though. Highly unlikely. “One, you will find the criminal and deliver him-or them-to me,” Lethel said. “That you must do. And, two, there can be no more destruction of Lothan Aklun artifacts. They are all henceforth league possessions. Any act against them is an act against us.”
“That thing was evil,” a voice from Dukish’s entourage said.
“Perhaps it was. Or perhaps it was a device that the Lothan Aklun turned to evil. Is a knife evil because it can kill a man? No, it can also do a thousand useful things. We of the league have scholars among us, physicians and men of learning. It may be that for every way the Lothan Aklun used their tools to make your lives misery we could use them for good. This is not negotiable. You will leave such artifacts to us. Indeed, you will alert us to any that we have yet to discover.”
“The Anet do not seek these Lothan Aklun things,” Dukish said. “We have no interest in them. I cannot speak for the other clans, but you have my faith on this. Now, let me have your faith. Your man, the one who spoke to us before you, said you could provide us with settlers, with women who are fertile and can breed. Is that so?”
That’s easily enough done, Lethel thought. We have whole breeding islands for just that purpose. “That is within our capacity.”
“Have I your faith, then?”
Lethel did not correct the man’s usage of the word. “In all things, sir. It will take some time, but it can be done. In addition to the barrier isles, we would need to base some operations here in Avina. If we are truly to-”
“He lies!”
The shout was loud, sharp enough to cause Sire Lethel to start. He craned around, looking for the source, for it was not among the two groups in the courtyard.
“Leagueman, he is lying!”
“Who speaks?” the gray-faced woman said. “Show yourself.”
The voice said, “Dukish does not speak for the Free People.”
“Who does, then?” Lethel asked.
“Promise me that your soldiers will not shoot us.”
“Give us no reason and we won’t.”
“I have your faith, then?”
Lethel rolled his eyes. “Certainly.”
A woman rose to standing on the bridge Lethel’s party had passed under to enter the courtyard. Several others to either side and a few more on roofs nearby also rose or stepped from behind the stones that had hidden them. They did not appear to be armed, except for knives that were as yet sheathed. Dukish barked something at the woman in Auldek, gesturing profanely as he did so. The woman gave it back. Other Anet added their voices, and for a moment it seemed the entire meeting would erupt into chaos.
The Ishtat reacted. They enveloped Lethel within a bristling wedge of bodies. They pressed so tight against him that as they pulled him back he was not sure if his feet touched the ground, or if they lifted him bodily. The bowmen readied their weapons-aiming both at the Anet and at the newcomers-and the captain shouted the clanspeople to stillness.
Lethel sighed. The difficulties of dealing with primitives. One never knew where the power resided. Always upstarts and bickering to contend with. Though in this case, he doubted it truly rested with this woman. Her face was pale blue, and she wore a headdress that sprang up from her hairline. Did she hope to pass that off as a crown? She was slim, though, limber looking, just Lethel’s type, actually, except for the… feathers. That’s what they were. Not a headdress exactly, but plumes of feathers instead of hair. These people!
The woman said, “We don’t come to fight you-just to tell you the truth before you err. Dukish does not speak for us, for those who were once quota and are now free citizens of a new nation.”
The Anet raged at this, and it took the Ishtat a moment to quiet them.
“Do you, then, speak for these people?”
Dukish tried to say something, but the Ishtat captain punched him in the jaw. It was a quick jab, just a warning, as was the way he drew his short sword from its scabbard for Dukish to see. A tense moment, but it went no further. Lethel repeated his question.
“For the moment I do,” the woman answered.
“And what’s your name, then?”
“Skylene.”
“Ah,” Lethel said, fully in control of his composure once more, “well, Skylene, this news surprises me. I found Dukish to be quite convincing. You can’t say that he does not control a considerable portion of the city. That he does not speak for many. I’ve seen the evidence of it with my own eyes. Don’t ask me to disbelieve them. Perhaps you should come down from there and talk with me here.”
“I will speak from here.”
“That’s hardly the way to hold council. Really, you-”
“Leagueman. I cannot hold council with you. I simply want you to know that Dukish does not speak for the People.”
“Who does, then?”
“Our Council of Elders. Yoen. Mor. There are many who speak faith. They are away, gathering the People in the Westlands to return here. They will come soon. The Anet have just grabbed for power in their absence. Careful, leagueman, some among the Kulish Kra and the Lvin scheme to do the same. Do not make any pacts with them. They will not be valid. The council speaks for all the People, not just for one clan or another. Dukish is a fool who would make chaos out of what could be peace. Don’t listen to him!”
Lethel wished he could express on his face the full measure of his displeasure at being given commands. He did not. He showed nothing but troubled interest. “Most disturbing to hear this. Come down and let’s-”
“Ushen Brae is for the People. You have no place here. Nor can you divide us. We are stronger together and we will hold.”
“Ah,” Lethel said. He made a face as if he had burped up an unpleasant taste. Holding up the palm of his hand, he asked for a moment to consider a response. On the one hand, a council of elders who speak for all the people, high ideals, a loathing for the league, grandiose notions of this as a free land. On the other hand, several fool clans who would fracture Ushen Brae into small powers squabbling among themselves, all wanting nothing more than to buy league wares. It was an easy decision to make.
Glancing at his Ishtat captain, Lethel said, “Shoot the bird.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Shirtless and sweating, Melio faced the massive warrior. His Marah sword sliced the air. He backed and parried. The warrior stepped toward him on legs like tree trunks, his blade hissing in the air with each massive swing. Several times Melio dodged to the right or left as his foe’s sword struck the frozen ground, sending up splinters of ice. He felt the giant’s anger growing, possessing him, driving him to more and more furious attacks. He bellowed and swung his blade around. Melio ducked and spun and leaped with a swirling aerial attack of his own. It would have been a wonderful move. He would have soon followed it with a head-hewing attack.
Except that the timing of his landing was off. The ground moved beneath him in such a way that he landed on the edge of his foot. His ankle twisted and he yanked it into the air, hopping on the other leg, cursing. His sword hung limp, and his foe, for that matter, went forgotten. Forgetting the slickness of the surface on which he stood, Melio’s good foot suddenly took off in a horizontal direction, bringing the rest of his body crashing down a moment later.
“What, exactly, was all that about?”
The voice was Geena’s. She sat suspended from the rigging of the league clipper, the Slipfin. She had one leg wrapped around the rope ladder. That was all she needed to feel secure, even though the vessel rose and fell at a rapid, wind-whipped clip. As Melio had fought his battle, she had munched dates and spit the pits out over the water. Sometimes upright, sometimes hanging upside down, she had watched the entire scene with barely contained mirth. It had taken Melio an extra measure of focus to block her out.
