“I was told that a Tehkohn huntress killed her to keep her from being taken by my hunters.”
“So.” She switched abruptly to Tehkohn, allowing her anger to show. It made no difference now. The Garkohn was already well aware of which side she had to be on. “One of your hunters fed her from his bag of meklah poison while several Tehkohn were forced to watch. He did it so that he could enjoy their reactions; I was there. It is only because the Tehkohn broke ranks so quickly to tear him apart that your hunters had no time to notice my reaction. By the time your hunters had killed some of the Tehkohn and restored order, a Tehkohn huntress had killed my child.” Alanna stared at him in silence for a moment, then continued bitterly. “Do you know that I understand what she did, First Hunter? Do you know that I am grateful to her for saving my child from the life that meklah addiction would have condemned her to—the life of a Garkohn!” She made the name an obscenity.
But she was lying. Tien’s life meant more to her than any tribal feud, more than any personal prejudice. She would rather have had her daughter alive even addicted to meklah, and thus confined to the valley. But Natahk did not know that. He would believe her, and he would know that he could never again use Tien’s death as a tool to pry information from her. That was all Alanna wanted.
She started to rise to leave him and he caught her arm in a thick, powerful, short-fingered hand. His grip was loose, however, only warning.
“I’m not finished, Alanna.”
She looked at his hand, then at him. “The Missionaries may not be able to hear us at this distance, Natahk, but they can see us well enough.”
He released her arm and again she started to leave.
“Sit still!”
She was stopped by his tone rather than his words. She looked at him and saw that his coloring had taken on more yellow with his anger. He spoke again.
“You will talk to me now, or I will have my hunters take you from the Mission settlement and bring you to me later.”
Slowly, stunned, she sat back down. He meant it. She was alerted now; he would not deceive her again. But he had already goaded her into admitting that she was his enemy, and he would treat her as an enemy. He knew the Missionaries well enough to realize that she could not afford to have them learn that she had accepted a Tehkohn man, borne a “subhuman” child. Exodus 22:19: “Whosoever lieth with a beast shall surely be put to death.” Such a sin could turn even Jules and Neila Verrick against her. Thus, Natahk felt free to threaten her, and to carry out his threat if she made it necessary. She would be in no position to complain.
“So,” he said softly. “You understand.” And he leaned back, looked at her curiously, appraisingly, letting her know the subject of his next words before he spoke them. Her husband…
“I try to imagine what kind of Tehkohn man would accept you in a liaison,” he said. “And how such a man might feel when he learned that you carried his child and the liaison had become a marriage. Which clan does your husband belong to?”
“He’s a judge.” She was careful to say the words with the proper amount of pride and disdain. Judges were, among other things, lawgivers, advisers to rulers, and sometimes, rulers themselves. The judge blue-green could have accounted for the lack of yellow in Tien’s coloring. It did not, but it could have.
“A judge.” Natahk seemed to believe her. “We have captured four judges, we lowly hunters. Four judges and a Hao!” He shimmered, gleefully luminescent, and turned to look at the prisoners. Most of them were half covered with a red paint made especially for shaming enemies, criminals, and prisoners of war. With prisoners, it also served to neutralize their camouflage ability. No red-painted captive, even if he escaped his captors, could hope simply to fade away into the woods. Red was too rare a color aboveground in both the mountains and the valley. No matter how well the unpainted parts of a prisoner’s body blended with his background, the red blazed forth to reveal him.
“I wonder,” said Natahk, “whether we have captured your husband.”
“You haven’t,” she said shortly. Another lie—but this time, perhaps only half a lie.
“So? But I’ve watched you, Alanna. The way you look at the prisoners. The way you avoid looking at the prisoners. Your face shows more than fear and painful memories. Yes, I think we’ve captured him—or driven him into the hands of the Missionaries. Is he their one crippled judge?”
She realized peripherally that the Missionaries’ lone judge must have been the one with the broken arm and the long red gash in his forehead.
“Which is it?” asked Natahk.
Alanna said nothing.
“If you have feeling for the man who fathered your child, you’ll tell me. If he belongs to the Missionaries, I can speak to Verrick, perhaps make a trade. He would be safer in my hands. I know better than to kill my prisoners. The Missionaries may not.” He paused, trying to read her carefully expressionless face, then went on. “In the southern end of this valley, there is another Garkohn town.”
“A town of farmers,” said Alanna. “I know.”
“Mostly farmers, yes, and some hunters to defend against animals and raiders, and to get meat. I’m First among them too. I could make a place there for you and your husband to resume your lives together.”
Alanna smiled grimly. “My husband is not a captive, hunter.”
He looked doubtful. “If you are telling the truth, you may be less fortunate than you think. You may have no other chance for reunion with him.”
“Reunited to live as Garkohn, our loyalties ensured by the meklah?”
“That is our way, Alanna.”
“And I have said what I thought of that ‘way.’”
“Oh yes. Death would be preferable.” He rose to his feet. “Stand up.”
