“You don’t even know who we are,” Karada said coldly.
“More of Karada’s band, yes? Your people have been arriving steadily for the past few days.”
The plainsmen exchanged looks of surprise. Pakito asked, “How many of Karada’s band have come here?”
The torchbearer considered the question silently, tilting his head in thought for a few seconds, then replied, “Over two hundred, so far. How many are you?”
“Eighty-eight.”
“Quite a crowd! Well, follow me. I’ll take you to your comrades.”
The pale-faced, short-haired man started back the way he’d come.
Hatu muttered, “Our so-called comrades — those who abandoned us on the battlefield. How will they take to seeing us now?”
“That’s my problem,” Karada said quietly. “Whatever happens, don’t let the old folks or children come to harm.”
The mounted plainsmen followed the torch bearer in single file, Karada leading. They passed silently through the quiet village. A small wolf sprang out of the shadows and barked at them. Karada raised her spear to strike, then noticed the wolf was tied to a stake with a rope around its neck. Their guide came back and quieted the beast with a few soothing words and a pat on the head.
“You command beasts here?” asked Samtu.
“A few. They guard our homes and fight off their wild brethren.”
“Why should they do that?” Pakito asked from over Karada’s shoulder.
“We’ve tamed them. Settled life agrees with them, as it does the rest of us.”
The torch bearer went on, Karada’s people following him. Each one passed under the scrutiny of the tame wolf, who watched them with unblinking yellow eyes.
The copse of houses came to an end. A patch of sandy, open ground followed, in the midst of which was a tall, square pile of stones, quite unlike the domed houses. The top layers of stone were soot-stained.
“What’s this?” asked Samtu.
“Our place of offering. Here we give oxen and elk to our protector, the dragon.”
“Duranix,” the chief said.
Their young guide halted. “You know of him?”
“He came to our camp in human guise,” Karada explained.
“My brother followed him here. Do you know if one named Pa’alu is here?” asked Pakito.
“He was, but he isn’t now.” The torch bearer scratched his head and explained. “Pa’alu was here, but he left yesterday to meet small parties of your band arriving then. He was hoping to find Karada. He hasn’t returned yet. Actually, we’re quite worried about him.”
“This is Ka — ” Samtu began, but a glare from her chief stilled her tongue.
“We all have friends and comrades we hope to see again,” Karada said.
In contrast to the quiet, orderly village, the camp of the nomads was a riot of haphazard tents, lean-tos, and windbreaks of sand and loose stone. The young guide left Karada for a moment and ducked into a rambling tent made from spotted cowhide. He returned with Sessan and Nacris in tow then slipped away quietly.
Both nomads staggered as they walked, and their clothes were awry. They’d worked in the ox pens all day in exchange for two jugs of wine, most of which they’d already drunk.
Sessan looked up at his chief. “By my blood!” he swore in surprise. “You’re alive!”
Karada had noted the departure of their young guide, now she spat at Sessan, “I am. Why are you?”
He pressed the wineskin on Nacris and drew himself up as straight as he could. “I’m alive because I left!”
“You admit it, do you? You ran away from the battle!”
He swept his hand in a wide arc. “We had no chance,” he said solemnly.
Nacris upended the skin, gulping down more wine. She wiped her mouth and said, “How did you survive, eh?”
“I fought until captured. Balif stripped me of arms and turned me loose.”
“How can you live with the shame?” asked Sessan harshly. “I’m surprised you didn’t throw yourself from the cliff top!”
“Yes, I chose to live with our defeat. Any fool can kill herself, but I will rebuild the band and strike the elves again! I’ll make Balif curse the day he sought to shame me into quiet exile!” Karada stormed. “You want to speak of shame? Look at you, cowards and traitors, standing there! And addled with drink like a pair of loons! Is this the end of our band, our dream of a free land for our people?”
“The elf lord spared you,” Sessan replied heatedly, “but the rest of us would have been trampled into the grass had we stayed.”
Karada mastered her anger. “You disobeyed my command.”
“You’ve no right to judge us, no right to lead us. You would’ve let us all die in a lost cause!” Nacris retorted. She cast about wildly. “Ask him. These are sensible people here. Where’d he go — the Arkuden?”
“Who?”
“The village headman, the fellow who led you here.”
Karada said, “He left. And why should I ask a short-haired villager anything?”
More nomads came out of their shelters to watch the confrontation. Tarkwa, the other leader of the breakaway band, joined Sessan and Nacris.
“If we are to be one band, strong and united, there must be one chief,” Karada said. “The chiefs word must be obeyed. Anything else is chaos.”
Tarkwa, who was sober, said, “I cannot follow you, Karada. You speak of freedom for all plainsmen — that is my desire, too. But we can’t be free and be your children, trembling at your every order. What difference is there between serving elf lords or serving you?”
“I am one of you.”
“Not good enough!” Sessan sputtered.
“You care nothing for our lives,” Nacris cried. “You’d sacrifice us all for your own glory!” Many of the nomads behind her shouted approval of Nacris’s hard words.
Karada flinched, but she swung down from her horse and walked up to Sessan. She stood nose to nose with him, shoving Nacris away when the woman tried to wedge herself between her man and Karada.
“Will you fight me?” she whispered fiercely.
His reddened eyes betrayed fear, but he said, “Yes. Any time. Tomorrow!”
Her laugh was sharp and ugly. “Make it the day after tomorrow. I need rest and you need to sleep off your foolishness.”
Sessan stepped back and slammed his foot on the sand. “Daybreak, then. Here.”
Karada turned on her heel and remounted. “Look to your horse, Sessan. We’ll fight mounted, with spears, as plainsmen should.”
There was a murmuring behind her as she rode on to claim the high ground by the cliff wall for her tired band of loyalists. Samtu and Targun went to find food for the children. Hatu and Pakito were delegated to organize the raising of tents and tarps. Pakito tried to say something to her about Sessan, but he was banished with an angry gesture.
Karada flung her skimpy baggage to the ground and pulled the blanket off her horse. Without a further glance or a word to anyone, she strode down to the lake.
A wall of mist swirled up from the falls, enveloping her in a silver cloud. She stood up to her ankles in the chill water and removed all her gear and clothing. Kneeling, she threw handfuls of water on her face and neck. The dust of many leagues washed away.
She wished her many worries could be as easily lost.
Chapter 14
It had been a restless couple of days. Amero had had to go out after dark each night and lead in party after party of stragglers from Karada’s band. The last was a particularly large and pathetic group, made up of old folks, children, and a few warriors who seemed worn out and ill-fed. Their appearance reminded Amero of the hard life that still existed outside the comfortable confines of Yala-tene.
As if these interruptions to his sleep weren’t bad enough, his days were disrupted as well. Duranix had been ceaselessly pacing and prowling the cave ever since he found himself unable to change back to dragon form. As time passed, he became more and more irritable. For long periods he would sit, motionless, staring at the cave walls. Then, in a sudden burst of action, he would circle the room over and over, muttering and gesticulating. Tiny bolts of lightning arced from his hands, and after a few hours of this, the air in the cave seemed alive with crackling energy. Everything Amero touched gave him a shock.