sorrowed by it, or angered. But he is only a bigger fool to let others know of it. And a man's place in the herdfolk is the place he grows to. Capiam is the herdlord, and Rolke will be so after him. Unless his line dies out, so will the position be passed. And if the herdlord has no child to take leadership, then the elders choose a new herdlord. But no man can say, 'I am the leader now,' and have it be so. Followers choose a leader; a leader cannot choose followers.'
'Some folk choose their leaders that way. The biggest, the strongest, he who can knock down all the others.'
'Not the herdfolk.'
'But your folk ...'
'My folk. Hm.' There was a bitter edge in his short laugh.
'What?'
'Sometimes I think they are not my folk. That blood has more of a say in me than my rearing. Like a fox cub raised with puppies, I may run with them and try to bark, but it does not make me one of their pack. No, nor Joboam. I can say, they should rid themselves of him, he doesn't belong, he is hurting them. But what of me? What of a man who feels pleasure when he thinks of killing Joboam. Does he belong among the herdfolk?'
'Your heart is here.'
He was silent, his long strides eating up the trail. 'Sometimes. I like the calving times, I like putting my mark into a new animal. I like watching over my feeding reindeer and keeping them safe from wolverines. But when I dream ...'
'You dream?' Tillu broke the dangling silence.
'I wonder about my grandfather's folk. I remember the trading trip I made with my father. I think of their bright bronze tools, and the strange tales they told of the folk that lived to the south of them. And I feel like the marsh birds feel when the edge of fall is in the air. The young ones stand on the rocks and stretch their necks and lift their wings and yearn. And when the pull gets too strong, all of them rise and go. The pull is getting very strong, Tillu. Perhaps it would be a way for me. To leave, before I kill Joboam and shame my mother.'
Tillu nodded reluctantly and the conversation lapsed. The night closed softly around them as the last of the colors left the day. The midges hummed and the hooves of the reindeer clicked in their eternal rhythm. Heckram felt drained, body and soul. There was no part of him that Tillu had not explored today. She knew him now. It troubled him that he knew so little of her in return. But time would lower her barriers. Time or pain. If she had not been so hurt today, she might never have let him near. He wondered how the night would shape itself.
He decided he would pitch his shelter beside Ristin's. He would leave it up to Tillu where she slept, in his shelter or Ristin's. He wondered where Kari would set up her tent for Carp. Had Kerlew missed his mother yet? He doubted that the boy realized her pain. Then he wondered if it would make any difference if he did. Kerlew would regret causing her pain, he knew that much. What he didn't know was if the regret would be enough to make him reconsider the path he had chosen. He doubted it.
Tillu had become very quiet. Was her head busy with the same thoughts? His free hand had been resting on her shoulder for some time. Now he snugged her closer for an instant, acting before he could wonder if she would resent the action. She didn't. Her own arm around his waist tightened, and for a few strides they walked that way. Then, with a soft shrug, she freed herself, and walked unencumbered at his side.
The fullness of night had caught them. The wind that slipped the clouds past the stars blew the midges away as well. 'There's rain on the wind,' he said softly.
He felt her assent, although he didn't see her nod. 'I hope we can get the shelter up before it comes down,' she said, and a small tension that had been riding on his shoulders lifted away. She would be with him tonight. He felt her cool fingers touch his hand briefly. He smiled without looking at her and walked on toward the lights of the camp.
But just when the lights became fires, and the crouching shadows tents, a shape reared suddenly from beside their path and stepped between them and the lights.
Shaggy but manlike it stood, too tall to be a man. He heard Tillu gasp and without thought he swept his arm wide to carry her behind him. It spoke.
'If the herdlord's wife and son die, we won't have to look far to fix the blame.'
'Joboam,' he hissed, and set his feet.
'Yes. Joboam.' A sneering satisfaction in the reply.
The shagginess resolved itself into a hide flung across his shoulders against the night chill, the hugeness became merely Joboam's usual height and bulk. Revulsion swept through Heckram, and for the first time, he thought he might be right to kill this man. It would not be like killing an animal, where the challenge was in the stalking and the satisfaction in the meat afterward. No. Here the challenge would be in matching his strength, and the satisfaction in wiping the blood from his hands. A shiver ran lightly over his shoulders and back, readying him.
Did Joboam sense it? He held out one hand in a gesture bidding him wait.
'I haven't come to challenge you, Heckram. Though we both know the time for that comes soon. I've heard the things you've said about me, and I'll make you answer for them. But not yet. Capiam sent me, to find the healer he has so generously fed and provided for. Where is she, now that there is something more than a splinter or a rash to cure? When both his wife and his son toss in a fever and vomit and shiver with pain?
Has not he upheld his end of the bargain, even taking in her half-wit son and the trouble-making najd that teaches him? The healer has a few questions to answer. And you, too, Heckram. Capiam wonders about a man who does not feel bound by the herdlord's word or the customs of his people.'
'He will have his answers,' Heckram replied evenly. 'If the healer is late, it is no fault of her own. I will answer for it. And any other questions he may ask me. But only if they come from his mouth, not from a dog that grovels on his threshold.'
Joboam growled and his shoulders hunched with his anger. Heckram waited calmly for his rush. But it was Tillu who pushed past him brusquely, saying, 'And will not the herdlord wonder what delayed the healer even after she was found? Snarl and savage each other at your own leisure. I won't have time to bandage you tonight. Let's be on our way. Ketla is in pain.'
Joboam straightened slowly. 'Yes,' he agreed with slow satisfaction. 'Hurry, Healer.
Or you may be too late.'
Something in his voice triggered Heckram. He surged forward, and his fist carried the momentum of his movement as it hammered into the center of Joboam's chest. It was not the most telling spot to hit a man. Even Heckram knew that from his childhood tussles. A blow to the face would have hurt more and been more debilitating. But the force of his fist was enough to sit Joboam down flat in the mud-churned moss. Heckram braced himself for Joboam to rise and attack him. Instead, Joboam sat, head bowed, trying to pull air back into his lungs. Heckram stared at him, amazed, as he realized that Joboam wasn't going to get up. This was it. It was over.
'That was stupid!' Tillu's voice sizzled like snow spilled on a fire. She started to crouch down beside Joboam, but Heckram surprised himself by taking her elbow and pulling her to her feet.
'He's not hurt, and you don't have time. Run ahead, toward the fires. I'll bring the harkar as fast as I can. Here,' he turned and fumbled at the bundles one harke carried.
'This is your healer's pouch, I think. Do you need anything else?'
She shook her head, staring up at him in the darkness. On her face was a strange mixture of anger and admiration. He nearly smiled.
'Well, go on, then. And when you are finished, you'll find my tent near Ristin's. I'll check on Kerlew for you. You go to Capiam and see what you can do. Hurry, now.'
She took a few steps, and then looked back at him. 'Well, go on!' he urged her, and she turned and ran. He took up the lead rope of his harke. As he started the rajd forward again, Joboam had gotten to one knee and was trying to stand. Heckram looked down on him as he passed. The hatred he had felt for the man so long was suddenly lost. Instead, he remembered Wolf, in what might have been a dream, and a bargain. There was another task for him this night, one that had nothing to do with Joboam. He uttered the thought aloud, without thinking. 'I don't need to worry about you. You're Wolf's meat.'
Joboam gaped at him, his face awash with feelings. Incredulous, angry, and somewhere in a corner of his soul, afraid. Heckram didn't look at him. Instead he fixed his eyes on the fires and the small silhouette with the
