“Ah, they are free, then, to obey,” I nodded into his anger. “How may one not envy such freedom, such glory? Indeed is Jalav wrong to bemoan her lot when such freedom may be hers as well.”
“What has gotten into you?” demanded Ceralt, releasing my arms to send a frown toward me. “Why do you suddenly speak so when heretofore the words must needs be torn from you?”
“I have learned a thing from males,” I shrugged, putting my hands. to my arms where his fingers had dug so deep. “To shame a female gives a male great pleasure, the more he desires her, the greater his pleasure. Too, her silence in the face of his great generosity does no more than convince him of her fear of him and her approval of his actions. Jalav is a warrior born, bred to fear no male living or dead. She shall never find aught save shame and pain at the hands of males, for such is the trial imposed upon her by Mida. To remain silent to avoid such shame and pain is the act of a coward, a thing she has, till this moment, failed to see. Ceralt may beat her or shame her as he wishes, yet no longer will she remain silent in cowardly escape. She shall speak as she sees fit till commanded to silence by he who holds her captive.”
“Yet, even then, the sentiment shall remain, the words merely unspoken,” nodded Ceralt, his eyes flat, his expression veiled. “No matter how I speak upon the matter, no matter what kindness I show you, still will you see naught save your own views, hear naught save your own beliefs. In your own thoughts you remain a captive—and a warrior. You have previously been warned concerning such attitudes; now shall you be punished. Come with me.”
Ceralt again stood erect in the silence about us, then turned away to walk to the center of the tent. The other males appeared most sober-faced as they watched me rise to follow him, yet none spoke a word as Ceralt seated himself cross-legged in the fur, then indicated a place at his feet.
“My captive may now kneel here, before her captor,” said Ceralt, gazing up at me where I stood. “Remove that breech and place yourself at my feet, where you belong, and speak not another word till you have my permission to do so. As you care so little for what is done to you, the position should cause you neither pain nor shame.”
My hesitation at his command was brief indeed, yet the lack of understanding which caused it was longer in duration. Fully had I expected to be beaten for my words, yet Ceralt, it seemed, was not of a mind to do so. He watched as I removed the breech and threw it from me, his light eyes showing little anger. It seemed more like pain which lurked in the pale, deep pools, yet naught had been said which might have caused such pain. I had spoken naught save the truth, yet the male felt pain from the words. Did he truly think himself blameless that the truth would put such a look in his eyes? As I knelt before him I would have spoken my questions, but I had been commanded to silence.
“You do not yet seem the proper captive,” mused Ceralt, studying me where I knelt, then his hand came swiftly to my hair. “I believe it would be best if this warrior’s head were bowed in proper humility. Bend yourself so, Jalav, and do not move till I release you.”
His fist in my hair put my head to the furs, forcing my body forward toward him as though I bowed in his presence. I knew a moment of anger and humiliation, then forced the feelings from me. The shame given me was by the will of Mida, no more than another trial her warrior must endure—yet the need for endurance was a trial in itself.
“Now, let us eat,” said Ceralt, a thick heartiness in his tone. “Come and join me, brothers. Cimilan, is your wench prepared to serve us?”
“Certainly, High Rider,” replied Cimilan, his voice somewhat subdued. “Famira, my heart, see to the others first.”
“Yes, Cimilan,” replied the female, the sound of her rising lost in the sound of the others taking their places. There was much moving about, murmured comments and questions, and then all seemed at last to be settled with their provender. I knelt as Ceralt had placed me, my head to the fur at his knee, my eyes seeing naught save the fur and my own knees.
“How went the arrival of Hannil?” asked Lialt after a few moments of silence. “Surely their tents already stand about the clearing with ours.”
“Their tents stand,” agreed Ceralt about a mouthful, then he paused to swallow before continuing. “Hannil himself stands with anger, for he is far from convinced of the wisdom of the journey. We must see to it that he does not return immediately from whence he came. When our meal is done, we are invited to visit his tent.”
“Surely, his own Pathfinder has seen the necessity for the journey,” protested Lialt. “Why does he continue to hesitate?”
“I know not,” muttered Ceralt, once again at his provender. “Perhaps we shall soon find out.”
The meal continued in silence, telling me little of the doings of others. I knew not whether those seated upon the lanthay fur looked upon me, yet it mattered not. Should the males press Ceralt for my use, they would show they had looked upon me. I knew the meal as having been concluded when the sound of movement betokened someone’s rising.
“We will now return to our own tent, High Rider,” said Cimilan, his voice as subdued as it had been. “I thank you for your assistance, and wish you success in your dealings with Hannil. Famira, replace your leathers.”
Soft footsteps hurried through the lanthay fur to do Cimilan’s bidding, and again the silence descended till Cimilan himself donned his leather chest covering and went toward his body furs. Then came the sound of footsteps close to me, and Famira’s voice above me.
“Ceralt—cousin—I beg of you not to be too harsh with her,” she whispered, a catch in her voice. “I feel sure she spoke as she did primarily on my behalf. I would not wish to see her punished because of me.”
“Do not be concerned, cousin,” Ceralt replied, his voice as soft as hers. “Jalav must reap what she sows—else she feels herself free to do as she pleases. Would you see yourself punished for insolence while Jalav goes free?”
“She and I are not the same,” the female replied, a wistfulness in her voice. “I would deny it if I were able—I have never before felt another woman superior to myself—yet denial would be idle. She is more than I shall ever be able to become.”
“You speak foolishness,” snorted Ceralt, an impatience entering his tone. “The wench is no different from you, no different from any other. She kneels at my feet, obedient to my wishes, and may be put beneath me as easily as you were put beneath Cimilan. Where, then, lies the difference?”
A brief moment of silence came, underscoring the heat of Ceralt’s demand, and then a stirring sounded, accompanied by a sigh which was half sob.
“Ah, cousin, my heart aches for you,” whispered Famira, her voice muffled as though against Ceralt’s shoulder. “I see now how greatly you desire her to be yours, so greatly you attempt to deny the evidence of your senses. May the Serene Oneness hear your prayer for aid and assist you to victory; I fear she will never be mastered as easily as I.”
“Famira,” Ceralt began, his voice softened again so that it nearly faltered. “Cousin, I thank you for your thoughts on my behalf. You make me proud before the man who has chosen you. Go with him now, and feel no further concern. All shall be well.”
A sound came as though they embraced, and then the female rose to her feet and departed the tent, the amount of cold entering saying two left at once. Stirring dotted the silence, and then Ceralt spoke again.
“No, Telion, do not say you agree with the wench,” he growled, all softness having left his tone. “A female may be thanked for uttering muddleheaded foolishness; a man should know better.”