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MEDRAUT’S HORSE BALKED at yet another sharp curve on the steep path. This time neither curses nor kicks were able to get the animal to move. "At least the bottom isn’t that far away," came out in a hiss. "I want to get there alive, you stupid nag. Move."
The tensing of muscles beneath his legs gave warning, but too late. He found himself flying through the air. Impact with the ground knocked air from Medraut’s lungs. Dirt dug into his cheeks. A whinny and running hoof falls pierced the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.
Loud claps rang out. "Thank you for the entertainment." A tall man dressed in the hunter garb of leather jacket and boots stepped from the bushes. "Well, well. What have we here? Fresh help for my stable?"
A push to his knees and Gault’s hand under his arm helped Medraut to his feet. Brushing off the help and the dirt, he straightened to his full height. Anger pushed down the pain. "I am Medraut, come for a meeting with Deheoul."
"So you say." Amusement glittered in the newcomer’s eyes.
"Take me to him." The curt order produced the same results as the earlier, more polite request. The lack of response and the disrespect already shown added to the indignity of being tossed to the ground. I can’t do anything about the horse, Medraut cursed to the clouds. He looked at the watching man. A smile twitched his lips. I can teach this 'wagon rider’ a lesson. And I won’t even need magic. A blink and he allowed a hint of his true self to show in his eyes.
The fearful gasp told he had achieved his goals.
"Now," Medraut crowed. "Let us try this again. I am here for a meeting with Deheoul. Take me to him."
"There is no need. I am Deheoul, the one you seek."
"Let me tell you how ‘we’ are going to achieve our revenge on our common enemy, Feldt of Clan Vreis. I heard his granddaughter rejected your wedding proposal." A breath sent a wisp of magic into the other man’s face. "She is going to petition the convocation council to marry." He put a touch of siren call in his tone. "You could disrupt her plans."
Privately he added. But she will never be your prize. I have already chosen her. She is mine. If these buffoons fail to prevent the pairing, it will just mean she will be more experienced when I take her. His mood brightened and he thought of the dark-haired courtesan and her skills in the bed. His body warmed in the memory of the pleasure she had given.
THE FLAT PLAIN OVERLOOKING the ocean on one side and the convocation valley on the other offered more than a beautiful view. To Brial it meant too strong an invitation for reflection. Her gaze scanned the ring of mountains and the valley floor below where, in a few days, she would find her destiny. The sheer drops into the blue-green rolls of waves on the water side offered only one kind of escape. Just not one she was willing to take at the moment. The lure of a future with Karst was too strong.
"If the council turns Karst and my petition down, I can always use the widows' leap," she muttered. Still, she did not move back from the ledge or take her eyes off the roiling water where legends said heartbroken souls had found their ultimate peace.
The scuff of leather on stone announced someone was approaching from the camp. Still, Brial didn’t turn.
"Bri, are you ok?" Deneas could barely be heard above the crashing surf.
A sigh escaped Brial’s tight lips and unable to ignore the inevitable, she turned. "I am fine, Den." She pointed out the trails that wound down to the valley floor. "I was just remembering the torchlight procession from the camps to the meeting place. When I was young, I thought the stars had come down from the sky." The thought she had been trying to keep imprisoned escaped. How many dark spots will there be? How many people were lost to the fever? She already knew the toll on Clan Vreis but how about the other clans?
A shake of her head and she forcibly turned away from the scene, but Deneas’ hand on her shoulder stopped the movement.
"Bri, this is more than just nerves about leading the procession. It may be Telyn’s first time, but not yours."
For long moments, she debated revealing the real source of her concern. Deneas is my friend. She will understand.
"Den, you know Karst and I plan to petition the council for permission for us to marry."
A low "Yes, go on." shattered what little bonds restrained her tongue and the rest of the tale spilled out. "Karst and I can’t marry without someone to stand by him." A sob tried to escape. "But he has no kin to do it." A deep breath did little to ease the tightness in her chest. "Do you know anyone who would consider it? Maybe Geren? No responsibility for the wedding is involved. All they need to do is stand at the council and say Karst is a good man."
