Priestess of the White

landed lightly on the cliff top. His face was flushed with embarrassment and anger.

“It’s not easy, is it?” Tryss asked the man, smiling wryly. “Think of what it was like when you first learned to use a bow. This is even harder. Both you and your target are moving. If you had the dedication to learn the bow, then you have what it takes to learn this.”

The man’s expression softened a little. Tryss turned to the next young warrior, a sullen-looking man, and frowned.

“Your harness is loose.”

The man scowled. “It is uncomfortable.”

Tryss met the man’s eyes. “I’m not surprised. Fitted properly, it should move with you. Hanging like this it will only hamper you. When you first carried a bow you would have been conscious of its weight. You would have been taught that you must strap it tight against your body or it could be dangerous in flight. The same is true for this harness. Like your bow, you will soon grow used to the feel and weight of it. Fit it properly and I’ll—”

A loud whoop and laughter smothered his words. Tryss turned to see a group of boys, led by Sreil, land nearby. Small packs were strapped to their backs. Seeing them, Tryss sighed with relief. The packs were filled with replacement darts and arrows for the harnesses. The Siyee too young or too old to fight were making them in great numbers. He knew these Green Lake tribesmen would be more enthusiastic about learning to use the harness if there was the prospect of actually killing something.

The boys distributed the darts and arrows while Tryss gave instructions on how to set them into their harnesses. He noted that the sullen man had tightened his harness straps at last. Sreil sent the boys home, then turned to regard Tryss.

“Can I talk to you for a bit?”

Tryss nodded. He turned to the warriors. “Find me something worth hunting,” he told them. “I’ll catch up.”

Several of the men grinned. They turned away and leapt off the cliff. Tryss watched them, making sure all the harnesses were working well. Three days before, a badly made harness had seized up. Its owner had not been far from the ground but he had broken both legs in the fall. Since then Tryss had recommended that harnesses be inspected carefully every day by a member of each tribe proficient in their use and making.

“I spoke to Drilli again,” Sreil said.

Tryss’s heart skipped a beat. He turned to regard Sreil expectantly.

“And?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Sreil added. “Her father practically keeps her locked up in their bower all the time now. I think he suspects something. Mother wasn’t all that subtle about what we were up to that day we met with the Snake River tribe. I wouldn’t be surprised if—”

“Sreil! What did she say?”

The boy grinned. “You are tense today. Anyone would think you were about to get married.”

Tryss crossed his arms and glared at Sreil. Since Tryss had started training the Speaker’s son, he had been pleased to find he got along well with the boy. Nothing bothered Sreil. He found something funny in every situation. Sometimes his sense of humor was deliriously dark, at other times infuriating. Like now.

Sreil put up a hand as if to ward off a blow. “Stop that glaring. You’re scaring me.”

Tryss continued glaring.

“All right. She said ‘yes.’ ”

Two emotions swept through Tryss: relief and a giddy terror. Drilli wanted to marry him. She was willing to defy her father and leave her tribe to become his wife.

He was going to get married.

It’s not like we can’t change our minds in a few years, he told himself. If she decides she doesn’t like me after all.

Still, it meant the end of their childhood. They would be adults, expected to contribute to the tribe to the fullest. Not just the simple chores he did every day for his parents, but the work of gathering food, making bowers and fighting.

Which I’m already doing now anyway. Instead of going home to my parents I’ll go home to Drilli... and maybe a child too, in a year or so.

He smiled, picturing himself playing with his own little son or daughter. The thought was appealing. The things he could teach them...

I just have to survive this war first - and she has to survive having the children.

He turned his mind from that thought. He could not go through life always afraid the worst would happen. People overcame their troubles as they came to them. For now, all he needed to deal with - other than training warriors - was getting Drilli away from her father so a marriage ceremony could take place. For that he needed Sreil’s help.

“So who is going to do the ritual?” he asked. “Your mother?”

Sreil grinned. “No,” he said. “She doesn’t mind people suspecting she had a hand in this, but she doesn’t want anyone knowing for sure. Performing the ritual would make it obvious that she planned it. Once we get Drilli away I’ll fetch one of the other Speakers. The head of the Temple Mountain tribe is still here. I bet he doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“What if he refuses to do it?”

“He can’t. He has to do it. It’s law.”

Tryss took a deep breath. “So when?”

Sreil grimaced. “That depends on Drilli’s father. We’ll have to wait until he and her mother leave her alone in the bower.”

“Can’t we arrange something? Give them some reason to leave?”

Sreil smiled. “Of course. Yes, that’s what we’ll do.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “This is going to be so much fun.”

“For you, maybe,” Tryss retorted. “I’m going to be dying of nerves.” Then he grinned. “I’m glad you’re enjoying helping us, Sreil.”

The other boy shrugged. “I’d better go and start plotting. I think your students have found something worth hunting.”

Tryss searched the sky until he saw the Green Lake warriors. The men were flying in circles, and as he watched, one dived down into the trees.

“I had better make sure they’re being careful.” He nodded at Sreil, then leapt off the cliff and flew toward his latest group of trainee warriors.

30

Danjin’s new clothes - the uniform of an adviser - were stiff and tight. Until now he hadn’t thought it possible that anything could be less comfortable than the fancy garb a nobleman was expected to wear in public. The thick leather vest of the uniform, designed to emulate armor, fitted too closely over a white tunic that looked like a frugal attempt to mimic a priest’s circ. Clearly, whoever had made the uniforms could not decide whether advisers were military or priestly, so they’d mingled elements of both styles of clothing.

The door to his bedroom opened. He turned to find Silava staring at him.

“Appalling, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “If you have an opportunity, lose the vest rather than the tunic. I suspect you’ll look fine in just the tunic, but you haven’t got the body for wearing only the vest.”

He patted his chest and stomach. “What do you mean? Aren’t I manly enough?”

She smirked. “I’m not answering that. If you do rid yourself of both the vest and the tunic, be sure to time it well. Your adversary will probably be blinded by all the white skin. Or laugh so much he drops his sword. Either way, it might give you a chance to run away.”