The council began at midmorning in the large, airy chambers off the celestial throne room. It was quite crowded, for the Clannad riders, the clan chiefs, the Kirmaz-Ja, a unit of royal guards, the Shar-Ja’s newly appointed counselors, and Kelene and Gabria were there.
The Shar-Ja entered with his son and sat on a chair at the head of the room. The antidote and days of activity and optimism had worked a miracle on the Turic overlord. His pride and vigor had returned, bringing health to his poison-wracked body and energy to his work. His skin had lost its pallor, and his eyes gleamed with intelligence and wit. Pan of his healing had included finding his oldest son’s body and bringing it home to Cangora for a royal funeral. The grief for his dead son still lingered, but the pride he felt for his intrepid younger son went leagues to heal his aching heart.
He rose and bowed to the assemblage. Standing tall, his white hair uncovered and his head unbowed, he expressed his gratitude to all who had helped preserve his throne. “Especially I owe my deepest gratitude to the people of the Dark Horse Clans and the Clannad, who rode to help a neighbor when no obligation was owed and no oath of fealty had been given. To you, the lords of the clans, I offer you this—better late than never at all.”
A scribe stepped forward with four rolled scrolls and handed them to Lord Athlone. He passed the extras to Lord Jamas, Lord Wendern, and Peoren, then opened one and read it aloud to those around him. Written in both Clannish and Turic, the scrolls bore word for word the treaty they had completed at Council Rock. At the bottom of each scroll was the official seal and signature of the Shar-Ja. Quills were passed around and each chief signed his name to the scrolls. Lord Athlone returned two copies to the scribe. He bowed low to the Turic overlord.
“You rode a long way to get those,” Rassidar said with a touch of humor. “I did not want you to go empty-handed. And you, Peoren,” he said to the young Ferganan. “I was not so befuddled by Zukhara’s poisons that I forgot my promise to you. I will pay your compensation in horses, stock animals, cotton, and spices to be delivered at a date of your choosing. Will that be sufficient?”
Peoren bowed to the Shar-Ja, his face red with pleasure. “That will do well indeed, your majesty, and I will call off the blood feud. May this be the end of any hostility between clan and tribe.”
Lord Athlone said, “Shar-Ja, our offer still stands to help if we can during this drought.”
“Unless you know a spell to bring rain, you have done more than I could ever have asked for. But we’re not in the dire straits Zukhara led us all to believe. He and the Fel Azureth had been stealing and hoarding grain for the past two years. We have found enough to keep the people fed for a little while longer than we’d hoped. Perhaps you could ask your gods to send us some rain.” He turned to regard the crowded room and saw the Clannad standing in a quiet group near the back of the chamber.
“Lady Helmar,” he called and waited until she came forward. “You came out of our mountains like a legend. No one has ever reported your colony or any people like you in our midst. I hope you will not disappear again into the misty peaks. I have heard a great deal about you these past days from those who have gotten to know you, and because of what I have heard and what you have done for us, I would like to grant the Clannad perpetual ownership of the valley you call Sanctuary, to keep and hold as you see fit with no obligation or debt owed to the throne of the Shar-Ja.”
The Clannad riders stayed strangely silent behind their chief, creating a quiet unified support for Helmar as she turned at an angle to look at both the Shar-Ja and the clan lords. Her voice rang out through the chambers so every person could hear. “Some of you have probably guessed how the Clannad came to be in the Turic mountains, but for those of, you who do not know us well, I will tell you. Generations ago, during a summer clan gathering, my ancestress Lady Jeneve received a secret message that the magic-wielders had been slaughtered at Moy Tura.” She paused when a gasp of surprise and understanding spread from the crowd around her. Only Lady Gabria watched her quietly and bent her lips in a knowing half-smile.
Helmar continued, “Lady Jeneve guessed what would happen if the murderers reached the gathering, so she took her family, her pet cats, a few friends, and their Hunnuli and fled south into the Turic mountains. They found Sanctuary by the grace of the gods, and for two hundred years we have slowly multiplied and lived in terror that someone would find us and give away our settlement to the clans. We did not know until Sayyed and Rafnir stumbled into our back door that sorcery had been resurrected by Lady Gabria. Shar-Ja, if we may wait to accept your generous gift, I would like to talk to my people and to the chiefs about returning the Clannad to the Ramtharin Plains. My lords,” she said directly to the clansmen, “we would like to go home.”
The clan chieftains stared at her. Some looked shocked; some appeared pleased. “But where will you go?” Lord Fiergan asked sharply. “Do you wish to join a clan or start a treld of your own?”
“Well, we can talk about that later I suppose—” Helmar started to say.
Sayyed began to grin as the possibilities lit a fire in his mind. “My lords,” he said, cutting into Helmar’s reply. “The Clannad could come to Moy Tura. They are used to living in buildings, and we are in desperate need of help.” He winked at Helmar, and she beamed back. She had hoped he would make such an offer.
“I must talk to the rest of my people,” she said firmly, “but I think that is a suitable solution.”
“Then I will accept your answer whenever you decide,” the Shar-Ja told her. “And I will count you as a friend wherever you go.”
Kelene whooped with delight.
The clan chiefs left the next day with the Shar-Ja’s treaty and Helmar’s petition to rejoin the clans. They promised to take the news to the gathering and encourage the clanspeople to accept. Sayyed went with them.
Although he wanted to stay with Helmar, he felt he would be a good advocate for the Clannad at the gathering, and Lord Athlone agreed.
Before he left, though, he presented Helmar with a betrothal gift of a bracelet woven from hairs taken from Afer’s and Marron’s tails. “It is just a simple thing,” he explained, “to remind you of me until you say yes.”
She kissed him, grateful that he did not demand an answer yet. How could she decide until she knew where her people would go? She watched him ride away over the foothills back to the plains of the clans, and her heart ached to go with him. Oh, Amara, she wondered, what will I do if the Clannad says no?
Ten days later Lord Athlone, his men, Lady Gabria, Kelene, Rafnir, Helmar, and the Clannad riders bid farewell to the Shar-Ja and Tassilio and Hajira. Their farewells were long and pleasantly sad and full of promises to visit. They trotted out of the city, onto the Spice Road, and turned north toward the mountains and the valley of Sanctuary.
Kelene turned back just once to looked beyond the pinnacle and its green and red temple to the peaks beyond, hoping, foolishly she knew, for one last glimpse of the gryphon. Then she sighed and cast a sidelong glance at her husband.
“Do you know how many people are in the Clannad?” she asked, her tone deliberately innocent.
“Yes, about three hundred and eighty-two. Or so Helmar said,” Rafnir answered.
“Good, then if they come, we will have three hundred and eighty-three new inhabitants in Moy Tura.”
He was slow to catch on. “Three hundred and—” His voice caught, and he stared at her. The delight blossomed on his face. “Are you sure?”