Tears burned her eyes. "If they have to travel a distance, we could delay the time of witness if we had to." A tightness in her chest made it hard to speak. "Even if we had to wait for the next convocation."
"Bri, are there any criteria about who can be your and Karst’s witness?"
Not even her friend’s arms around her eased the pain of a bleak future. Blinking away the tears, Brial grasped to the slender thread of hope her friend held out. "Whoever stands at our ceremony must be kin, of which he doesn’t have any, or at the least from his village." She looked into her friend’s sad eyes. "Karst told me of the kind of man he used to be, how he treated those who lived in Darceth."
"I agree, Karst wasn’t the best of men." Deneas’ smile did little to take the sting from her words. "But he has changed. You changed him. Walk back with me to the camp. When Trelleir returns from the hunting trip, he and I will discuss your problem." Her entire being radiated reassurance.
Grasping the splinter of the future she desperately wanted, Brial took a final look at the path to the valley floor and followed her friend back to her wagon and her unknown fate.
THE CLANSMEN PACKED around Karst prevented any movement such as shifting from foot to foot. Brial is so composed, he thought. I don’t want to shame her by displaying my nerves. To help maintain his calm, he opened and closed his fists. He knew dusk approached, but the sun seemed to hang motionless. Once the convocation began, forces would be put in to motion that would determine the path of the rest of his life.
A look at the crowd standing shoulder to shoulder around him showed he was not the only one feeling the strain. It seemed like every member of the caravan had squeezed onto the wide ledge to watch the sunset. Any conversation was held in low tones and whispers.
To distract himself from Brial's nearness, he watched the two men standing at the side of the tunnel entrance. The pair balanced one end of a heavily carved, wooden tube as thick as their arms on their shoulder. Several feet away where the other end of the horn rested on the ground, the tube curved up like a cow’s horn. What made them unusual was that they gave no sign of feeling the tension. Unless, Karst noted, you took into account their unblinking focus on a hole drilled in the wall above the tunnel.
Brial's whisper in his ear raced his pulse until a deep breath slowed it back to normal. He reached back into his memory to discover her explanation that the men at the tunnel entrance had the responsibility for the traditional horns that signaled the clans to assemble. When the last ray of sunset lined up with the signal rock and sent the light into the wall hole, the crystal embedded into the stone would glow, sending a rainbow-colored beam of coruscating light into the darkness. At the visual signal, the heralds’ horns would blow.
Darkness settled over the entire valley rim. Without warning, a shimmering rainbow leaped from the ledge to the one that lined the opposite wall. The low timbre of the horns rolled down the mountainside in a long mournful call. A shorter burst followed the original long one. However, instead of ending like the first call before the last note faded away, a second set of horns sounded. When they ended, the deep baying of a third set came from the spot on the valley rim where Karst knew was the entrance to another trader camp. From clan to clan, the horns announced each group in attendance until the entire valley vibrated with the echoes. Then came an eerie silence.
"So," Karst muttered, "it begins."
A TRADER BRUSHED BY Karst with a rushed, "Sorry." Amidst the scrambling of everyone trying to get into their places in the order of walk, a shoulder jarred him jerking his hand from Brial's. Pushed and shoved, he somehow ended up at his intended spot alongside the head scout. A look over his shoulder found Brial at the back of the line. Torchlight sparkled off the highlights in her hair as she quietly talked to Telyn and Emrys. Both youths had a major part to play in the convocation opening ceremony.
Because of his position walking three places behind Feldt, the view of the rest of the mountainside behind him was limited so Karst visualized the scene.
Almost everyone who had been on the ledge now marched down the dark path. Pairs of married men and women walked side by side. One carried a flaming torch and the other held a basket of food or a jug of wine for the feast tables. Other pairs were unmarried men or women, or a parent holding the hands of their child. Even in these pairs, either the adult, or if they were old enough, the child, held a torch, both to light the way and create the spectacle. Only the oldest of the gray-beards didn't walk. Having been taken by wagon through a tunnel, they were already sitting in comfortable chairs on the valley floor.
A stumble while trying to sneak a peek behind him forced Karst to focus on his footing. Instead of trying to get a glimpse as Clan Vreis processed down the mountainside, he watched the steams of fire created by the other eight clans as they made their way to the valley floor.
