He welcomed them himself, as was proper for people he had taken into his household, and then left their disposition among his tents to Kala, his wife. He would not usurp even a particle of her authority, and where the management of tents and living arrangements was concerned, tradition declared that the wife's word was the only word.
'You are certain you do not wish to see them disposed?' she replied, with a quizzical lift of her eyebrow.
'So long as you do not put them in our bed, I shall be content with your wise judgment,' he told her.
She kept that eyebrow raised. 'Many men do not see it that way' was her comment.
Diric snorted. 'And that is both a shame and a disgrace; what, must they prove themselves men by giving no responsibility whatsoever to
'The young warriors must needs be the masters in their tents,' was all she said, as she left with
Diric could only shake his bead, but it occurred to him that this was just another symptom of how Jamal was undermining even the traditions of Forge Clan. Even the First Smith had beside Him the First Wife, who gave Him the fire for His forges from the hearth that She guarded, and taught Him every secret that flame and coals held! Had She not constructed the bellows Herself, and tended them while He forged out the world? While He created the sky, the sun, and the moon. She caught the sparks of the forge and set them in the night sky as stars, the smoke from the fire and placed it there as clouds. While He forged the earth and the seas. She created the delicate filigree of plants to clothe it. When He turned His attention to filling it with life, She added the ornamental touches of Her own—song and bright feathers for the birds, horns and antlers for the grazing beasts, scales and fur and hair in all the colors of water, earth, and sky.
The man who forgot all that was not only impious, but a fool, depriving himself of good counsel and a good friend…
Whoever fails to honor his help and mate by honoring all her due authority has no sense and little judgment.
And besides—why would anyone want to take on more work, when there was someone there to share it?
Hmm. Well, it is not the work such fools are taking on, but the power. The women still must do the work, handicapped by the fact that it is a fool who ordered it.
Well, that was but one more place where he differed from Jamal, and it was small wonder that the War Chief could not find a single maiden willing to enter his tent as a wife, given his well-known feelings on the subject of 'a woman's place.' Perhaps that accounted for his preoccupation with conflict—
He scolded himself for allowing his mind to wander as Kala led them away, smiling. Their children were all grown, and she often found time hanging heavily on her hands with only the tasks for two to occupy her. She was never happier than when they had guests, and this long trek so far from other clans had made the possibility of guests unlikely. Kala knew everything that was in his mind, and he could not have trusted
Kala will also gleefully take it upon herself to clothe the maiden properly, and it is just as well that she seems pliant and cooperative, for Kala will not be denied!
Now he had another facet of his plot to think on: how to manufacture an excuse to see the captives frequently. They were, technically, under the jurisdiction of Jamal, and Jamal would take it askance if he called on them too many more times. The First Smith did not send portents that often that Diric would be able to use a portent as an excuse, either.
There were no inquiries about my late-night summons, though, so that excuse does remain fresh to be used again. Next time, however, he must make certain to have some physical evidence of a portent.
'Priest Diric!'
The voice at his tent flap startled him, the more so since it was an unfamiliar one. He composed himself quickly; perhaps he had been hasty in thinking his portent-ruse would not be needed. 'Enter,' he said, in a deep, even tone, putting on all of the dignity of his office.
The young man who entered was arrayed as a warrior, but his torque bore the crossed spears of the War Chief, which meant that he was one of Jamal's men, and not, say, a herds man seeking divine consultation. He gave the full bow of respect, however, if a fraction belatedly, when Diric bent a stem gaze on him.
So in that much, at least, I still have some power among the tents.
'Priest Diric, I am come from the War Chief,' he said, as he rose from his bow.
Diric waited for the man to speak his piece, but he seemed to be struggling with the words. Odd. If this was a challenge from Jamal, would he be so reticent? Surely Jamal would have sent a bolder man.
'The War Chief begs a favor of you, a gift of your time,' the man said at last.
Diric raised one eyebrow. 'A gift of my time? My time is always at the service of my people; the War Chief knows that. What is it that required favor? '
The man shifted his weight uncomfortably. 'It is—the slaves, Priest Diric, the new captives. He wishes you to assume the questioning of the new captives as to their origin and the disposition of their people.'
Now both eyebrows rose, and Diric's surprise was unfeigned. 'I?' he replied incredulously. 'I? Are not such questions the proper realm of the War Chief?'
The man's discomfort grew. 'This is true, yet he requests that you assume this questioning, and send him word of what you learn.'
Diric assumed a stern expression. 'What possible reason can he have for this? My time is as valuable as his —and dedicated to the well-being of all the clan, not only the warriors! He had best have a compelling reason for asking me to devote my time to the questioning of demons for the purpose of making war upon them! There is nothing in all of the edicts of the First Smith that demands we make war upon demons, for gain or for good.'
Now, this was something of an about-face for Diric, who had been trying to get more access to the prisoners, not less, but he hoped that the man would forget this and blurt something out under the pressure of the moment. And besides, there was a tale of the First Smith and the clever Sandfox—
If I protest, like the Fox, that 'I do not want that rich, red meat, I truly hate that rich, red meat, and none but fools eat rich, red meat,' perhaps the meat will be left unguarded…
He was not disappointed.
'They—they will no longer speak to him, Priest Diric,' the man got out under the pressure of his disapproving glare. 'The female has told the males with her to refuse to speak to him. Jamal is reluctant to put them to the question, for they could and would say anything to end it, and he would have no way of telling truth from falsehood.' He gulped, and sweat stood out on his forehead. 'The female says that she will speak only to you from henceforth.'
Diric did not ease his glare in the slightest. 'Oh? And for what reason does the female demon say she will speak only to me? I do not think I care for this—it is altogether too suspicious. Perhaps the demons wish me some harm! Perhaps they fear the power of the First Smith and seek to rid themselves of the First Priest so that they can act without hindrance!'
I do not want that rich, red meat!
Whatever Shana had done, it had embarrassed and angered Jamal—but she had done it in such a way that losing his temper would have only brought further shame upon him. Oh, she was clever, that maiden! Mentally he applauded her while giving no outward indication of his glee.
'She says—' The man's voice was a whisper now, as shame for his Chief became shame he shared. 'She says she has given him repeated proofs that she and hers are no demons, and that she is the War Chief of her own people. She says that he refused to treat her with the respect of leader for leader. He treated her with scorn, and she returns scorn for scorn. She says that you gave her the proper respect of a war-captive, and that as a consequence, she will speak only with you from henceforth. She made this declaration this morning, before many witnesses.'
Oh, my! How quickly she learns, this clever maiden! She has used custom against him in a way he cannot refute! He wanted to laugh aloud, but he kept his demeanor grave. 'Very well,' he replied, after a moment's pause,
