Tarma in her costume of Kal'enedral created quite a stir -- but Kethry was a wonder, especially to the children. When they first approached the camp, Tarma signaled a sentry who had then ridden in ahead of them. As they got nearer, more and more adolescents and older children came out on their saddlebeasts, forming a polite but intensely curious escort. When they entered the camp itself, the youngest came running out to see the visitors, voluble and quite audible in their surprise at the sight of Kethry.
"She has grass-eyes!"
"And sunset-hair!"
"Mata, how come she's riding a mule? She doesn't look old or sick!"
"Is she Sworn, too? Then why is she wearing dust-colors?" That from a tiny girl in blazing scarlet and bright blue.
"Is she staying?" "Is she outClan?" "Is she from the magic place?"
Tarma swung down off Kessira and took in the mob of children with a mock-stern expression. "What is this clamor? Is this the behavior of Shin'a'in?"
The babble cut off abruptly, the children keeping complete silence.
"Better. Who will take my mare and my she'enedra's mule?"
One of the adolescents handed his reins to a friend and presented himself. "I will, Sworn One."
"My thanks," she said, giving him a slight bow. He returned a deeper bow, and took both animals as soon as Kethry had dismounted.
"Now, will someone bring us to the Elders?"
"No need," said a strong, vigorous voice from the rear of the crowd. "The Elders are here."
The gathering parted immediately to allow a collection of four Shin'a'in through. One was a woman of middle years, with a square (for a Shin'a'in) face, gray-threaded hair, and a look of determination about her. She wore bright harvest-gold breeches, soft, knee-high, fringed leather boots, a cream-colored shirt with embroidered sleeves, and a scarlet-andblack embroidered vest that laced closed in the front. By the headdress of two tiny antelope horns she wore, Kethry knew she was the Shaman of Liha'irden.
The second was a very old man, his face wrinkled so that his eyes twinkled from out of the depths of deep seams, his hair pure white. He wore blue felt boots, embroidered in green; dark blue breeches, a lighter blue shirt, and a bright green vest embroidered with a pattern to match the boots, but in blue. The purely ornamental riding crop he wore at his belt meant he was the Clan Chief. He was far from being feeble; he walked fully erect with never a hint of a limp or a stoop, and though his steps were slow, they were firm.
Third was a woman whose age lay somewhere between the Clan Chief and the Shaman. She wore scarlet; nothing but shades of red. That alone told Kethry that this was the woman in whose charge lay both the duties of warleader and of instructing the young in the use of arms.
Last was a young man in muted greens, who smiled widely on seeing Tarma. Kethry knew this one from Tarma's descriptions; he was Liha'irden's Healer and the fourth Elder.
"Either news travels on the wings of the birds, or you've had scouts out I didn't see," Tarma said, giving them the greeting of respect.
"In part, it did travel with birds. The Hawkbrothers told us of your return," the Healer said. "They gave us time enough to bring together a Council."
The crowd parted a second time to let five more people through, all elderly. Tarma raised one eyebrow in surprise.
"I had not expected to be met by a full Council," she said, cautiously. "And I find myself wondering if this is honor, or something else."
"Kal'enedra, I wish you to know that this was nothing of my doing," the Clan Chief of Liha'irden replied, his voice heavy with disapproval. "Nor will my vote be cast against you."
"Cast against me? Me? For why?" Tarma flushed, then blanched.
"Tale'sedrin is a dead Clan," one of the other five answered her, an old woman with a stubborn set to her mouth. "It only lacks a Council's pronouncement to make history what is already fact."
"I still live! And while I live, Tale'sedrin lives!"
"A Clan is more than a single individual, it is a living, growing thing," she replied, "You are Kal'enedral; you are barren seed by vow and by the Warrior's touch. How can Tale'sedrin be alive in you, when you cannot give it life?"
"Kal'enedra, Tarma, we have no wish to take from you what is yours by right of inheritance," the Warleader of Liha'irden said placatingly. "The herds, the goods, they are still yours. But the Children of the Hawk are no more; you are vowed to the Shin'a'in, not to any single Clan. Let the banner be buried with the rest of the dead."
"No!" Tarma's left hand closed convulsively on the hilt of her dagger, and her face was as white as marble. "Sooner than that I would die with them! Tale'sedrin lives!"
"It lives in me." Kethry laid one restraining hand on Tarma's left and then stepped between her and the Council. "I am she'enedra to the Sworn One -- does this not make me Shin'a'in also? I have taken no vows of celibacy; more, I am a White Winds sorceress, and by my arts I can prolong the period of my own fertility. Through me Tale'sedrin is a living, growing thing!"
"How do we know the bond is a true one?" One of the group of five, a wizened old man, asked querulously.
Kethry held up her right hand, palm out, and reached behind her to take Tarma's right by the wrist and display it as well. Both bore silvered, crescent-shaped scars.
"By the fact that She blessed it with Her own fire, it can be nothing but a true bond -- " Tarma began, finding her tongue again.
"Sheka!" the old man spat, interrupting her. "She says openly she is a sorceress. She could have produced a seeming sign -- could have tricked even you!"
"For what purpose?"
"To steal what outClan have always wanted; our battlesteeds!"
Tarma pulled her hand away from Kethry's and drew her sword at that venomous accusation.
"Kethry has saved my life; she has bled at my side to help me avenge Tale'sedrin," Tarma spat, holding her blade before her in both hands, taking a wide-legged, defensive stance. "How dare you doubt the word of Kal'enedral? She is my true she'enedra by a Goddess-blessed vow, and you will retract your damned lie or die on my blade!"
Whatever tragedy might have happened next was forestalled by the battle scream of a hawk high in the sky above Kethry. For some reason -- she never could afterward say why -- she flung up her arm as Tarma had to receive the hawk in the forest.
A second scream split the air, and a golden meteor plummeted down from the sun to land on Kethry's wrist. The vorcel-hawk was even larger than Moonsong's had been, and its talons bit into Kethry's arm as it flailed the air with its wings, mantling angrily at the Council. Pain raced up her arm and blood sprang out where the talons pierced her, for she had no vambrace such as Tarma wore. Blood was dying the sleeve of her robe a deep crimson, but Kethry had endured worse in her training as a sorceress. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and kept her wrist and arm steady.
The members of the Council -- with the exception of the Clan Chief, the Shaman and the Healer of Liha'irden -- stepped back an involuntary pace or two, murmuring.