The sparkling lights against the black sky and rock created dancing wraiths that pierced the darkness.
"Karst, when we reach the bottom, the others will split off.," Feldt said over his shoulder. "Stay with Omaos. He will guide you to the perfect place to view the welcoming festivities."
Singing kept everyone in step as the mass of people filed down the path. The closer they got to the valley floor the louder the voices became. Karst realized the sound didn’t come just from Clan Vreis. Each of the clans sang the same tune. It was not a hundred voices keeping everyone in time, but almost ten times that.
Feldt stepped to one side and signaled the others to continue past.
Karst allowed himself to be pulled along with the flow. Those carrying baskets of food placed their contributions to the feast on the tables before finding a spot to watch the upcoming event. Those carrying torches placed their lights in the holders that had been set up earlier in the day.
A soft "Ready" from the man beside him and they veered away to lead Karst to a large boulder not far from the platform where the official opening ceremonies would take place. A red strip of fabric hung at eye level from a crack in the stone. Looking closer, he realized the flag marked a series of handholds and corresponding footholds that provided access to a flat ledge near the top of the boulder.
"Feldt came down early this morning and saved the space for you." Omaos looked around and when it appeared no one was paying attention to him, snatched the marker, stuffed it into his pocket, and gestured at the top of the rock. "You better get in your place before someone else steals it. Others may perch on the footholds or climb up behind you, but they won't impede your view."
"Omaos, won't you share the spot with me? The seat is big enough."
"Thank you, Karst, but my wife is waiting for me. Ever since our daughter, Telyn, won the honor of lighting our clan fire, my wife has been planning the night down to the smallest detail."
Surprise held his tongue for a moment. Recovering, Karst held out his hand. "My congratulations to you and your wife. I hadn't realized Telyn was your daughter. Her dance at the Gifting Festival was beautiful."
The head scout started, but from what Karat didn't know. Before he could say anything, the other man added, "The clan took in Telyn as a toddler when she was orphaned in a wagon crash. She had no other kin and her parent's village couldn't care for her. My wife taught the little ones about the world and clan history using music. She fell in love with Telyn the first time the child sang. Ten cold seasons ago, we petitioned the convocation to formally adopt her."
"No wonder tonight is special." Karst held out his hand. "Don't let me keep you a heartbeat longer. Go to your wife."
A quick handshake and the mass of bodies swallowed the other man.
Three steps later after climbing to his seat, Karst realized the favor Feldt had done him. The improvised seat gave an unimpeded view of the portico entrance of the convocation building and the colossal statues of armed warriors that represented the clans. His gaze lingered on the waist-high wall around the circular fire pit he had helped build the day before.
Movement pulled his attention to the sides of the platform. Feldt moved to the center of the immense terrace and raised his hands. A low rumble rolled across the crowd and an anticipatory silence fell over the crowd. "Welcome to the convocation of the clans." The caravan’s leader boomed from one end of the gathering to the other. "A time to renew old relationships and make new friends. A time for dancing and marriages, greetings and farewells, and planning for the future." He waved to the set of steps at one side of the stage and then to the other.
Eight girls ranging in age from having seen twenty cold seasons to just showing the first signs of womanhood were escorted to the edge of the stage. Telyn and Brial stood on the bottom step on the side closest to him.
A single note from a horn silenced the crowd. Like everyone else, he held his breath. It felt like a communal prayer of hope for the girls' successful evening.
A young woman halfway through her second decade climbed the steps on the far side of the entrance, then marched with an elegant step to the first of the statues and the stone bowl at its feet. Turning, she faced the sea of watching faces. "From the heights to the sand. Clan Llanrug is in attendance." A dip of her torch and a flame exploded into existence within the heart of the bowl. She moved to the larger stone circle and laid her torch in a slot on the raised edge so that the sparks fell into the dark pit.
Three heartbeats later, a blond woman whose hair sparkled in the torchlight climbed the opposite side of steps and repeated the process of announcing her clan, calling out their battle cry, and starting a fire at the feet of one of the statues before placing her torch on the wall. Shadows from the firepits danced along the building’s façade. Younger and older girls, some dark-haired, others blond, presented their fires. Soon only one bowl remained dark.
