"Ngangata," Apad asked softly. "Could you ask your kin to move and let us next to the fire?"
The Alwat were all watching Apad. It was impossible to tell what they were thinking.
"There is room around the fire," Ngangata observed.
"Sit down, join us," the Kapaka said.
"They smell," Apad said.
"Wait," Perkar said quickly. "Couldn't we build another fire, for the Alwat?"
Ngangata leveled his opaque gaze at Perkar and all but hissed, "Perhaps you should build a fire for you and your kin." Waving the back of his hand at the three of them.
Eruka gave a low whistle, and Apad made a little clicking noise. "Well, Perkar," he said. "Seems like you and the halfblood aren't such good friends after all."
Perkar was aware of the hot blood rushing into his face, and at first he wasn't even sure whom he was mad at. Then he was. He had tried to befriend the half man, hadn't he? Talked to him when the others would not. And this was how the little man repaid him, by insulting him when he was only trying to make things better.
"I think," Perkar said, "that you had better go get your sword."
Ngangata shot him a little sarcastic smirk. "Well," he said, "if I had a sword, perhaps I would."
"No," the Kapaka said. "Stop this, you two."
"If you don't have a sword, we can fight with our hands," Perkar said. Apad and Eruka, behind him, made encouraging noises.
An odd look settled over Ngangata's face then. It was a look of weary resignation, of boredom almost.
"Let's go, then," he said.
Eruka and Apad were hooting now, shouting Perkar's name. Perkar laid his sword carefully on a stone. He pointed to the widest, most open section of the cave. Ngangata nodded and strode there, turned to face Perkar with his knees flexed.
Perkar expected the king to stop them at any moment, but the older man, after his single injunction, had fallen silent.
Perkar wiped his hands on his trousers as he assessed his opponent. Ngangata was shorter than he by nearly a head, but more heavily muscled. Perkar remembered the half man's proficiency with the bow, wondered what other skills he might have.
Ngangata was waiting for him to make the first move; Perkar, to his astonishment, realized that the smaller man was reluctant to attack him.
Always keep your balance, Perkar's father had taught him. He did, stepping quickly but with his weight centered, and threw a punch at Ngangata's head. The half man jerked away from the blow, but the contact was still solid. Ngangata reeled away from him.
Perkar resumed his stance. He did not want to be tricked into a rash attack. He grinned despite himself—Apad and Eruka were applauding him.
He swung again, and this time Ngangata brought an arm up, actually caught the blow. Perkar, anticipating that possibility, stepped with his back leg and drove his left hand into his opponent's midsection. It was like punching stiff leather, though Ngangata responded with a whoof. The grip on Perkar's wrist was strong—very strong—and Perkar realized to his dismay that he had badly underestimated the strength of the little man. He twisted free but resumed his attack instantly. As when he confronted the Wild God, the fear in his belly was gone, a hard anger surfacing.
Ngangata slapped his punch aside and, like a sudden stroke of lightning, launched his own attack; his fist darted out, so terribly fast that Perkar barely had time to blink before a stinging slap reddened his face. Perkar countered with a wild swing that lost him his balance but landed solidly on Ngangata's chest; the sound was as if he had punched a drum. Perkar's little anger was suddenly a storm. Ngangata was playing with him; he had opened the club of his fist into a mere slap; the attack that should have sent him to the cave floor spitting out teeth had only come as a reprimand. Twice the halfling had made him look foolish. Two times too many.
He followed the punch to the chest with another to the chin, and Ngangata's head snapped back, away from the blow, inhumanly fast. It must have looked like it hurt—the flagging enthusiasm of his friends' cheers picked up again—but he knew that his fist had really only barely connected.
The next blow was solid, though, and this time Ngangata really staggered. Perkar drew back to hit him again. His opponent looked at him enigmatically, and then—bizarrely—he smiled, a mocking, contemptuous smile. Perkar hit that smile dead center, and Ngangata fell, teeth smeared with his own blood. Slowly the half man picked himself back up. Perkar hit him again, and again he went down. Ngangata struggled to regain his feet once more, paused to gather strength, swaying on his knees.
"Stop. Stop this, I demand it!" The Kapaka pushed roughly between the two men. "Stop it. Ngangata is here under my protection, Perkar. If you strike him again, you must strike me." "It is a fair fight," Apad protested. "They both agreed to it." "Enough. This expedition is under my charge, whatever any of you might think. My charge. I will not have you fighting amongst yourselves."
Ngangata had regained his feet once more, though his legs were shaking visibly. One eye was already nearly swollen shut and his lip was bleeding copiously. His expression was completely unfathomable—puzzlement? scorn? Perkar did not know, but he suddenly felt silly, stupid even. Hitting a man who was not hitting him back. And now, the stupider he felt, the more angry he became.
"Why won't you fight?" he breathed, so low that probably only Ngangata and the Kapaka could hear him.
Ngangata shook his head as if a child should know the answer to that question. Perkar turned away in disgust. His fist was beginning to ache, and he vaguely wondered if he had cracked any bones in his knuckles.
Apad and Eruka clapped him on the shoulder as he walked away, back toward the fire. The Alwat were still there, watching, impassive. Atti sat somewhat apart from them, and he did not meet Perkar's gaze.
Perkar sat down, flicked his gaze angrily back toward Ngangata. The half man staggered out of the cave, out into the rain. Neither Atti nor any of the Alwat followed him.
III
The Light in the Labyrinth
Hezhi kicked back the embroidered coverlet and rolled across the bed to where the sheets were cooler. "Hot," she explained to Qey, who looked down at her with sympathy. "Hot."
Qey bent over, pressed a cool rag to her face. It was so cold as to be almost painful, and Hezhi winced away from it.
"I will send word to the library," Qey said. "Tsem will take it. Ghan cannot expect you to work when you are so ill."
"No," Hezhi insisted. "No, I have to go. He will send soldiers again…"
"Ssh, little one." Qey persevered with the rag, following her as she flinched from it. After a moment's contact, it began to feel better. "He won't," she assured Hezhi. "If he does, they will see you are not well."
Hezhi tried to protest once more, but Qey was right. She could not imagine standing up; her stomach lurched at the least motion, even on the bed. And she was so hot.
"Let me make you some tea," Qey suggested. She left the rag with Hezhi, who sponged it across her own face.
"What's wrong with me?" she wailed.
"It's your first bleeding," Qey replied. "It's harder on some than others."
Hezhi didn't believe her. There was some deeper worry in Qey's voice, and not a little fear. That, in turn, frightened Hezhi.
"Try to close your eyes, little one, get some rest. You hardly slept last night. Small wonder, with this and those horrible things that happened yesterday."
"It was after me," Hezhi mumbled. "Why was it after me?"
"Quiet, child. It was just a ghost. It wasn't after anyone in particular. Get some sleep; FU make some warm tea to help you, to soothe your stomach."
"I don't want to sleep." Hezhi groaned. "I don't like my dreams."