“I cannot believe you are saying this,” Kumul said. “You are a Chett; no one understands the importance of mobility more than the Chetts.”
Korigan nodded. “That is true. But you insist on thinking about the coming struggle as a military problem. It is more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Prince Lynan has my full support in his struggle. My people have a great respect for the one who holds the Key of Union, and also a great respect for the son of Elynd Chisal.” She looked up at Kumul then. “And also for the famed captain of Elynd Chisal’s Red Shields. But my support will be meaningless if the northern Chetts do not, in turn, support me.”
“But you are their queen!” Ager protested. Korigan and Gudon glanced at each other. Ager did not like the meaning he read in that. “You are their queen, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Gudon said, “she is definitely our queen.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Kumul demanded.
“My cousin is queen in name only.” Gudon spread his wiry arms to encompass the whole camp. “All these Chetts belong to her clan, the White Wolf clan, and would follow Korigan even across the Sea Between if she asked them. But the northern Chetts are made up of many clans, and not all of those would be as keen to follow her.”
“The truth is that some of the leaders of those clans would be queen or king in my place,” Korigan added.
“But your father united them.”
“My father united them against their will. We had a common cause back then: the defeat of the slavers. Once your General had defeated them, some of the clans believed there was no longer any need for the Chetts to have a monarch.”
“But the threat hasn’t gone,” Kumul said urgently. “Prado and Rendle are back.”
“Those clan leaders most opposed to me will not take my word for that. They would suppose I was lying to remain their queen.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“That we move to the High Sooq for winter. The clans gather there to trade and arrange marriages. Since my father’s time, it is also where the monarch consults with the other clan leaders. Last year there was a move against me, but most of the clans would prefer me—someone they believe is naive and bendable to their will—than one of the current clan heads.”
“And truth, that’s our problem,” Gudon said. “If you want to raise an army of Chetts, you’ll need more than our clan. But if Korigan tried to raise the other clans, they will have more reason to depose her.”
“The solution’s simple—and obvious,” Kumul said flatly. “We stay here in the east, watching the Algonka Pass and carrying out raids on our enemies. Word will spread to the clans eventually and they’ll join our cause.”
“Kumul, how many years do you have?” Korigan asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean how long do you have before Grenda Lear will not care whether or not Lynan is alive or dead, forgotten, or reinstated? If they have ten years of peace and prosperity under their new queen, what chance have you of pressing Lynan’s claims against those who murdered Berayma? For it will take ten years to gather an army the way you propose.”
“And what do you suggest we do? From what you have said, the clans would rather depose you than follow you into war.”
“We all go to the High Sooq. I try to rally them, but if they waver, Lynan will be our key. They will believe him.”
“Would he be in any danger there?” Kumul asked.
“No one would harm the son of Elynd Chisal,” she said.
“Not even if it means getting rid of you?”
Korigan stared at him levelly but said nothing.
“Then I say again, our solution is simple. We stay here. We carry out raids. We send out messengers to the other clans, gifts, booty, anything we need to do to make them rally to our cause.”
“You do not understand the Chetts. Gifts and booty are well and fine, but they do not feed our cattle, they do not bring rain to the Oceans of Grass, they do not control the seasons. We need a cause, and Lynan can give them that cause.”
“You mean Lynan can secure your throne for you,” Kumul said sharply. Even as he said the words, he knew he had overstepped the mark. There was a sudden and cool silence around the fire.
“Kumul, that was unnecessary,” Ager said softly.
Kumul nodded. “Ager is right. My apologies, your Highness. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Better it had been left unsaid,” Gudon agreed.
“But Kumul is right,” Korigan said. “I do need Lynan to secure my throne.” Her gaze never left Kumul. “But do you not need my support to secure Lynan on the throne of Grenda Lear?”
Lynan had feigned exhaustion and retreated to his tent soon after dark. He needed to be alone. He tried to think about his future, about what needed to be done to return to Kendra, to reinstate Kumul as constable, Ager as captain, Jenrosa as student magicker, and himself as a prince of the realm. Most of all, he tried to think about what needed to be done to revenge Berayma’s murder.
Had Areava been a part of the plot? He could not believe it of his half-sister. She had loved Berayma, and anyway would never have done anything to betray Usharna’s last command. But how else could the murderers have hoped to pull off regicide? Neither Orkid nor Dejanus, who had performed the deed, could hope to ascend to the throne themselves. They needed one of Usharna’s children to succeed to the crown, but they had killed Berayma and tried to kill Lynan, and he did not think for one minute they would try to place Olio on the throne. That left Areava. Did she really believe Orkid and Dejanus’ claim that Lynan had murdered his own brother? Or had she been a member of the conspiracy from the very beginning?
Hard as he tried, he could not see his way through it. Something else was occupying his mind. At times just a flash—the exultation he felt when he snapped the neck of the grass wolf—and at other times it was as if he was reliving the whole hunt.
He did not know what happened to him today. He remembered the rage filling his whole being when Gudon’s life was in danger, as hot and great as a summer storm. He remembered spurring his horse out of the protective group and leaping off it to grapple with the wolf. But he did not know how any of this had happened. And he did not know where his great strength had come from.
He swung his feet off his cot and stood up. The plain gold circle of the Key of Union dangled from its heavy chain around his neck. When he looked outside of his tent, he saw a few fires burning, some with people gathered around. He could also see the shape of the grasslands gently rolling away from the hill on which they were camped. Far away, he could make out clumps of trees. Gudon had called them arrow trees. Lynan could even see individual leaves as sharp and deadly as the weapon they were named after. While he could barely squint in the daylight, at night his vision was as good as a hawk’s. He stepped outside. Nearby was a large boulder. He bent over and tried to pick it up. It would not budge. He might as well have tried to move the world. Whatever strength he had during the fight with the wolf was gone now. He was just plain Lynan again.
Moonlight reflected off his the pale skin of his hand. Not quite plain old Lynan anymore, he thought. Or ever again. He did not fully understand what he had become, but the callow, frightened, and often self-righteous boy who had fled Kendra was no more.
Suddenly he was alert.
He looked around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. What had captured his attention?
He pricked his ears, but heard only the sound of snuffling horses, a few snoring Chetts, the indistinct mumble of close conversation, the crackling of the fires. He could smell the fire smoke, too, and the horses’ hides. And he could smell something else.
That was it. That smell. He slowly turned on his heels. There, to the northwest. He knew that smell, had come across it only recently. Karak. He drew in air through his nose. One karak, he was certain.