Telyn climbed the last step and entered the light. A deep breath and she lifted her torch so that the shadows danced on the statue behind her. Her voice carried to the crowd. "Iron to hand, iron to the road. Clan Vreis is in attendance."
There was no time to breathe. Everyone's attention shifted to the center of the stage for the next part of the opening ceremony—Brial's lighting of the communal fire. Karst swore she glided across the space, dipping her torch into each of the individual clan fires. Each addition made the flame she carried brighter and added a different hue. What began as a twirling column of yellow sparks soon turned into a coruscating swirl of orange and red, yellow and gold. After several heartbeats, he noticed a change. Sparks continued to rise into the night sky and although the outer rings of fire remained the same, the heart of the pyre turned a brilliant blue.
Her torch held high she moved to a spot midway between Telyn and the first girl to climb the steps. "As our torches merge into a single flame, so do the wagons become a single caravan during convocation." The burning brand she inserted into the heart of the fire caused the larger bonfire to cast an ethereal dance of light on the building. It looked like the statues’ eyes glowed from some inner spirit.
DARKNESS SURROUNDED Medraut. The stars seemed more like icicles than heat-giving sparks. Wind emphasized the cold of the mountain air that surrounded the ledge he perched on and pierced his thick dragon skin. Not even pressing his back against the cliff wall to soak up the last of the heat from the sun-warmed stone eased the bone-deep chill. Shadows from the ledge above shielded him in both moonlight and bright sun.
To ease the strain of the uncommon position and distract himself from his hunger, he raised his wings a fraction, pulled them back tight against his sides, then settled back onto his haunches. Hunger demanded something more substantial than a long-eared jumper or two. That was a fine meal for a man, but not for a dragon.
The valley floor is warmer and there is food. Even if it is human food. However, he dismissed the thought as quickly as it appeared. He was safe, as long as he didn’t move. Even in his true form, those below couldn’t distinguish between the real dragon and the one formed by the hand of wind and rain. The narrow, steep path through the thick underbrush-filled trees, ensured no one could approach unnoticed. Not even the men on guard duty would come during the day, let alone at night. The trek was just too difficult for the effort when there were more easily accessed sites for observation posts.
Anger surged through Medraut’s frame and a wisp of smoke escaped his tight lips. Even if he assumed human form, it would take candlemarks to make the trek to the gathering below. And that did not take into account the danger from the cursed humans. Gault swore to Deheoul's honesty, but the clan leader’s action already proved he had only one loyalty – to himself.
His attention returned to the valley floor and the flickering lights of the fires that surrounded the village. Extending his dragon vision, he searched for the brown hair that marked Brial. She was down there, ready for the taking. He pictured her in his mind’s eye. The amorphous shape of her dance partner shifted. Instead, she was in his arms. Her body moved against his to the rhythm of the sensuous music. The urge to leap into the night and claim his prize became unbearable. He bit off his low growl so it wouldn’t roll down the mountainside and betray his presence.
More than the threat of Trelleir’s intervention kept him on the ledge, confined to the outskirts. Both Deheoul and Gault argued against Medraut hiding within the convocation. As he had so many times since the argument, he wondered what the other two men planned.
A curse and Medraut scanned the skies looking for any occlusion of the stars or the moon that now hung over the valley. He not only looked for dragon wings, but something smaller. Karst’s helwr had proven too loyal to his master. Not only did it protect Karst, the creature kept anyone and everyone it thought a danger to Brial away from her.
Memory of how the bird had found him on the trail outside the convocation valley added to the fire in his veins. The red scratches on his face throbbed. "That damn helwr, every time I come out into the sunlight or attempt to take to the wing, it attacks. The last time I barely escaped without talons gauging my eyes out." The words came out in a growl. Not even darkness allowed any respite. The night before an unbearable gnawing drove him out into the night. None of the deer said to live in the valley were found. Only the helwr. He wondered if the vicious bird had chased the deer away.
As he had so often since his escape from the caravan, he wanted to spread his wings and bugle his defiance to the skies. And as he had before, self-preservation took control and he squashed the urge.
"I am stuck in this damp cave."