'He called the prisoners "traitors",' Gudon said.
'And when he was interrogating the priest, he introduced himself as King Lynan. He's never done that before.'
'Truth, my friend.' Gudon licked his lips nervously. 'Tell me, Ager Parmer, clan chief, do you recognise our Lynan any more?'
Ager felt a spasm pass along his deformed spine, a sensation he had not experienced for longer than he could remember. He knew what it meant. He was learning to be afraid again.
CHAPTER 19
The voices of one thousand Chetts in mourning rose into the air. Standing perfectly still by their mounts, their head back, their mouths open, they cried the song of the dead in perfect unison. The ululating wail seemed to come from the very soil of the Oceans of Grass itself. Above them no bird flew, around them no animal moved.
On the ground surrounding the one thousand mourners were the bones of thousands of Chetts, the remains of Eynon's clan. The strong summer sun and scavengers had made the bones white as ivory; they could be seen shimmering in the grass from leagues away. When Eynon first saw the field he knew in his heart what it was, although nothing in his experience could have prepared him. His whole body had become as heavy as iron, and yet he had still rode on, still made himself lead the survivors of his clan to this field of death.
When the song of the dead was finished the Chetts mounted and gathered around Eynon. It seemed to him that in that moment all of them, even the six hundred who belonged to Lynan's lancers and Red Hands, would follow him to the end of the earth to avenge what had been done here.
So be it, he thought. Lynan gave me his boon to carry my revenge as far as I wanted, and I want to take it to its home.
'We gather no bones,' he told them. 'There will be no funeral pyre. This field we call Solstice Way will forever more be the graveyard of our dead. No cattle will ever feed here, no other clan will ever call this its territory. From now until the end of the Oceans of Grass, this is where the Horse Clan will come every summer to offer the song of the dead so the ghosts of our families and friends can rest knowing they have not been forgotten, and that their deaths did not go unavenged.'
There was no cheering, no taking up of his cry. Eynon turned his mount west, and slowly so as not to disturb any of the remains, the whole column made its way through the field of death.
If Dekelon had not been with him the whole time the Saranah had been on the Oceans of Grass, he would not have recognised Amemun. The Amanite had lost so much weight he was now as trim as any of his desert warriors; he had shorn his beard back to nothing more than a stubble, and the sabre he had taken from a dead Chett was now his closest friend—Dekelon was sure he talked to it at night.
The biggest change was in battle. Amemun was always among the first to charge the enemy, the one to kill the largest numbers, the one to show the least mercy.
Revenge was a wonderful thing, Dekelon thought. It had been the wind that over a century before blew his people off their rightful territory on the plains into the southern deserts, and now blew them right back again. It was the wind that drove so much of Saranah politics and society and, as far as he could determine from the stories told by Amemun about the courts in Pila and Kendra, politics and society all over the continent. And it was the wind that blew new life into Amemun's old husk, giving him the strength and endurance of a man much younger and combining it with the hate that comes from losing not only someone you love, but someone around whom you had centred your life.
And Dekelon knew that revenge could also get in the way.
'I don't see why we can't continue,' Amemun was arguing. 'We can spare another hundred to take this booty back to your people. That will still give us—'
'Too few warriors,' Saranah said over him. 'Every battle whittles away at our numbers. The last two attacks on Chett clans have resulted in scattering them further west and north, not eliminating them. Word is spreading of our presence, and sooner rather than later the clans in this part of the Oceans of Grass will combine and come after us.'
'One more,' Amemun pleaded. 'One more attack. Your scouts have found spore. We can catch the clan tonight, and by this time tomorrow we will all be on our way south.'
Dekelon sighed heavily. He too wished to continue the slaughter and plunder—this had been a dream of his all his life—but he was leader of this war band, responsible for those under him and responsible for the booty they had gathered. In the season they had raged east and west across this part of the Oceans of Grass they had overrun six clans, and in the first four battles had slain every soul. But he felt in his bones that time was running out, and they were now not far from that part of the border where they had first crossed over. That was a sign, he was sure, that it was time to go back.
Still, he thought, one more night. One more battle. If I return now I might not see another season, might never fight another battle.
He looked around him, at the expectant faces of his warriors. He could see it was what they wanted as well.
'Very well. One more. And then we go home.'
He assigned eighty warriors, most of them wounded, to escort the booty from the last attack back to the southern desert, then gave orders to the scouts, who quickly ran north in the direction the spore of the new clan had first been found. The rest of the war band gathered their weapons, fell into line, and followed the scouts at a far more leisurely trot.
It was a clear night with no moon. Eynon lay on his back and looked up at the sea of stars, but instead of the beauty he once saw it now only reminded him of the field of bones he had left behind.
As many bones as there are stars, he thought.
A silhouette stood above him. He knew, without seeing the face, that it was Makon. For an instant he wondered if he had come to kill him, if that had been Lynan's plan all along, but something deep inside him told him that neither man would do a thing like that. Makon was too proud, and Lynan too confident.
'Can I talk to you?' Makon asked, sounding very young.
'Of course, my friend,' Eynon said, stressing the last word. Even as he said it he realised it was true. He felt a little less alone.
'It's about Wennem.'
'The woman we found at the Strangers' Sooq?'
Makon sat down heavily. 'Yes. I can't stop thinking about her.'
Eynon remembered the first time they saw her. Leaving the column outside the sooq, he and Makon had ridden through the town asking for any information the locals might have had on the border raids. Most they talked to looked skeptically at them, not believing the Saranah would ever dare such a thing, especially now that the Chetts were united. It was not until they had nearly reached the end of the main street that an older man intercepted them.
'You are asking about the Saranah?' he said. Eynon nodded. 'I have a woman in my care. You should see her.'
Eynon and Makon dismounted and followed the man to his home. Inside he sat them down, gave them wine. 'My name is Kayakun,' he told them.
'I have heard of you,' Makon said, suddenly excited. 'Truth, my brother speaks of you with much praise.'
'Your brother?'
'Gudon of the White Wolf Clan.'
'Ah, I should have recognised you.' He looked at Eynon. 'And I know you, Chief of the Horse Clan.'
Eynon grunted. 'You are one of Korigan's spies?'
Kayakun smiled, spread his hands. 'If that's what you wish to call me, although I never spied on you.'
Eynon lowered his gaze. It was true, he knew. He had learned over the last year that Korigan's spies had all operated on the fringe or completely outside the Oceans of Grass, protecting the interests of every clan. Truly, Korigan had seemed to act as a queen for all the Chetts. 'You said something about a woman in your care?'