Wonderful. Where’s Gudon when I need him?
He looked around for other support, but there was no one else in sight. He glanced down at his wooden sword; his own saber was in his tent. With his crooked back he could never run away from them. He breathed deeply and walked straight up to them.
“I’m tired,” he told them gruffly. “Get out of my way, please.”
The young woman stepped forward; a long scar ran down her cheek. “This won’t take long, Ager Crookback.”
Ager nodded. “Who’s first, then? Or is it all of you at the same time?” He hefted the wooden sword in his hand. Its weight gave him some comfort. If he connected with a head or two before he was skewered, he might survive the confrontation.
The woman looked at him strangely. “We don’t understand.”
“You’re going to kill me. Let’s not twaddle around.”
“Kill you? Why?”
“For slaying your chief, his wife, and his son. Pretty good reasons in clan politics, I daresay.”
The woman’s expression changed as she understood. She laughed suddenly, the sound warm and lively. She was pretty, and the scar added something mysterious to her beauty rather than detracting from it. Ager did not want to kill her. “We have come to pay you allegiance.”
“It is to Korigan you should be paying your allegiance.”
“You do not understand. She is our queen. You are our chief.”
Ager blinked at them. “I am not a Chett.”
“You defeated our chief in combat. His wife and child were killed with him. There is no one left of his immediate family. Katan killed his own brother when he was only fourteen to make sure he had no rivals within the clan. You are our chief now.”
“I see,” he said, not really seeing at all. The Chetts stared at him impassively. “Is there some kind of ceremony?” he asked and, uninvited, the thought of ritual scarring or circumcision popped into his head.
The woman shook her head. “You became our chief the moment you killed Katan. No one has risen to challenge you.”
“What if I don’t want to be a chief?”
“There is nothing you can do about it,” the woman said flatly.
“I see,” he repeated. For a moment longer the five of them stood in front of his tent. Ager shuffled his weight to another foot. “I have to rest now,” he said.
“Of course,” the woman said, and the group started walking away.
Ager suddenly realized he had no idea what was expected of him in his new position. “Wait,” Ager said. The group stopped and looked back at him. “What’s your name?” he asked the young woman.
“Morfast,” she said.
“I will come and see you tonight,” he said to the group.
Morfast nodded, and the group left.
For a while longer Ager stood there, bewildered, then shook his head and entered his tent.
Jenrosa’s head was resting against Kumul’s chest. She could hear his heartbeat, and in some way being that close to him was more intimate than their lovemaking. His right hand coiled and uncoiled her hair, his left hand stroked her arm. It seemed strange to her they could share this moment of peace and solitude in the middle of the High Sooq, their tent surrounded by the tents of thousands of others.
“I think the training went well today,” Kumul said after a while. “I have never seen a people so accustomed to being on horseback, but I thought discipline would be a problem. I was wrong.”
Jenrosa said nothing. She did not want to talk about the preparations for war.
“Have you found someone to take on your magic training?” he asked.
“No. There is no Truespeaker among the clans right now.”
“But the White Wolf clan has magickers.”
“I haven’t talked to Korigan about it.” She did not mention that after their last encounter she did not want to talk to Korigan at all.
For a moment they fell silent again, then Kumul asked: “Have you talked with Lynan recently?”
“No. You?”
“No. But I should. He must know that we... that you and I...”
“Are lovers,” she finished for him. Why did he hesitate? “Do you think that’s wise?”
“What do you mean?”
“How will he take it?”
“He is our prince. He has a right to know.”
“He has no such right,” Jenrosa said firmly. “I don’t remember lovers reporting to the queen in Kendra. Why should we do as much for Lynan?”
“It isn’t the same.”
“Because he was interested in me?”
“No.” Kumul sat up.
Jenrosa disentangled herself from his arms and sighed deeply. Their peace and solitude was gone. Lynan might as well have been standing in front of them.
“Because I owe it to him,” Kumul went on. “I did not understand how much he had grown up since his exile, and it caused a breach between us. I tried to keep information from him. That was wrong.” He rubbed his temples with the fingers of one hand. He went on in a quieter voice. “He has changed too much. Is still changing. He needs our support more than ever, or who knows what may become of him.”
“Our love for each other is not a matter of state. It is our business.”
“He is not just our prince,” Kumul said gently, and put his arm around her.
“No. He is your son.” And I am partly responsible for turning him into what he now is. Lynan the White Wolf. Silona’s Lynan. She could not stop a shudder from passing through her. She half expected Kumul to edge away, but instead he pulled her even closer.
“Yes. Ever since his father died, he has been my son.”
A cold finger seemed to trace its way along her spine. The words had sounded more like a premonition than a confession, and she could not help the feeling of dread that settled in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that nothing was different.
Korigan could not sleep. The future loomed before her like a dark wall; she stood on the brink of great victory or great disaster, and she could not tell which. The fact that it was a future of her own making made her situation ironic but did not change it. Ever since her father had died she had struggled to secure her throne, and when Gudon’s message had reached her from the Strangers’ Sooq all those months ago she had known immediately she had a way to do it. Gudon saving Lynan’s life and bringing him west with him had been a gift from the gods, and she had used the gift to best effect. But the cost...
She shook her head. There were no choices anymore. She had put her people behind Lynan, and now they must go where Lynan led them. It was a further irony that she secured her own throne by so demonstrably placing it under the will of an outlaw prince. If Lynan lost, Korigan knew her people might suffer terrible retribution at the hands of Areava, and yet if Lynan won the crown of Grenda Lear, his control over the Chetts risked making her own authority obsolete.
Unless she could make events follow a third path, and therein lay the greatest risk of all. It was not a matter of choice anymore; it was a matter of riding over the brink and hoping you were not falling into an abyss.
She felt incredibly older than her twenty-two years.
A lonely guard huddled against the cold directed Ager to Morfast’s tent. He called to her, and the flap was quickly unlaced. He ducked and entered.
“Thank you for seeing me,” he said. “I need to talk to you about...”
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized Morfast was standing in front of him completely naked. He could not help staring at her.
“... about this ... chief business ...”
Morfast said nothing. She tried to look relaxed, but Ager could see she was as tense as the string on a drawn bow. Ager looked away.
“Aren’t you cold?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said testily.
Ager rubbed his nose. “Then why aren’t you dressed?”