"Think, then, if you can. If the Circle and the Harmony do not flow with our mission, how could the Snowbrother fight for us? Is it misfortune that the Initiate survived, and can call to
It
from the enemy's camp? It is a symbol of the link between humans and the living earth, sharing the Natures of beast and human."
Shock rode their faces, to hear holy things spoken of thus openly, but they could not deny the truth of it; had not the Enlightened One said so? Heads nodded gravely.
Narritanni flung out a gloved hand, to the Wise Man, the night, the presence that dwelt in it. Huge it lay beyond the circle of their firelight. In the little villages, in hunter's camps, in solitary vigil, they had lived with that immensity all their days. It was for that timeless unity they fought.
"
Next
time, we use that aid
properly
." He could feel the conviction behind his words, knew he would rally them. "Didn't the Wise Man tell us? The raiders are afraid of
It
, not us. Next time we go to them behind
It
, not before, at night, in the darkness, after fear has had more time with them. And not one of the barbarians will return to the grasslands."
The discontented villager sprang to her feet also. "
Next
time?" she yelped. "
Next
time?
When you can kill us all? No. No. Tomorrow I and my kinmates— those you've left alive with your warmaking—we go back to our homes. And I think some at least of those here will return with us."
"That would be an offense against our people, the Seeker's oath, and the Way of the Circle."
"So you say. No soul can walk another's Way."
"So, then I will save you from your own misjudgment—" the soldier continued, sadness overcoming anger on his haggard face. His sword rasped out of its sheath and flicked forward. The tip suddenly rested on the woman's throat, just a tensing of his wrist away from the jugular.
She gaped in astonishment, rolling eyes down in an unmoving face to stare at the edged metal. She could feel it dimpling her skin, cold and hard, with the unmistakable about-to-cut sensation of something very sharp. Her mind refused to believe the information her body presented. Minztans had no government, had never had; their laws were enforced by public opinion. Force was used, with extreme reluctance, only against foreigners and the very rare violent criminal. Strong disagreements were settled by one party or the other moving away; there had always been room.
There was nothing she could say to the sight of a naked sword in the hand of a fellow traveler on the Way, prepared to imperil the Harmony by infringing on the integrity of another.
"Mikkika," he said. His second in command looked up, face pale but set. "Alert the watches tonight. If this one"—he jabbed very slightly—"or any other tries to leave, to desert"—he used a foreign word perforce—"call me. If I'm asleep, kill them yourself."
Shaken, she nodded wordlessly. He sheathed the weapon again and continued more gently. "Believe me, I do this only for the good of us all. For the Minztan folk. Don't you see, we must?"
The other gathered herself. When she spoke again the petulant whine was out of her voice, replaced by a curious dignity. "So you may think, Narritanni Smaoth's-kin. But if you think you can save what is by breaking and remelting it, you are no craftsman, and a fool, and I think your feet walk a different Way from any I would choose." She glanced out at the Adept. He stood silent and immobile; the Harmony was also the wolf in winter and inexorable decay. She turned away and sat down, wrapping herself in her bedroll.
Narritanni did likewise, but his open eyes reflected the fire for long and long.
Shkai'ra rose from the corpse of the prisoner, scrubbing blood from her hands with snow. The Minztan
had kept them busy for hours, not so much from hardihood, but because his wounds put limits on what they could do. It was difficult to further pain a man with bone showing in half a dozen places, and there was always the risk of snuffing out life too soon. Added to that was the fact that Shkai'ra alone of them spoke really fluent Minztan, and she was less confident of her command of the tongue than she had been.
And the man had resisted cleverly, using his own weakness, blood loss, shock to ride out the pain; several times he had almost succeeded in throwing himself into trance, had been roused only by holding his mouth and nose underwater. Also, he had already known his death was imminent; that made mutilation, the slow irreparable damage to one organ after another, considerably less effective in breaking the will and mind.
Altogether, it had been unsatisfactory; he had spoken a little, and the shaman had been able to pick up somewhat more from the disintegrating mind, but…
And I didn't enjoy it
, she thought, puzzled. "Well, so much for that," Shkai'ra said aloud.
