every last valley and cave redoubi. At least here we're dealing with just one island, even if it is larger than any in the Archipelago.' He swept the whetstone along the sword's curved edge. 'Though this whole debate will be irrelevant if you and Velindre can't keep the dragons from adding to the carnage. I suggest you concentrate on that particular task.'
Naldeth stared at him. 'How can you be so calm about this?'
Kheda shot him a stern look. 'It helps to remind myself that if battles are raging here, wild men and dragons can't be plundering the Archipelago.'
He glanced at Risala and saw that she at least understood that grim consolation.
'Is this all because you dislike magic so?' Naldeth demanded. 'Are you setting out on some quest to rid this place of wizardry, like the Archipelago?'
'Don't be a fool.' Risala's interruption was as unexpected as her scorn was withering. 'Weren't you the one decrying the perversion of magic governing the way these people live? Besides, we wouldn't even be here if you had left that skull-faced mage well alone and we'd got back to the Zaise without being dragged into these people's travails. Just remember, Naldeth, you're the one who started this.'
The mage was as shocked as if she had physically struck him. He stared at her, his face colouring beneath his tan as if he had been slapped. Jaw clenched beneath his beard, he got to his feet with all the dignity he could muster, hampered as he was by his metal leg. Without a word, he turned his back and walked away towards Velindre. She was still standing looking up at the sky, apparently wholly oblivious to the activity on every side, and to the furious row that had been echoing across the enclosure.
Risala drew her own dagger, pulling a fine finger of whetstone from a slit in the sheath. 'How long do you suppose it will take to clear this whole island of wizards and dragons?'
'I have no idea,' Kheda admitted with a qualm of his own. 'But what other choice do we have?'
Risala didn't look up. 'We could take the Zaise and sail for home and leave these people to their fate.'
'And wait for some new plague of savages and dragons to appear on our western horizon?' Kheda sighed. 'Besides, I don't believe these people deserve this life, do you? I don't think they'd be so very different from us if they could be free from the thrall of magic and dragons. Do you?'
'No, I suppose not.' Risala began sharpening her own blade. 'But why must all this be our responsibility?'
Do you want me to lie to you? Do you want me to justify bringing you into such danger with some invented portent? Forgive me, my love, but I can't do that.
'Because we're here,' Kheda said simply. 'And even if Naldeth did start this particular crisis, we all chose to come on this voyage. We all bear a measure of responsibility.'
'And everything you've ever been taught as a warlord won't let you walk away from what you see as your duty.' There was just a hint of despair in Risala's voice. 'Do you think we'll ever get home?'
'If we possibly can,' Kheda said resolutely.
They sat in silence amid the growing bustle until Kheda stood up and sheathed his newly sharpened blades. Leaving Risala still doggedly polishing her dagger, he went in search of a gourd and stick to catch snakes with.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Is every snake on this accursed isle really poisonous? I can't see how I could have mistaken that old hunter's meaning. Pointing to a snake and then falling to the ground with your tongue lolling out is surely clear enough. Ideally I'd like the venom to fester for longer than half a day and a night but it's already past noon. Let's get this fight started on our own terms before we 're attacked by the tree dwellers or their black dragon.
Kheda rubbed a curl of shaving from the gourd's woody surface and studied the image he had carved. A shadow fell across him and he looked up to see two inquisitive children watching him, one girl and one boy, naked but for strings of crude beads around their bellies. Another boy was looking with avid curiosity at the stack of white-fletched arrows laid beneath Kheda's leather-wrapped bow. Glutinous bloody paste marred the glistening points of deftly shaped black stone. Kheda studied the children as he sheathed his dagger.
You 're probably about the same age as Efi and Vida, even if poor diet and a harsh life have left you both a head shorter. Are you as adept as they are at sneaking in where you 're not expected and getting your hands on what's been forbidden to you?
Snapping his fingers to make sure he had the full attention of all three children, Kheda tapped a commanding finger on the carving he had just finished. A serpent wriggled across the curved belly of the gourd, crude
mouth open to show larger-than-life fangs. Kheda pointed to the arrowheads, careful not to touch them, and grimaced with exaggerated fear. He fixed the children with a sternly questioning look and all three took a step backwards, tucking their hands behind their backs, eyes downcast. All the same, they exchanged an unreadable glance beneath their eyelashes.
'I think I had better make sure these are safely out of reach,' Kheda commented aloud. He tugged at the lizard-skin sleeve he had sewn to the pared-down neck of the gourd and carefully put the envenomed arrows into the crude quiver. As he tightened the grass cord threaded through the top of the uncured hide, he glanced up to check the position of the sun. Then he looked at the throng milling around the broad stone ring of the hearth. More wild men and women than ever were gathered around the scatter of rickety huts.
Where did they all come from? Can we possibly wage any kind of warfare with people we know so little about? Can I be sure they understand what I'm asking of them? Is Naldeth right? Is this madness? Is Risala right? Should we just fight our way through to theZaise and leave this dreadful place behind us? Could I ever sleep easily in my bed if I did? And not just because my dreams would be full of dragons and savages' boats on the western horizon. How dare Naldeth think only northern barbarians have any kind of conscience?
Kheda realised the scarred spearman was looking keenly at him. Taking the warlord's nod of acknowledgement as some kind of invitation, the wild man hurried over, holding a gourd spattered with some pale substance. Kheda swallowed the sour apprehension that he recalled always preceded a battle.
/ suppose I had better eat something. Strange, I can't decide if it's better or worse to be facing a fight with or without omens giving some prediction as to the outcome. Is it easier
to be braver with even false reassurance to cling to? What do these people have to stiffen their resolve beyond the brutal realities of their lives here?
The spearman dipped his hand into the gourd and rubbed it on his chest. He came to sit beside Kheda and set the gourd down between them, smearing more of the pallid stuff on his long legs. Kheda wiped a little from the rim and rubbed it between finger and thumb.
Pale yellow clay and grey ashes from the fire and some kind of grease.
The spearman nodded vigorously, continuing to coat himself with the ointment. It covered the darkness of his skin remarkably effectively. The savage reached for a strand of grass that had escaped the bow-making and laid it across his slickly shining thigh. Thanks to the streaky yellow clay, his skin was now virtually the same colour. Grinning, he took Kheda's hand and thrust his fingers into the gourd, plainly urging the warlord to anoint himself.
'They had the wits to devise ways to hide themselves down in the grasses long since, it would seem.' Risala arrived, holding her own bow and arrows. Hers were the only other white-fletched shafts and she too had painted the leather of her quiver with a charcoal-black snake's head, long fangs prominent. 'That might almost be an omen.'