Samtu laid a gentle hand on Karada’s arm. “Let’s find the Arkuden,” she said. “Maybe this is nothing more than a bad dream the girl had.”
“My brother is dead,” was the flat response. “She killed him.”
Pushed along by Samtu, Karada went with Pakito and two dozen nomads to the village. They found the streets filled with torch-bearing villagers. All of Yala-tene seemed to be awake.
Karada led them unerringly through the crowd, directly to Lyopi’s house. By the hearth, covered with an elk hide, lay Amero. Lyopi sat by his head, hands clasped to her lips. She looked up when Karada entered.
“Sensarku girl,” Lyopi said weakly. “When I asked who stabbed him, that’s what he said.”
Karada nodded. “It was the girl Mara. We have her.”
Lyopi turned away, looking back at her dead mate. Karada whirled and walked outside, unable to bear the sight of her brother’s still, slack face—the face that in life had always been so animated, so full of curiosity and vitality.
Spying the trail of blood outside the door, Karada followed it back to the Offertory. There was more blood there, and something else—a bronze dagger. She picked it up, hands shaking. She recognized the weapon; she’d taken it from Balif the night of his capture. It was the same one she’d let Mara keep after expelling her for her false accusation of Harak.
She ran back to Lyopi’s house through lanes filled with stunned, silent villagers. Outside the house, Mara was slumped on the ground between two angry-looking nomads. Karada stalked over. She lifted Mara by the front of her doeskin tunic until the girl’s toes barely touched the ground.
“No matter what happens, no matter what anyone else says or does, I’m going to kill you,” Karada said. All color drained from Mara’s face, leaving her freckles standing out starkly. She was speechless with terror.
Pakito came out of the house, and Karada thrust the bloody dagger at him. “Take this,” she commanded. “Keep it safe. It’s what she killed him with.” Pakito carefully put the weapon in his belt, then watched his chief warily, prepared to intervene should she try to harm Mara.
Karada noticed his scrutiny. Disgusted, she threw Mara at his feet. “Put her in Nacris’s old tent. Chain her so she can’t run away!”
Pakito gestured, and two nomads spirited Mara away.
Lyopi emerged, supported on Samtu’s arm. Tears ran down her cheeks. The breast of her tunic was soaked with them, but her grief was silent. She took Karada’s hands in hers.
“The dragon must be told,” she said, her voice harsh and low with anguish. “Who will tell him? Who will tell Duranix Amero is dead?”
Karada lifted eyes to the night sky, an unnatural chill raising gooseflesh on her arms. “Duranix already knows,” she replied.
21
Bahco led half a hundred nomads to the elves’ camp. By torchlight, the men ran among the sleeping Silvanesti, kicking them awake, then holding them at sword point. A few elves fought back, and a real battle might have broken out had not Balif intervened. His considerable presence managed to calm not only his own soldiers but Bahco’s angry men as well.
“What’s this about?” the elf lord demanded once some order had been restored.
“The Arkuden has been killed!” Bahco snapped, his sword still in his hand.
Balif’s eyes flickered with surprise and concern. “How did it happen?”
After giving Balif the few details he knew, Bahco ordered his men to search the Silvanesti baggage. Balif’s protests were overridden as the dark-skinned nomad asked, “Is it true? Did the Arkuden trade bows and arrows for the secret to making bronze?”
“I had no dealings of that kind with the Arkuden.”
At that moment, the searchers found the hidden bows.
“No dealings?” Bahco raged, shaking a bowstave under the elf lord’s nose. “Then what are these—tent stakes?”
Balif drew his robe and his dignity close around himself. “Take me to Karada. I will explain everything to her.”
The nomads mouthed ugly threats as Balif walked out with Bahco. The elf lord wanted reassurances they wouldn’t harm his elves. Though Bahco refused to make such a promise, he raised his voice for all to hear and said, “If your people behave, my men will not harm them.”
Balif surveyed his small, outnumbered troop. “Sit down,” he said severely. “Do nothing and say nothing until I return.” When they hesitated, he commanded, “Do as I say!”
One by one, the elves complied, sitting down on their bedrolls and closing their mouths into thin, stubborn lines.
Bahco, Balif, and the newly discovered bows went back to Yala-tene. Amid the weeping, wailing crowd outside Lyopi’s house, Bahco found his chief. She seemed unnaturally composed. Her icy demeanor alarmed Bahco.
“Mind what you say and do, elf,” he muttered. “She’s very angry!”
Balif stepped out in front of Bahco and bowed to Lyopi. “Lady,” he said solemnly, “my deepest condolences. The Arkuden was a great and wise man. What aid may I give you in this dire time?”
She looked up at him, tears standing in her shadowed eyes. “Amero was sick of war. Please, whatever the cause, do not fight here.” Lyopi said this as much for Karada’s benefit as Balif s.
Wordlessly, Bahco handed Karada the bows taken from the elves.
She looked at them and her strangely calm face seemed to grow even more still. “So, it’s true,” she said.
“No, it is not,” Balif insisted.
She struck him across the face with a bowstave. The tough fruitwood cracked loudly, and Balif was knocked to the ground. People in the sobbing crowd exclaimed, reminding Karada of Lyopi’s stricture against violence.
Balif stayed where he was. Ears ringing from the impact, he put a hand gingerly to his face. The skin wasn’t broken, but he would have a tremendous bruise there—if he lived so long.
“Is this how you repay my trust?” Karada shouted at him. “Stealing our weapons? Your treachery has cost my brother his life!” Her face had gone ashen by torchlight, the scars on her throat standing out lividly.
“I did not steal the bows,” Balif said clearly from his position on the ground. “Nor did I exchange bronze-making information for them with the Arkuden or anyone else. My soldiers bought the weapons from members of your band, Karada. They traded gold and bronze for them. Shall I name the nomads who bartered with us? Better yet, to satisfy yourself of the truth of what I say, examine your warriors. Ask the ones carrying gold and no bows if they have adequate answers for why their weapons are missing.”
Karada regarded him wordlessly for the space of three heartbeats, then she exploded into action. She drew her sword and whirled in a circle, howling and slashing at the air. Villagers scattered, and even her own people backed quickly out of reach. Balif was happy he was still on the ground.
“Is there no honor left in Karada’s band?” she cried when her frenzy abated.
Silence greeted her question, then Balif announced, “I’m going to stand.” He waited for her reaction, but she simply stood there shaking with rage and grief.
He got to his feet slowly. “I did betray your trust, Karada,” he said, “but I had reasons for doing so. My people also had misgivings about my sharing the secret of bronze-making. They wondered if I was betraying my sovereign and my race, but there was no betrayal. Beneath the giving of metal and the taking of bows is a more important principle: peace. I did it for peace.”
Exclamations of disbelief greeted this. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, Balif raised his voice and continued. “By giving you knowledge of bronze, I know I’m equipping you to be even more dangerous. That’s part of my goal. By making you more powerful, I hope to dissuade my lord Silvanos and his counselors from warring on you. If we both have bronze armor and blades, the cost of battle will be too high. I sought to bring home examples of your new throwing weapon for the same purpose. If we are equal in strength, no sane mind should crave war.”