that which she sought. Long did she stare in earnest search, then her head shook briefly in negation.
“Truly have you become an instrument of the gods;” said she, “yet I find naught of concern within you. Do you not fear Mida’s wrath should you fail? Do you not fear disbelief on the part of others whose assistance and obedience you must have? Do you not wish freedom from these tasks, so that you might once again take up the life you previously led?”
My laugh was short and nearly bitter, and I rose to my feet to turn from Rilas toward the tent entrance.
“I shall not fail,” I informed her, my left hand to the hilt of the sword I wore, “therefore is there naught to fear from Mida. The belief of others is unnecessary to me; I require naught save their obedience. As to the life which once I led, think you one chosen by the gods will be allowed to return to so mundane an existence? Should I somehow find less success than is acceptable, my soul is forfeit; should I succeed in all tasks set to my hand, there will be other things required of me. To believe otherwise would be foolishness.”
A sound came, as of Rilas rising to her feet, and a moment later a strong, steady hand came to my shoulder.
“You are no longer the Jalav I once knew,” said she, and a pride of sorts was to be heard in her voice. “You show the strength and wisdom of one worthy of Mida’s blessing. There will be great glory in your doings before Mida gathers you to her bosom, and I am honored to be allowed to assist you. Will you walk about the camp with me, so that the others might see you?”
I stood a moment reflecting upon the glory Rilas spoke of, yet bitterness was idle under such circumstances. I nodded in reply to her request, feeling her gratitude in the squeeze of her hand before she withdrew it from my shoulder, and then we two left her tent.
The greened sunshine came through the trees, warming the camp through which we walked. Mida’s light was past its highest yet strong for all of that, adding to the new strength I felt within me. I had slept no more than two hind, yet the sleep had been a deep one, untroubled by thoughts of predators on the hunt and enemies stalking my trail. Many and many Midanna were about, each in her own clan color, a large number eager to approach Rilas and myself to ask of what occurred. We walked slowly as I explained that I had forsaken Hosta green till the Hosta might be freed of their bond, and murmurs of approval came from those who heard my words. For a Midanna to be bereft of her clan colors was a heavy burden, one no warrior took up without good cause. Many of the Hosta’s sister clans were eager to set about freeing them, finding disappointment in my assertion that such an act was not yet to be. That we were to take the city they camped near and then battle strangers from the depths of the unknown was something of a distraction for them, yet Midanna find it difficult abandoning their own, especially when their own are in need of assistance. They would do as Mida wished, yet the Hosta would not be forgotten.