“Why don’t you seek him out and kill him?” said Nianki.
“Eighty-six years ago I tried to bring him to battle. He set fire to an entire forest and escaped under cover of the smoke. For all the years since, he has taunted me. His avalanches made my first home uninhabitable. He drives off herds of game in hope that I’ll go hungry. He attacks humans and elves to make them fear all dragons and hunt me.”
Nianki pounded a fist into the palm of her hand. “If I were you, I’d find this green monster and settle him once and for all!”
Duranix glanced at Amero. “Are you sure you two are related?”
Amero ignored the gibe and told Nianki it was time they departed. He had work in the village below. Nianki bid the dragon good-bye, but as her brother tugged at her elbow she continued to urge Duranix to deeds of bloody vengeance against his mortal enemy, Sthenn.
“Yes, yes,” the dragon answered her dismissively. “Amero, have the elders set up an ox or two for me, won’t you? I’m famished.”
While they descended in the hoist, Nianki shook her head saying, “With an ally like Duranix, I could defeat the elves in a single season!”
“He won’t fight elves for you,” Amero replied. “The struggles of we lesser creatures are not his concern.”
“He helps you.”
“I’m his friend. Also, our village is a thorn in Sthenn’s claw. The more humans settle here, the harder it will be for Sthenn to harm Duranix.”
Nianki considered this as the basket emerged from behind the waterfall. Below, Samtu and her retainers were waiting.
“Nianki, I understand why the villagers listen to me,” Amero said. “The dragon protects them, and I speak to 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.