Malgard's counterstrike was swift. Six battalions of his Blackguards routed the castes and scattered them deep into the Steppes. The town was rebuilt, and double the amount of settlers sent there.
But their troubles were not over. The Ehonu and Ny'lee returned with their allies: the Difiju, Hanathu, and the Onasho, Stormbrow's caste.
He had just seen five winters and was too young to fight, but he remembered when his father and brother left. His father's smile had been kind but full of regret. It was the last time Stormbrow saw him. The siege on the town was long and bloody, for Malgard had made sure it was well fortified that time. He had also sent for aid from his king, Lucretius, who had been well regarded by the Steppe People until then.
When Lucretius sent infantries from Doric to aid Malgard, the Steppe People took it as a betrayal most foul. Castes that had been warring for generations made truces to unite against the army of milkhides. Even the Nutanbi and the Qua'lyey joined the march. On a frosty winter morning, the united castes of the Steppe People marched upon Letega with perhaps six times the number of fighting men there. It was to be certain slaughter. Yet to their astonishment a single man rode against them, a knight bearing a silver horn lashed to his saddle.
Marcellus Admorran had arrived on his own accord and assumed control of the forces at Letega. Having convinced them to hold back, he rode to the lines of furious Steppe warriors. Insisting on being made their prisoner, he endured much rough treatment before being led to the sashems who led their respective castes. There he pled his case.
Marcellus informed them that Lucretius had been given misleading information by Malgard, and did not mean to disrespect the Steppe People, nor intrude upon their land. He vowed that if they withdrew, Malgard would be punished severely and all claims against the lands of the Steppe People would be annulled. But he warned that if they insisted upon war, they would draw Leodia into a fray that would destroy much of the Steppe People.
After much deliberation, the majority of the sashems agreed with these terms but insisted Malgard himself be turned over to them for his arrogance. Marcellus agreed and returned to Letega to depose Malgard and revoke his line from lordship forever. Once Malgard was delivered to the Steppe People, Marcellus blew his silver horn of victory for both sides.
Thus the escalation became one of the greatest wars never fought. As for Letega, it remained to present day as a trading post where the Steppe People and milkhides met in peace for trade and safe passage across the Steppes, thanks to the intervention of the man who became known to all the Steppe People as Silver Horn.
Now Stormbrow rode beside the very man. Silver Horn appeared unkempt and threadbare, yet defiantly refused to acknowledge it. Despite his disheveled appearance, somehow he still managed to carry a majestic air; noble as a wolf, powerful as a bear.
"You are young to gain the wisdom feather."
Stormbrow looked up sharply, but there was no challenge in Silver Horn's query.
"My father died in the siege of Letega. My brother a year later fighting the Difiju. I became the man of my lodge then, and have taken care of my mother and sisters, and fought to defend my caste."
Silver Horn nodded. "My heart is heavy for your father. It was a shame for any to have died for Malgard's arrogance. A shame that any man should die because of another man's foolishness." His voice roughened as he spoke, fists clenched tightly around the bridle.
Stormbrow wondered at the words, but it was not his place to pry. The sound of children brought his attention back into focus. They had arrived.
The winter lodging was cunningly hidden by a bend in the trail that dipped into a shallow valley, surrounded by the low hills that protected from the winter winds, as well as served as camouflage against any enemies. A system of caves already existed, though the memory of whom or what had dug them was long forgotten. These had been taken and reshaped into their winter lodging camp that they returned to so often that many of the wood and mudstone structures were permanent.
Large families shared the long rectangular lodges. Others were quick constructs, made from hides draped over wooden frames, covered with wisent furs. The warriors' lodgings were on the outer circle, then the lodgings of the slaves. The lodgings of the traders followed, and in the inner circle were the quarters for the Sha and the Sashem who lead the caste. Several fires crackled in stone circles around the lodges.
Children surrounded Stormbrow and his guests, chattering and laughing as they pointed at Silver Horn. Many fingered their cheeks and chins as they stared at Silver Horn's beard — something to marvel at. Most had never seen a milkhide before. By then the entire camp knew who their guest was, and many stood on either side of the main path to catch a glimpse of the legendary warrior.
When they reached the center of the camp, they dismounted and let the boys take their grunnien. Eagle Eye fell in beside them as they led Silver Horn to the Sashem's lodge. Stormbrow nodded respectfully. Eagle Eye was the one who first spotted Silver Horn, after all. The honor was mainly his.
A large wooden chair was placed in front of the Sashem's lodge. At about ten paces they stopped and waited patiently.
The Sashem emerged slowly.
The chieftain's leathery face was creased and furrowed, and white hair hung loosely down his back. Two of his wives supported him to the chair and helped him sit. His youngest son, Kingfisher, placed a headdress of many feathers upon his head, while another one of his sons, Young Willow, placed a heavy fur blanket around his shoulders. When they had backed away, the chieftain turned his penetrating gaze upon Silver Horn. Then in his slow, deliberate manner, White Wolf spoke.
"You are welcome, Silver Horn of the Golden Isle. You are welcome, Shama of the Northern Steppes. Our own Sha predicted you might find your way here. May you find warmth from our fires, and rest in our lodges. You honor us with your company."
Silver Horn bowed. "It is I who am honored, great Sashem. It has been too long since I have enjoyed the hospitality of the Onasho. I have no true gift of passage, but I offer you this." He withdrew a long dagger from his cloak. It was sheathed in a plain leather scabbard with a raven-engraved handle.
"This was the weapon of a Bruallian I met in the Dragonspine, taken in mortal combat."
An appreciative murmur ran through the crowd. A weapon taken from a slain enemy was a thing of much value. To give such a thing to another was a demonstration of deep respect.
The creases in White Wolf's face deepened in a smile as his son handed the weapon to him. "It is good," he said with a nod. "Now, let the formality end between us. My people will see to you, and you will dine at my lodge this night."
The old chieftain stood and began his slow return to his lodge as the camp busied itself once more, and the slave girls led the honored guests to the bathing springs.
It was not until frost powdered the ground that Stormbrow and Eagle Eye entered the Sashem's lodge, a large rectangular building made of logs. It was divided into several rooms where the Sashem and his family slept, and the large area where the men leaned against furs and cushions. On the walls were weapons collected from White Wolf's enemies, worn banners of wars long past, and a long wooden engraving depicting a great wisent hunt. A fire crackled in the fireplace at the corner. Shama Nyori would be honored in the adjoining room with the Sashem's wives and Silver Moon, the caste's Shama. The men entertained separately, as was the custom.