Her eyes closed, she shook her dark head and lapsed into Ehleeneekos. “Ohee, ohee, Ahfendiss, ohee. Eeneh nehkrohs, nehkrohs. Aldora eeneh kohree iss kahniss.”
Seeing Hwahlis’ honest ignorance of Aldora’s pitiful protestations, Mara leaned down and softly translated, “She says ‘no,’ Chief Hwahlis. She says that her father is dead, that she is nobody’s daughter.”
The Chief of Linsee thought for only a moment, then he placed his calloused hand under the girl’s chin and raised it. Gazing deep into her swimming eyes, he said, “Child-I-have-wronged, you are a daughter without a father. I am a father without a daughter. It is not meet that children should be without parents. Would you consent to be a child of my tent and clan? Aldora, will you be my daughter?”
Aldora entered his mind. All that she could find were his innate goodness and his honest concern for her welfare. She searched for signs of lust, but there were none. Its place had been completely usurped by a protective solicitude.
“Oh, Lady Mara,” she mindspoke, “what shall I do?” Having had far wider experience with men and, consequently, trusting their motives even less than Aldora, a part of Mara’s mind had been in Hwahlis’ from the beginning.
“He is an honorable man, Aldora, and, for what he is, a very good and a gentle man. He truly wants to adopt you and he would be a fine father to you. It is but a question of whether or not you want a father.”
“Well, child,” Hwahlis prodded tentatively. “Will you grant my clan the honor of becoming its chief’s daughter? Mine?”
“Pahtehrahss …” was all that Aldora could get out before the intensity of her emotions closed her throat. Sobbing wildly, she slid from the chair and flung her slender arms around the grizzled chieftain’s neck and rested her head on his epaulet, her tears trailing down the shiny leather of his cuirass.
Hers were not the only tears in that place. Horseclans men never sought to restrain their emotions—not among the kindred, at least—and there were few dry eyes as Hwahlis lifted her easily, cradled her in his thick arms, and strode to the center of the hall.
His own eyes streamed as he declared loudly, “Clan-brothers, Chief-brothers, Cat-brothers, hear me! The slave-child is free! The free-child is my daughter and your kin! She is as a Linsee-born. She is of the tent of a chief and all shall soon recognize her as such! Next year, she will commence her war-training and, when she is a maiden, she will wear my crest and draw my mother’s bow. Let any man who would take her for wife come to me, and let him know that Aldora, daughter of Hwahlis Linsee of Linsee, will be well-dowered by her father and her clan!
“Gairee.” He called to the youngest of his two living sons—who, though but eighteen, had already killed three men in single combat—and, after disengaging her arms, handed Aldora to the younger man, “This child is now your sister. Bear your sister to your mother and so inform her and all my tent-dwellers.
“Kahl, Fil, Sami.” He addressed those who happened to be the sons of Rik, the deposed chief. “You are now my sons and will hold the chief-tent and all it contains for my return to the clan-camp.
“Erl, as my eldest son, I declare you sub-chief. See that your clan-brothers, on their return, bid their women to begin preparation of the chief-feast.”
Addressing the remainder of the clansmen, he said. “Brothers, you may return to our clan-camp. When the council is ended, your chief will join you.” Then he strode over to his place in the circle and seated himself.
When the last of the Linsee men had filed out, Milo commanded, “Let the man of unknown lineage be brought before me.”
The two nearest chiefs rose and ungently hustled the all-but-naked former-chief forward, to stand before the dais, clenching and unclenching his fists in his frustrated rage, his face starting to puff as a result of the blows dealt him by his former clansmen.
Shoulders hunched, as if about to spring at Milo, he snarled, “This … this thing that you are trying to do is … is … is. … All here know who I am, who my father was, know that I …”
He got no farther. The hard-swung buffet from the chief on his right split his lips yet again and finished knocking out an already loosened front tooth.
“Silence, bastard! No man gave you leave to speak,” said the chief on his left.
Milo treated the disgraced man to a look which bespoke icy contempt. Then he stated, “Though you yap like a cur, and conduct yourself like a swine, yet you are a man. All my kindred know that there are two kinds of men: true men and Dirtmen. Since you are not the one, you must be the other. So, Dirtman, you shall be served in the same fashion as were the Dirtmen the tribe took at the Ehleenoee camp.
“You are wearing all the clothing a Dirtman needs. In addition, you shall receive a silver trade-corn, a knife, a water bottle and a wallet of food. Take them and journey far and fast, for—as you are a Dirtman—you are the enemy of all true men.”
Unconsciously, Rik wiped the back of his hand across his bloody chin and looked down at his red-smeared knuckles. With a bellow, he went berserk! All in the blinking of an eye, his right foot lashed—heel foremost—between the legs of the chief who had struck him and, as that man clutched his crotch and doubled in agony, Rik’s left fore arm smashed the bridge of the other’s nose while his right tore saber from its sheath. Before Milo’s blade was half-drawn, more than a foot of Rik’s weapon was protruding from the War Chief’s back, just below the shoulder blade! Then, Mara’s dirk found the berserker’s throat and he released his sword hilt to clutch at his gush ing wound and stumble backward, off the dais. Within fractions of seconds, all that lay beneath the dripping sabers of the vengeful chiefs was a bundle of bloody rags and raw bone and hacked flesh.
Panting, the chiefs of the council looked to the dais. Several dropped their swords! Their War Chief, whose last words they had expected to soon hear, was not only still on his feet, but was presently engaged in carefully pulling the sharp saber out of his chest!
The forty-two chiefs were typical specimens of their rugged race. Born to frequent privation and casual violence, they were weaned to weapons-skills and they were a-horse more often than afoot; armed with bow or spear or ax or saber, they knew fear of neither man nor beast. But this … this watching of a man, who should be dead, still standing and withdrawing the steel from his heart, was more than unnerving. The sensation evoked by such an unnatural occurrence was terror, icy-cold, crawling, nameless terror!
As many appeared on the very verge of precipitate withdrawal—not to say, flight—Blind Hari stood, raised his arms to draw attention to himself, and began to broad-beam a soothing reassurance. Sensing it, Milo and Mara, Horsekiller and Old-Cat added their own efforts. Than Hari spoke, softly but aloud. “Kindred, my children, draw near and put up your steel. There are great and good tidings for you and your people. For many reasons, the telling of them has long been delayed, but now the time is come that you should know.”
13
Horse shall choose and man shall choose. Be, neither, slave nor master….
Later, Milo and Mara and Hari and the two cats were once more closeted in the small meeting chamber. On the table were three drinking cups, an ewer of Ehleenoee wine, a slab of cheese, and a bowl of wild apples.
As he accepted a hunk of cheese from the point of Hari’s knife, Old-Cat mindspoke Milo. “Though she cannot be slain or injured, it is true, do you think it was wise to allow the God-child to return to the people who so ill-used her, God Milo?”
Milo halved an apple, passed one piece to Mara, and bit into the other. “I can think of no better nor safer place for her, Old-Cat. My race is not completely immune to death, you know, there do exist ways to kill us and the Ehleenoee have learned them all. I cannot imagine how she managed to live among them undetected, as long as she did. What the Horseclans call God-kinship, the Ehleenoee and many other peoples call ‘curse’—the Curse of the Undying. They all hate and fear my kind. To them, we are incredibly evil devils, to be sought out and slain slowly and horribly, for we feel pain quite as keenly as do other living creatures.