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THE HASTILY-CALLED meeting of all the clan chiefs not only took up the previous afternoon and evening but went well into the night. Brial rubbed her arms as the fear from the dragon's attack and attempt to murder Karst and kidnap her returned.
As she had ever since her grandfather met them on the trail with more reinforcements, she thanked her ancestors beyond the veil for his abilities with a sword. Despite the matter-of-fact way he described Gault’s failed attack, she shuddered at what could have happened, of how the fight could have turned out.
The controlled expressions on the council members’ faces during Feldt’s description of the various rules Deheoul broke in the challenge offered no insight into their thoughts ... or which way they would vote. And, not just what punishment Deheoul should be given, but whether or not to punish him at all.
She relived her testimony of his attempt to kill Karst, his betrayal of his oath, and worse of all, his collaboration with Medraut. Bandages around his arms told of unhealed wounds. But he never spoke a word, just glared as everyone who had been at the challenge site offered testimony.
Deheoul's response to the accusations went beyond a proclamation of innocence. He defended Gault and ordered the council remove the leader of Clan Vreis from his rank and his position on the convocation council.
"At least the petition was swiftly rejected," Brial breathed.
Deheoul stood, demanding the right to speak.
Her heart raced so hard she could barely hear the words. It was only when he ended his claim for compensation for his mistreatment, the loss of his man, and breaking the custom of challenge did her courage fail.
The gelt he required is Me!
Only Karst's hand on her arm and the knowledge that neither Deneas nor Trelleir would allow her to be taken against her will enabled her to hide her terror.
Before her grandfather could respond, the leader of Clan Llanrug pounded her fist on the table. "The clans, both singly and as a convocation, do not condone slavery. Even if Brial were not in line for clan leadership, she is not chattel to be awarded you." She pinned him with a stern look. "I will not consider your request. Petition denied!" A moment later she added, "Feldt, your next item for discussion?"
"Gault fell, not in honorable battle," Feldt stated, "but as a disowned man. Clan Vreis does not consider him one of our clan and will not allow him to be buried with our kin in the burial caves." His dry, "What does the council wish done with Gault’s body?" ended with the council’s almost unanimous decision to take the corpse to one of the lairs of the large mountain cats and let the animals take care of it.
"Evidence has been presented," the temporary leader of the convocation council said into the tension. "It is time to decide what to do about one of our own—Deheoul."
It had taken all Feldt’s skill and knowledge of clan law to win over the two recalcitrant leaders. Only when the representative of Deheoul’s clan announced that his title and position had been revoked, and he was summoned to appear before his mother did the hold-outs vote to censure Deheoul and allow his kin to decide his fate.
At least, Brial thought, Deheoul shouldn’t expect a warm reception when he arrives at his clan’s winter caves. His mother and Feldt were old friends and the leader of Clan Vreis said he was sending a personal message to be presented at Deheoul’s trial in his homeland.
Only when his punishment and the proclamation of the stripping away of his rank and title did Deheoul say anything. And then it was to once again object to the unfair treatment of the trial and to demand Brial heal him.
She smiled, "No, my healing is exhausted and will take some time to restore."
AFTER HER GRANDFATHER'S nod at the door, all she could focus on was the light beyond the tunnel entrance.
Brial admitted to herself that the walk out of the council hall felt more like an escape than a dismissal. Even once they broke out into the sunlight, battle energy still thundered in her veins.
"Won’t you all join me in my wagon for a glass of wine?"
Deneas’ quick acceptance, and Trelleir’s a half-second later said that to one degree to another, the others felt the same way. No one was ready to turn in.
Half the bottle was downed when Deneas turned and pointed her finger. "Why Bri? Why didn’t you say anything?"
Heat flamed Brial's cheeks. She tried to speak but couldn’t. How to answer the accusation? If she answered truthfully, she could lose her one, true friend. "I felt it was not my place. That if you had meant me to know you would have told me."
The shock, then fear, that flickered in Trelleir’s face added to the feeling of betrayal. "I knew Trelleir's 'other side’ after the raiders' attack. The way you touched him, laid your hand upon his chest, screamed a relationship." It took a head shake before she could continue coherently. "No, it was more. It was love." A shrug and she added, "Since you and he were ... it made sense that Trelleir was the dragon."
