Duranix. Living here has made their lives easier. But why do these people follow you? Why do they obey you?”
“I give them a name,” she said, her voice almost inaudible against the roar of the falls. “They are Karada’s band. It’s something to belong to, to believe in, to be proud of. There are so many enemies in the world, brother — faceless ones like hunger, cold, storms, sickness, wild beasts. We fight them every day, knowing we can’t really win. I gave my people a new enemy: the elves — an enemy we have a chance of defeating. So my people have something to belong to, an enemy they can defeat, a leader to fight for. For that they will follow me to the end of my days.”
The basket came to rest with a thump. Karada climbed out and was immediately surrounded by her comrades, all eager to hear about the lair of the dragon. She strolled grandly back to the camp with them hanging on her every word.
Amero stood in the wicker basket and watched his sister — no, she was not Nianki any more, but every bit Karada, leader of her band. Though life had taken them down different trails, Amero realized he and his sister were not so far apart after all.
In a cleft in the mountains a quarter-league from Yala-tene, the plainsmen buried Sessan. As the sun sank lower in the western sky, Nacris made the burial party wait while she selected a spot for her mate’s final rest. The soil was too hard and stony for them to dig a proper grave. They would have to pile rocks atop Sessan’s body. Nacris chose a wide ledge near the crest of a hill. As the diggers covered her mate, she stared out at the expanse of hills and valleys laid out before her.
It wasn’t right, she thought dully. They didn’t belong in this place. The sky seemed closer and smaller than it did on the vast grasslands she was accustomed to. At least here, near the top of this mountain, Sessan’s spirit might not feel quite as imprisoned as it must in the narrow confines of the valley.
As soon as their task was done, the nomads sent by Karada to bury the dead man promptly departed. The few plainsmen who cared enough to grieve remained a short while, then one by one, left the melancholy scene. Soon only two remained, Nacris and Hatu.
After a period of silence, Hatu said softly, “A terrible loss.”
Nacris glared at him, the red light of the setting sun giving her face a ruddy cast. “What? Why are you here?” she demanded coldly.
“To pay homage to a brave warrior,” the one-eyed plainsman replied.
Nacris reached out to touch the heaped-up stones. “You’re one of Karada’s,” she spat.
“When it comes to fighting elves, I’ll follow Karada, but this village, this dragon… it’s a dangerous sham.”
Nacris raised her reddened eyes.
“Did you hear? The village headman is Karada’s brother.”
“No!” Nacris exclaimed.
Hatu nodded. “It’s true. She was grinning like a panther when she found out. Sessan wasn’t even cold yet, and Karada was laughing.”
“Someday I’ll kill her,” Nacris whispered.
“Not an easy task,” said Hatu. “For one person, that is.”
Nacris stood up. The last of the sun’s light vanished behind the high peaks and a chill wind whistled across the ridge. She drew her sheepskin vest close around her. “Are you turning against her?”
Hatu walked slowly around the pile of stones. Nacris began moving too, keeping her distance from the one- eyed warrior. He paused at the head of the grave, and she stopped at the foot.
When he spoke, Hatu avoided her question. “Did you notice the pile of stones in the village?” he asked. “That’s where the people of Arku-peli sacrifice oxen or elk to the dragon, twice a week. In return for his meals, the dragon supposedly protects Arku-peli from attack.”
“So?”
“Did anyone try to stop you and Sessan from leading half a hundred riders into the valley?”
Nacris rubbed her cheek, trying to remember. “No, no one. The headman — Arkuden? — he met us unarmed.”
“Some protection the dragon gives, eh?”
Hatu started walking again, circling the grave. Nacris continued to keep her distance. When he reached the foot of the grave, he halted.
“I tell you what I think,” he said finally. “I think these people have sold themselves into slavery. They feed this dragon out of fear, not because he protects them. And what happens when the oxen run out, and no elk can be found? How long will it be before the villagers are setting their own beloved children on that altar?”
Nacris laughed. “What a mind you have! No plainsman would — ”
“No plainsman would sacrifice his child to a dragon? Do you really believe that? Our own comrades abandoned a good warrior, Sessan, out of fear of Karada. You saw how few of them came to honor his death. Do you think these strange, settled — ” he sneered as he said the word — “folk of Arku-peli would be any better?”
The scorn faded from Nacris’s face. “What do you propose?”
“Nothing for now. I will speak to others, quietly. You should too. Start with Tarkwa. He’s a clear-thinker. Then, when the time comes, the band will leave that accursed valley, but it won’t be led by Karada.”
He picked up a stray stone and placed it on Sessan’s grave. “And if the Arkuden tries to defend his sister, he will be destroyed, too.”
Pa’alu placed the golden nugget in the hole Vedvedsica had made in the rock. Since there was no way to know when the priest would appear to claim his prize, the plainsman settled down to wait.
Night fell. The canyon was draped in deep shadows, and still Pa’alu kept his vigil. He stayed awake the entire night, sometimes singing out loud to keep his mind alert, other times striding around the perimeter of the canyon and stamping his feet on the rough ground until they were bruised and sore. His only companion was the sound of his own voice. Any night creatures that lived in the canyon gave the noisy human a wide, wary berth.
At last, the milky wall on the west side of his prison took on a tinge of pink as the rising sun finally made an appearance. The indigo sky lightened to azure. Still, there was no sign of Vedvedsica.
Near midday, his stomach empty and his patience exhausted, Pa’alu picked up the stone and prepared to leave. A shadow passed over the sun. Strange, since the sky was cloudless. Pa’alu looked up, shading his eyes. The sun’s glare seared his vision, and for several heartbeats he could see nothing. The air grew heavy, dense. It was hard to force it into his lungs. When his eyesight resolved again, he saw the priest standing by the rock, probing the hole with his slender fingers.
“Where is the stone?” asked Vedvedsica. “Give it to me.”
“I have it,” Pa’alu said, his voice sounding oddly distant and flat.
The priest held out his hand. His arm elongated in a weird fashion, extending all the way from where he stood to where Pa’alu was, a good three paces away.
The plainsman recoiled in shock. “The price has gone up,” he said.
Vedvedsica came closer. His outstretched hand remained near Pa’alu and the rest of his body caught up to it. He looked concerned.
“The stone is more powerful than I thought,” the priest said. “It is affecting you. It wants to remain with you, but you must give it to me. Only I can control it. If you keep it, it will control you.”
“I’ll give it to you, but you must do something for me,” stated Pa’alu, anxious now that the elf priest was so near.
“Wasn’t saving your life enough?”
Pa’alu had a strange urge to laugh. He opened his mouth and tiny crystals, like snowflakes, flew out. When they struck the rocky ground, they shattered, and the sound of a hundred tiny chuckles escaped. Shocked, he looked at Vedvedsica. The elf seemed to see nothing amiss. He regarded the plainsman with obvious vexation.
“What does my life matter?” Pa’alu continued warily. No crystals flew out of his mouth this time. “What does anything matter without Karada?”
“The woman? She loves you not.”
The elf’s words were like blows. Pa’alu lifted his chin and said, “No, but with your power you can change that.”