It had not even been very exhilarating, simply messy and boring.
"We know they've loosed a woods demon on us, yes," the shaman broke in.
"And that the sun will rise tomorrow," Eh'rik added, and looked up into the blackness above them. Snow pelted into his chinbeard and caught on his eyebrows, making a winter troll of him in the hissing, popping glow of the pinewood fire. Camp hearths only ten meters away were red glows muffled in white. "Best we stay up and check on that.
He might have lied."
The shaman stalked away. "But this thing about the Minztans' setting up standing warbands," the warmaster went on, "this Seeker, this New Way, that's serious.
The High Senior must know, and the
Kommand'ahan
in Granfor."
"I have every intention of telling them, when we get back," Shkai'ra said.
"If," one of the Banner-leaders grunted.
Shkai'ra whirled on him. He fell back a pace, crouched, relaxed as he saw her beat down the murderous flare of killing-lust. You never knew when someone would go ahrappan, especially in a time like this.
"The day of our deaths is woven by Zailo," she said icily. "But I think there's a good chance some of us will make it."
"Who can fight witchcraft?" The words were heavy with dread, The wind hooted around them, laden with hungry ghosts, the ghosts of the slain, longing for the hell-wind of their slayers' deaths to blow them free into the afterlife and rebirth.
"We can, the children of the gods! Do you think the Mighty Ones can't aid us here, or that branches can hide the Sun? If live bark-eaters can't keep us from slaughtering them, then say boo to their thin ghosts, and their tame spook too. The Sun sees all the lands."
"And leaves them all, the Zoweitz rule the dark."
Shkai'ra pressed fingers to her brows, closed her eyes, composed herself, then looked up with a smile.
"Tactics," she said. "Listen, today we
defeated
them. And killed ten to one or better. If they had overwhelming might, earthly or ghostly, they would have overfallen us.
Instead, we butchered them like sheep. Scant losses, even counting those… not killed by blade. So far the spook, whatever it is, hasn't dared face more than one or two warriors at a time.
"What really worries me is the troops." She looked around at the officers. "This has taken the savor off
their victory: They aren't ofzarz. A common zh'ulda doesn't feel as close to the gods as we do, and fears nightwalkers more. Go among them, hearten them, tell them we
did
win. And don't the Sayings of the Ancestors tell that victory is the only aim, whatever the price?
"Make them believe we can win through: we'll suffer losses, yes, but when were the Kommanz ever daunted by that? And think of the undying fame and envy, if we overcome spell-craft. Heroes have beaten wizards before, and their Names lived. Folk have had hero-shrines dedicated to them for less!"
They rose to go back among their followers; heartened, or at least giving a convincing show of it. She would follow, later; it was fitting that she maintain a little more distance than the village chiefs. They were woven into the everyday life of their fiefs, but the ruling kinfast of Stonefort had some of the glamour of remoteness; they interceded with the high gods and the far-off rulers in Grantor. Both together would be best.
Eh'rik alone remained. "Do you really believe that, Chiefkin?" he asked, almost gently.
She was startled; it was not a note she often heard in a warmaster's voice.
She smiled wearily at him. "Well… yes and no, old wolf. There is a chance, always some chance until they throw you on the pyre and cut the horse's throat over your ashes. But we're still too far from home for my taste." They sat silent together, a companionable quiet. "There's no better company to depart life with, anyway; I never expected to die in the straw."
He went down on one knee, hands crossed on brow in the formal gesture of homage.
Touched, she reached out and clasped his hands between hers, in formal acknowledgment. She was too junior to merit the salute in strict law, but it was a gesture of profoundest respect. "Come," she said. "Let's make our rounds. And
t'Zoweitzhum
, you know the saying: 'It
must
be done, therefore it
can
be done.'"
They rose and walked together into the restless night. The waving treetops were half seen, half sensed, always heard. They drew their scarves over their faces and bent their heads into the wind. From the slave lines came the sound of singing.