"And you, Karst?" Trelleir said. "How did I reveal my true self?" He gave a little chuckle. "Just for future reference. After all, I lived amongst those of Darceth for many years and they never knew."
"It was just little things here and there," Karst explained. "I think I absorbed more of the slayer training than I thought. I wasn’t absolutely sure until Brial healed the dragon and you emerged from the cocoon. Don’t worry, Deneas, Trelleir. Your secret is safe with Brial and me."
Brial’s fear that she had inadvertently betrayed her friend raced her pulse. No, she told herself. I did nothing wrong.
By the time the glasses were refilled, the awkward silence shifted to the companionable chatter of plans for the future.
"Someday I would like to find more of my kind," Trelleir said. "Although my hatchery was destroyed and the last lair Deneas and I found was abandoned, it looked like it was not done hurriedly as if running from attackers." A sadness entered his tone. "If any of my kind exist, I would like to find them. And pray that they are not like Medraut."
“I am sorry, Trell. I didn’t know.” A wry smile twitched Brial’s lips. “I might be able to help with your search.” Quick steps took her to her bag and she pulled out a palm-sized leather-bound journal. “This is for you, Trelleir. After Betrys told me the legend of the tear stones, I sent word out through the clans for information on places where the jewels have been found.” She offered the small book. “Their answers, either by map or description, are in here. As well as what I found relating to tear stones in Iseldir’s healing notes. It isn’t much, but it might help. I suggest starting at the southern fishing towns.”
Deneas’ hug pulled Brial off her feet, only to be swirled around by Trelleir. “Thank you,” he whispered. “This is more than I could have hoped for.”
TEN STEPS LEFT, TURN, ten steps right. Too anxious to sit still as she waited for the handfasting ceremony to begin, Brial paced back and forth across the small wagon waited for the handfasting ceremony to begin. The night before had been filled with candlemarks of talk and little sleep. She knew settling the challenge was important, yet making the decision to delay her and Karst's marriage until the following evening after the council finished their normal business had not been easy. At least, she thought, the food and sweet treats grandmother and the other women prepared didn't go to waste.
A soft knock on the door pulled her from her reverie. At her lilting, "Come," Deneas opened the door, letting in the strains of an old mountain tune. "Everyone is in place, Bri. Are you ready?"
A final look in the mirror showed her simple long skirt and matching brown shirt had been transformed into a dignified gown. The long strand of willow-green pearls woven into her braids formed a shimmering crown encircling her head. Matching pearls shimmered on her sleeves, complimenting the green thread embroidery along the hem of her skirt. One hand reached up to her throat, now devoid of any adornment.
"I know Karst had to take the tear stone back," she muttered, "so that he could present it to me at the handfasting." She lowered her hand and ruefully added. "But, I have missed it these past few days."
A deep breath to push away the last lingering doubt and she stepped outside to where her grandmother and Deneas waited. The cut of her grandmother’s deep blue gown and the embroidered silk trim on the bodice and sleeves reflected a style long out of fashion, even with the traditional traders. A chain of silver filigreed rosettes and beads, and jeweled golden pins sparkled in the older woman’s hair.
Deneas is beautiful in that gown, even if it is borrowed. Brial thought. She wears dark brown as if she had been born to a high rank. A pair of wooden hair sticks held the upswept hair in place. The red jewels that dangled from their ends flashed in her dark hair as she moved.
Brial stopped to take in the scene. The buzz of conversation overwhelmed the warm breezes that rustled the long skirt of her embroidered gown. Light notes from the silver flute played by a musician off to the side rose to the cloudless sky.
The rustle of cloth broke into her reflection. She started at the approach of someone as Trelleir stepped out from behind the wagon.
"Brial," he said and offered her his arm. "Since your parents are no longer with us and," he nodded at the stage then added, "your grandfather is occupied, I ask for the honor of being your escort." His wry smile held a hint of sadness. "There was more than a little competition to see who would walk you down the aisle." Trelleir leaned in and whispered. "I didn't have to cheat. I even let the others use their own coins." His face straightened. "You will say 'yes,' won't you?"
