“Of course,” she admitted. “But it is time for his Majesty to take these risks.”
Kumul shook his head. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”
“Will you stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here?” Lynan said, but without anger. “What is your plan, Korigan?”
“Tonight’s meeting will be a test for me. If it ends in my favor, we announce your presence. If it does not, we keep you a secret; I will not risk your safety unnecessarily.”
“It won’t be a secret once the rest of your clan arrives,” Kumul said. “They will all be eager to tell their news.”
“News is the currency of such gatherings,” Gudon agreed.
“If the meeting goes badly for our cause, your Majesty,” Korigan said, “then I will give you an escort of a thousand warriors to take you back to the east of the Oceans of Grass. There you can follow Kumul’s plan, if you so wish, and I will join you when I may, or you can travel to some other part of the kingdom to find support among the people of Chandra or Hume.”
Lynan said nothing, but his heart felt truly heavy for the first time since recovering from his wounds at the end of summer. He knew if the Chetts did not support him, no one else would, even if they sympathized with his cause: Areava was the rightful queen of Grenda Lear, and none of the rulers among the eastern provinces would willingly stand for Lynan against her.
A hand rested on his arm, and he turned to see Ager looking at him. “Whatever happens, Lynan, your friends will stay with you.”
Lynan smiled then, and the weight in his heart eased. “We should go down,” he said lightly. “Let us see how the clans treat a queen.” He bowed a little to Korigan.
Korigan returned the gesture and matched his smile. “Or, indeed, a king,” she said.
On the way to the sooq they rode past three encampments. Lynan, Ager, and Kumul all stayed in the middle of the group, their hats pulled low over their faces. Jenrosa, who was not so differently shaped from the Chetts, and after spending most of the autumn on the plains not much lighter in color, happily rode on the edge, although she had to hide her long sandy hair under a wide-brimmed hat. She was fascinated by the patterns the clans used to decorate their tents and ponchos. There seemed to be no rule to the colors anyone used, but the designs themselves were unique to each clan.
Gudon was riding by her side. “This the Sun clan,” he told her. Their design was a bright yellow circle surrounded by white crooked rays, like lightning flashes. The motif was repeated everywhere within the clan, but with subtle differences: one tent had the motif on a blue field, another in the middle of a series of concentric circles.
“The Sun has long been an ally of the White Wolf,” Gudon continued, “since one enjoys the day and the other the night and they do not get in each other’s way. This next clan is a different matter.”
“Let me guess,” Jenrosa said, laughing. “The Owl clan.” There was no mistaking their motif.
“Yes, and like the White Wolf, a predator of the night. Its chief is Piktar, and he was an enemy of Korigan’s father. That animosity has been passed to my queen.”
Animosity or not, the Chetts inhabiting the camp seemed as interested in their passing as those of the Sun clan. “They don’t seem hostile,” she said.
“We are not at war,” Gudon explained. “And this is the High Sooq. There will be no fighting here. Indeed, it is not unheard of for young White Wolf warriors to take a husband or wife from the Owl clan.” As he said the words, he found time to smile and wave at a particularly lithe Chett riding by in the opposite direction, the owl design clearly blazoned on her poncho. She smiled and waved back.
“A Chett can marry anyone she wants?”
“Truth. A warrior can also choose which clan to ally herself with after marriage. Sometimes, to avoid disharmony, two warriors from different clans may marry and join a third, neutral clan.”
“I thought your clans were family based.”
“They still are, largely, but the clan tradition and history is more important than any bloodline.”
The last encampment they rode by had a design of three wavy lines. “The River clan?” Jenrosa suggested.
Gudon shook his head. “The Ocean clan.”
“The Oceans of Grass?”
“No.”
“That’s odd, isn’t it? Your people belong to the plains, not the sea.”
“Now, but our oldest stories are about the sea. We came from across the ocean may centuries ago.”
“Which ocean?”
“The Sea Between.”
“You come from the Far Kingdom?”
Gudon shrugged. “Who can tell what is truth or myth in the old stories? None of us is that wise.”
“Are they your clan’s enemy or ally?”
“Ally most recently. They were the first clan defeated by Korigan’s father in the war to unite all the clans under his leadership. They have been loyal ever since.”
Something in Gudon’s voice made Jenrosa wonder if he really believed the Ocean clan had ever been an ally, but before she could ask more questions they were riding between tall arrow trees, and their mares, who now could smell the water above the smell of the cattle filling the land around, picked up their pace. As they continued, the trees grew closer together, tall bushes filling any empty space. The trail became crisscrossed with the shadows of branches and leaves.
Their first glimpse of the sooq was a hint of azure glistening behind the vegetation. As they got closer, the arrow trees started thinning out, replaced by palms and ferns. Brightly colored birds scattered into the sky. Permanent, mud-brick homes started to appear, built like those Jenrosa had seen at the Strangers’ Sooq.
“Which clan owns the sooq?” she asked Gudon.
“No clan. Those who live here permanently are not like other Chetts. They do not keep their own cattle.”
“Then how do they make a living?”
“They receive a tithe from the clans who visit in winter and make some profit from trade. There is plenty of grass for their bread, and the trees here produce the most succulent fruit, and the lake is filled with fish. It is an easy life compared to that led by most Chetts.”
They reached the lake shore and dismounted. Suddenly they were surrounded by smiling children who took their reins and led the horses down to drink. Adults clustered around Korigan, most with clay platters laden with food. Jenrosa watched Korigan carefully take something small from each plate and eat it. As her hand touched a platter, its owner would briefly place her or his hand on top.
“They are greeting her in their way,” Gudon told Jenrosa. “By sharing their food, she is bound to protect them.”
“They do this with all the clan leaders?”
Gudon nodded. “This way no one is their enemy, and the clans know that no other clan can take the sooq and hold it against them in winter.”
When Korigan had finished, the locals started singing, a slow ululation that rose and descended in pitch like waves. “They seem very happy about it,” Jenrosa said.
“Truth, for one year came when Korigan’s father did not take the food.” Gudon’s voice had become grim.
“He took the sooq from these people?”
“Not as such, but by refusing to protect it, he was throwing a challenge to all those clans not allied to him, a challenge they could not ignore. In that winter was the greatest and most terrible battle in our civil war. Many warriors fell.”
“What happened?”
“Korigan’s father became king,” Gudon said simply.
“So anyone opposed to Korigan could do the same thing?”
“Only if they had the support of enough clans.”
The singing stopped, and one among the locals, a woman slightly bent with age and with hair as gray as smoke, came forward, her hands extended in greeting. Korigan took them in her own. The two spoke a few words to each other, which Jenrosa was too far away to hear, and then went arm-in-arm to one of the houses and disappeared inside. The locals started to disperse. Korigan’s own followers split up into small groups, most of which sat on the ground or went to the lake’s edge to look out over the water. Jenrosa and Gudon were joined by Lynan, Kumul, Ager, and Makon.