Maihu had gone to some trouble to make the sled comfortable these past few days. A jug of mead bubbled on the tile stove, and she had added cedar branches to the fuel; the spicy scent of the honey wine blended with aromatic wood and warm fur to fill the space between the padded leather walls. The lantern guttered, sent shadows flickering on the porcupine-quill embroidery of the sled's lining and the patterns woven into the cushions.
She smoothed a quilt, fluffed a pillow, dropped a few grains of precious cinnamon into the heating mead, before settling against the wall with Dh'ingun curled on her lap.
Taimi looked up in sullen puzzlement. "Kinmother, why? Why did you stop me? We could have—"
"Died!" she snapped. It was tiresome; couldn't the boy see that there had been no time?
And it was worrying, as worrying as the long silences; both had been growing worse in the half-week since the fight.
"And the way you play up to her, it's—"
"Necessary."
"Not…" He frowned, hunting for words. "I've done that too. But… you don't seem to…
hate her enough."
Maihu turned and slapped him across the face, hard. He recoiled in shock. Minztans never struck their children, and he was still young enough to be
accounted such. It was the first time his mother had ever hurt him.
"Shut your
mouth!"
she hissed. Then she froze, appalled. After a moment, she reached out and touched him on the face, hesitantly.
"Taimi, child of my womb, I'm sorry. Put it down to the company I have to keep, these days. But no, we're not supposed to hate; it's against the Way. She's… not as bad as some of them. I pity her, really—"
"That's sheepshit!" he cried, using the Kommanzanu oath. "I hate them all, I—"
She grabbed him by the shirtfront and held up the symbol-carved flute. Even now his eyes slid away from the carving on it, the curious bulbous mouthpiece.
"I got this by playing up to her," she said coldly. "Do you understand that? Do you understand that this is our only hope of ever being free again?"
"It—it didn't help our folk during the fight." He stopped in fear, glancing at the front flap of the sled. The Kommanz driver was still out there, seeing to the horses.
Maihu laughed, a she-wolf yelp so unlike her remembered mirth that Taimi felt his skin crawl. "No worry," she said. "I've been calling that one every filthy name I could, for days. Not a word of Minztan.
"Listen, kinchild," she continued earnestly. "Do you know where we are?"
"Close to the forest. Closer than we were when you stopped me from cutting the chain."
"We're at the
Place of Summoning]
Here, or close to here. And we're not moving very fast anymore. It will come right in among people and lights, here."
"Are… are you sure?"
"Here? And at this time of year? Oh, yes,
It
will come. Now run along, kinchild. I don't want her seeing you here if we can help it; she's harder to handle when she's been on you, and I can't trust you not to anger her." She gave him a brief hug. "Not long now, I promise. Then everything will be good again."
Her smile faded as he left.
I
hope that can be true
, she thought.
I
mean it to be, but… why
does my life before these weeks seem like a dream? Is it only the contrast? It does
, she mused.
There are moments when it seems incredible that there was a time before her… Hate
is a more complicated emotion than I thought. It lets her into my mind, I want to be free, I
wouldn't be surprised or sorry if she dies, but will it be empty without her to fight? And if I
am free again, will I be the same person
?
Her mouth quirked at that. There was a very old saying of her people, that you could never step into the same river twice. That was an aspect of the Circle, always returning to the same spot, yet never the same. But there were changes she had not expected.
Are
humans chameleons, then
? she thought.
I
could never have hit him, for anything, before this
.
It was warm in the sled. She shivered, and pulled Dh'ingun closer to her. He squirmed sleepily and then settled back to sleep as she rocked him gently. It was too lonely a time not to have life by her.
Shkai'ra rolled into the sled in no pleasant mood. It had become easy for Maihu to follow her emotions now; she sensed boiling frustration and a despair that was murderously ready to lash out, and kept silence for long moments as she refastened the flap and handed the Kommanza a cup of mead. The Kommanza sat cross-legged, inhaling the warmth and fragrance of it. Slowing her breathing, she forced muscles to relax, mind to unknot, pulling strength around her like a cloak. Presently she opened her eyes and spoke:
"If I live to threescore, may I never have to bed down eighty whining Minztans again! They'd have stood and frozen if we'd left them. Wasteful." She drained the bowl and held it out for the slave to refill.