"Thank you, Trelleir," Brial murmured. "I thought I would have to break tradition and walk in alone. However, I would be most pleased to have you accompany me."
As long as the walk to the edge of the crowd seemed to be, the journey flashed by in mere heartbeats. Her heart beat faster. There was no break in the people, no aisle to walk through. If her kin, objected to the marriage, all they had to do was maintain the solid wall of people. Not just my kin, she corrected. Anyone.
The strains of the bridal march floated through the air. For that much sound, she realized it had to be performed by every musician that rolled with the wagons.
Turmoil filled her thoughts and with each step shifted between the happiness she wanted and the fear it would be taken away. Every member of all the gathered clans was there. But it was her kinsmen she had to face as she walked the line. The tradition of walking between two lines of kinsmen, any of whom could stop the handfasting, had terrified Brial until her great-grandmother had told of her own walk so many decades earlier.
"Brial, my child, you are not the first to risk their hopes and dreams. A few of the elder ladies and the oldest of my uncles pinned me with the harshest glare I had ever seen. At least until I reached them, then they broke into big smiles. Knowing no physical touch was allowed to prevent interference with the ceremony, my kin blew me kisses." She paused as if remembering her younger self walking up to the stage. "Of course, since I had to keep going, I couldn't stop and strangle them as I wanted to."
A clear peal from a flute silenced the crowd. Without a word, first one of her kin, then another smiled. A wave and turn, and an opening formed. It lengthened with each step until a clear path to the stage emerged.
Time halted between breaths at the sight of the convocation platform and its occupants. Her grandfather and the soon-to-be grandson-in-law stood side-by-side. The embroidered symbol of Clan Vreis on the hem of their tunics caught the light to glow against the dark cloth.
Trelleir's soft tone broke through the reverie. "Ready, Bri?"
An equally soft, "Yes," and Brial climbed the steps and started walking to Karst.
Feldt raised his arms, encompassing the crowd.
"Welcome, friends. Let it be known to all that Karst, son of Ealasaid, has asked Brial of Clan Vreis to be his wife. We are here to celebrate the joining of their lives."
Karst’s smile when he stepped to her side, filled Brial with a warmth that had nothing to do with the late afternoon sun. The exchange of promises passed far too quickly. While she was sure she would remember every word and image later, Brial only heard the words of the handfasting.
Her skin flamed beneath Karst’s touch when he placed the chain with the silver cage holding the tear stone around her neck. With a deft movement, he moved it into place, whispering, "I will make you happy, my love. To my last day, to my last breath."
A flush rose up her neck at the intensity of his tone.
Pride flowed when Karst broke custom and knelt in a display of acknowledgement of her position as helpmate.
Now she untied the ribbon from around her bouquet to let the silver armband fall into her hand. She held it up for all to see. For some reason she couldn’t control, her fingers trembled, making the metal shimmer in the light.
It is not the woven band village women traditionally make to symbolize their obedience—and submission, guilt hissed.
A shadow appeared in Brial’s thoughts at the word—submission. For a fleeting second, she relived Medraut's mental attack and Deheoul's demand. I will never be anyone’s chattel. And with Great-grandmother Betrys' blessing on the tear stone, I will never be controlled like that again.
She ruthlessly quashed the splinter of darkness and grabbed onto the brightness the armband represented. The band is a symbol of love, Brial thought. Of my love. And although I had Geren’s help, I did make it with my own two hands.
As she spoke the final vow of handfasting and slid the bracelet around his arm, Karst’s eyes sparkled as if he too noted the difference between tradition and their handfasting.
He pulled her into his arms. His head bent down to hers. All of her doubts, all of the losses of the past disappeared in a flare of passion. A ringing tone only she could hear sang from the promise token on her arm. The one Karst wore answered in a triumphant chord. Summoned by its call, Brial’s token responded. Fire raced from it and flowed through her body.
She was aware of nothing but the tenderness of his lips on hers. Her soul soared in the ecstasy of a spell she had yearned to experience.