Lord of Lies

over to Morjin, too.'

'No,' Sajagax said. 'Only one of their clans. And they shall be punished.'

'And what of the Marituk, then? They are your enemies. Have they thus become Morjin's friends?'

Sajagax turned toward the west as if he could gaze through the silken walls of his tent and far out across the Poru river into the Marituk's lands. 'We've had word that Morjin has sent many treasure chests to the Marituk. Will they make alliance with him? That is hard to say. They hate the Beast — but perhaps less than they do Alonia and the Kurmak.'

He went on to say that, as always, the Janjii would follow the Marituk, for they were under their fist.

'And what of the other tribes?' I asked him.

'In the south, the Siofok and Danyak stand ready to ride with Morjin. And the Usark and Tukulak are inclined to join them.'

'That is bad,' I said. 'And what of the Mansurii?'

'They hate Morjin — almost as much as they love his gold.'

I looked off at the gold-shod pillars holding up the tent, but I said nothing.

'The southern tribes are weak,' Sajagax said. 'But most of the central tribes remain strong enough to oppose him.'

'The Niuriu? Their chieftain gave us shelter on our journey.'

'Yes, Vishakan is a good man and will never yield to Morjin. And neither will Artukan and the Danladi.'

'But what of the Urtuk?' I said, naming the Sarni's most numerous tribe and Mesh's ancient enemy.

'The western Urtuk remain undecided,' Sajagax said. 'And the main dans would carve the livers from any emissaries Morjin sends and despoil them of their gold. The eastern Urtuk hate the Valari enough that they might join Morjin just for the pleasure of carving out your livers — and your hearts, as well.'

'Then the Sarni tribes each go their own way, as always.'

'Not always, Valashu Elahad. Even in Mesh, they must sing of Tulumar the Great.'

Truly, we did sing of this bloodthirsty warlord, but none of our songs were happy ones. In the year 2073 of the Age of Swords, Tulumar Elek, having united all the Sarni and gone on to conquer more civilized lands, took the title of Emperor of the Wendrush, Delu and Alonia. It was said, if not sung, that Morjin had aided Tulumar in his bid for world dominion and then betrayed him to his death with poison.

'As it was in the ancient days, so it is now,' Sajagax told us. 'Morjin cannot win without the Sarni. And if my people ride with him, he cannot lose.'

'Then that is all the more reason that you must ride with us to Tria. If an alliance is made against Morjin, if you and the Kurmak take part in this and the other tribes behold this miracle- then might not the Sarni be persuaded to ride against Morjin?'

'That is possible,' he said. 'But if the alliance fails, it will go badly. Few of the tribes will want to fight on the losing side.'

'The alliance won't fail,' I said. 'How can it not? What could bring the Valari together with Valari — and with Alonians and Delians? The Maitreya?'

'Yes, he.'

Sajagax pulled at the golden wire binding his braided hair as he looked at me. 'You ask a great deal. For me to ride to Tria at this time with the Marituk raiding in the north and the Red Dragon to be watched — and all on the hope that some untested youth might be the Shining Warrior out of legends none know to be true. No, no, this is too much.'

Baltasar started to reply to this, but Maram laid his hand on his knee and spoke instead: 'Lord Valashu is not untested. Haven't you listened to what I've said? In Argattha, he slew as many as did Atara. And under his leadership, we vanquished the Adirii as well. And only last month, he defeated all at the great tournament and became its champion.'

Sajagax nodded his head as he continued to regard me. And Braggod, a red-faced man with the longest and most impressive of mustaches, spoke for his chieftain: 'Sajagax has led us to victory in thirty-three battles. And as for your tournament, you didn't invite Sarni warriors, so what honor is there in claiming its championship?'

'Valari knights,' Maram said, glancing at the two diamonds of his ring, 'are matchless at arms.'

'With the sword, perhaps,' Braggod allowed. He lifted up his bow and shook it at Maram. 'But not with a truly noble weapon.'

'Our archers hit their targets, too,' Maram said.

'You say 'our' as if you are truly a Valari. But no matter the diamonds you wear, you'll remain a fat prince of Delu.'

Maram's face flushed as red as Braggod's. He said to him, 'This Delian won a second in wrestling. And a third in archery.'

'In what you call archery. Shooting at targets that don't shoot back can hardly be counted as sport.'

'And what do you call sport then?'

'Why, shooting at each other from horseback, fat man.'

Now Sajagax and everyone in our circle looked at Maram, who seemed ready to choke on his bile and throttle the rude Braggod. I was afraid that despite himself, Maram was about to blunder his way into a duel. And so I gripped Maram's arm to steady him; to Braggod and the others, I said, 'Our Valari longbows weren't made for such work. And while in your lands, my knights may not engage in any sport that might draw Kurmak blood.'

If I had hoped to cool Maram's and Braggod's rising tempers, I hoped in vain. Braggod suddenly stood up, and the muscles along his ruddy neck and arms stood out like snakes swollen with blood. He shook his fist at Maram and said, 'We've other sports then, fat man. Why don't we see if you're as good at holding the horn as in blowing your own fat horn?'

'What do you mean?' Maram asked, now as puzzled as the rest of us.

'It's a test,' Braggod said. 'Each of us is given a horn of beer. We drink. The horns are refilled, once, twice — as many times as it takes. The one who holds his beer and remains standing is the better man.'

Maram's eyes gleamed. Braggod might as well have suggesting a test to see who could deflower the most virgins.

'Bring on your horns!' Maram called out with a smile. He fairly jumped to his feet. 'It's time we tested your Kurmak beer!'

Sajagax's warriors in their circles cried out: 'The kradak will drink against Braggod! Give him room to fall!' They stood and gathered around us, and so did many of my knights.

The Sarni cut their long, curved drinking horns from the heads of the greatest sagosk bulls. Such horns, it is said, are the measure of a man. Some are shorter, some longer, their lengths varying according to the amount of beer a warrior can consume. But the horns used in such contests as this were always of the longest: a tall man's arm scarcely sufficed to reach from the horn's mouth to its tip.

Sajagax's wives brought forth two horns, equal in length, brimming with frothy beer. Braggod took one and Maram the other. They stood eyeing each other. Braggod was slightly taller than Maram and seemed stronger, with long, lean muscles that showed beneath his sun-burned skin. He was thick through the body and hips, with massive legs from a lifetime of squeezing the ribs of horses. At a signal from Sajagax, they both lifted up their horns and threw back their heads as they drank deeply.

'Ah, not bad,' Maram said as he smacked his lips and then belched. 'In fact, it's really quite good. You brew your beer from that yellow rushk grain, don't you?'

Braggod belched, too, and licked the foam from his drooping mustache. His large blue eyes seemed as watery as a lake.

'Well,' Maram continued, 'it's more potent than Meshian beer, I'll give you that. Why don't we refill our horns?'

Braggod consented to this, and Sajagax's wives poured the yellow-brown beer into their horns. They raised them and began again.