Finally, one young warrior edged forward a step. ‘You cannot be him,’ he said.
Redmask sighed. ‘Where is your war leader?’ he demanded.
The youth filled his chest and straightened. ‘I am the clan’s war leader. Masarch, son of Nayrud.’
‘When was your death night?’
‘Those are the old ways,’ Masarch said, baring his teeth in a snarl. ‘We have abandoned such foolishness.’
Another spoke up behind the war leader. ‘The old ways have failed us! We have cast them out!’
Masarch said, ‘Remove that mask; it is not for you. You seek to deceive us. You ride a Letherii horse-you are one of the Factor’s spies.’
Redmask made no immediate reply. His gaze slid past the war leader and his followers, fixing once more on the camp below. A crowd was gathering at the near edge, watching. He was silent for another twenty heartbeats, then he said, ‘You have set out no pickets. A Letherii troop could line this ridge and plunge down into your midst, and you would not be prepared. Your women cry out their distress, a sound that can be heard for leagues on a still night like this. Your people are starving, war leader, yet they light an excess of fires, enough to make above you a cloud of smoke that will not move, and reflects the light from below. You have been culling the newborn rodara and myrid, instead of butchering the ageing males and females past bearing. You must have no shouldermen, for if you did, they would bury you in the earth and force upon you the death night, so that you might emerge, born anew and, hopefully, gifted with new wisdom-wisdom you clearly lack.’
Masarch said nothing to that. He had finally seen Redmask’s weapons. ‘You are him,’ he whispered. ‘You have returned to the Awl’dan.’
‘Which clan is this?’
‘Redmask,’ the war leader said, gesturing behind him. ‘This clan… it is yours…’
Receiving naught but silence from the mounted warrior, Masarch added, ‘We, we are all that remain. There are no shouldermen, Redmask. No witches.’ He waved out towards the flanking herds. ‘These beasts you see here, they are all that’s left.’ He hesitated, then straightened once more. ‘Redmask, you have returned… for nothing. You do not speak, and this tells me that you see the truth of things, Great Warrior, you are too late.’
liven to this, Redmask was silent. He slowly dismounted. The dogs, which had continued their trepid circling, tails ducked, either picked up a fresh scent or heard something from the gloom beyond, for they suddenly broke and pelted back down the slope, disappearing into the camp. That panic seemed to ripple through the warriors facing him, but none fled, despite the fear and confusion gripping their expressions.
Licking his lips, Masarch said, ‘Redmask, the Letherii are destroying us. Outrider camps have been ambushed, set upon and slaughtered, the herds stolen away. The Aendinar clan is no more. Sevond and Niritha remnants crawled to the Ganetok-only the Ganetok remains strong, for they are furthest east and, cowards that they are, they made pact with foreigners-’
‘Foreigners.’ Redmask’s eyes narrowed in their slits. ‘Mercenaries.’
Masarch nodded. ‘There was a great battle, four seasons past, and those foreigners were destroyed.’ He made a gesture. ‘The Grey Sorcery.’
‘Did not the victorious Letherii then march on the Ganetok camps?’
‘No, Redmask, too few remained-the foreigners fought well.’
‘Masarch,’ he said, ‘I do not understand. Did not the Ganetok fight alongside their mercenaries?’
The youth spat. ‘Their war leader gathered from the. clans fifteen thousand warriors. When the Letherii arrived, he fled, and the warriors followed. They abandoned the foreigners! Left them to slaughter!’
‘Settle the camp below,’ Redmask said. He pointed to the warriors standing behind Masarch. ‘Stand first watch along this ridge line, here and to the west. I am now war leader to the Renfayar clan. Masarch, where hides the Ganetok?’
‘Seven days to the east. They now hold the last great herd of the Awl.’
‘Masarch, do you challenge my right to be war leader?’
The youth shook his head. ‘You are Redmask. The Elders among the Renfayar who were your enemies are all dead, Their sons are dead.’
‘How many warriors remain among the Renfayar?’
Masarch frowned, then gestured. ‘You have met us, War Leader.’
A nod.
Redmask noted a lone dray dog sitting at the edge of the camp. It seemed to be watching him. He raised his left hand and the beast lunged into motion. The huge animal, a male, reached him moments later, dropping onto its chest and settling its wide, scarred head between Redmask’s feet. He reached down and touched its snout-a gesture that, for most, would have risked fingers. The dog made no move.
Masarch was staring down at it with wide eyes. ‘A lone survivor,’ he said, ‘from an outrider camp. It would not let us approach.’
‘The foreigners,’ Redmask said quietly, ‘did they possess wardogs?’
‘No. But they were sworn followers of the Wolves of War, and indeed, War Leader, it seemed those treacherous, foul beasts tracked them-always at a distance, yet in vast numbers. Until the Ganetok Elders invoked magic and drove them all away.’ Masarch hesitated, then said, ‘Redmask, the war leader among the Ganetok-’
Unseen behind the mask, a slow smile formed. ‘Firstborn son of Capalah. Hadralt.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Tomorrow, Masarch, we drive the herds east-to the Ganetok. I would know more of those hapless foreigners who chose to fight for us. To die for the people of the Awl’dan.’
‘We are to crawl to the Ganetok as did the Sevond and the Niritha?’
‘You are starving. The herds are too weakened. I lead six youths none of whom has passed the death night. Shall the seven of us ride to war against the Letherii?’
Though young, it was clear that Masarch was no fool. ‘You shall challenge Hadralt? Redmask, your warriors-we, we will all die. We are not enough to meet the hundreds of challenges that will be flung at us, and once we are dead, you will have to face those challenges, long before you are deemed worthy to cross weapons with Hadralt himself.’
‘You will not die,’ Redmask said. ‘And none shall challenge any of you.’
‘Then you mean to carve through a thousand warriors to face Hadralt?’
‘What would be the point of that, Masarch? I need those warriors. Killing them would be a waste. No.’ He paused, then said, ‘I am not without guardians, Masarch. And I doubt that a single Ganetok warrior will dare challenge them. Hadralt shall have to face me, he and I, alone in the circle. Besides,’ he added, ‘we haven’t the time for all the rest.’
‘The Ganetok hold to the old ways, War Leader. There will be rituals. Days and days before the circle is made-’
‘Masarch, we must go to war against the Letherii. Every warrior’of the Awl-’
‘War Leader! They will not follow you! Even Hadralt could only manage a third of them, and that with payment of rodara and myrid that halved his holdings!’ Masarch waved at the depleted herds on the hillsides. ‘We-we have nothing left! You could not purchase the spears of a hundred warriors!’
‘Who holds the largest herds, Masarch?’
‘The Ganetok themselves-’
‘No. I ask again, who holds the largest herds?’
The youth’s scowl deepened. ‘The Letherii.’
‘I will send three warriors to accompany the last of the Renfayar to the Ganetok. Choose two of your companion” to accompany us.’ The dray dog rose and moved to one side. Redmask collected the reins of his horse and set out down towards the camp. The dray fell in to heel on his left. ‘We shall ride west, Masarch, and find us some herds.’
‘We ride against the Letherii? War Leader, did you not moments ago mock the notion of seven warriors waging war against them? Yet now you say-’
‘War is for later,’ Redmask said. ‘As you say, we need herds. To buy the services of the warriors.’ He paused and looked back at the trailing youth. ‘Where did the Letherii get their beasts?’
‘From the Awl! From us!’
‘Yes. They stole them. So we must steal them back.’
‘Four of us, War Leader?’
