“Perkar is my friend.”
“Oh, no, Princess, he is not. Neither is the Blackgod. It was he who attacked me just now.”
“So you say. And even if he did, that would only mean he was helping me. Before you were a monster filling the horizon. Now you are a somewhat pitiful thing.”
“As I said before, I only endeavored to impress you. Even the greatest gaan is no match for a god like Karak, and Karak and all his brethren are no match for the Changeling. You are the Changeling's daughter, Hezhi, and they are no match for you, either, not if you don't want them to be. This tinkering about with little spirits and little victories—that is what I do, what I am capable of. You are destined to change the face of the world, not dirty yourself with such paltry forces.”
“What do you propose I do?” Hezhi snapped, making no effort to hide her irritation.
“Separate yourself from those you ride with. Find Moss and Chuuzek, who follow you. They will take you to Ghan. He will explain to your satisfaction the rest.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Listen to me,” the shadow hissed, rising up, growing to Human size as it did so.
Hezhi clapped the flanks of her mount, and the mare leapt forward, hooves flashing. Shadow Man leapt back, kept leaping back, growing more distant in a series of bounds that eventually carried him beyond the horizon and out of the hall. His voice, however, stayed near.
“You must learn who your friends really are. You have been mistaken about such things before,” he said. “Watch Perkar. Especially watch the Crow God.”
Then the plain went dark, as if it were a room in which all of the candles had been blown out. Real sleep swallowed her up, and no more dreams came until dawn.
PERKAR sat gazing at the fire, knowing he should feel elated, wondering why he did not. He felt weary—unbelievably weary, considering that he had only been awake for half a day at best—and yet the thought of sleep unaccountably sickened him.
“They say there is a man at this fire in need of some wine,” a soft voice asserted from just behind him. It was Raincaster, returned from rubbing down the horses for the night. Yuu'han was only a score of steps behind him, bearing a wineskin.
“I should have helped you with the horses,” Perkar murmured. “I feel well enough.”
“You don't look well enough,” Raincaster said. ”And it insults a horse to treat her halfheartedly.”
“I would not have been half—”
“Raincaster meant no insult,” Yuu'han intervened. “You are not as strong yet as you would like to think, that is all. Have some wine.” He proffered the skin.
Perkar sighed. “Very well. I'm sorry, Raincaster.”
Raincaster wiped his forehead, a Mang gesture that dismissed all blame. “You have been fighting for your life against demons,” he reminded everyone. “No reason to think such an experience would sweeten your mood.”
Perkar returned the smile, though he did not feel like doing so. He liked Raincaster. He liked Yuu'han, as well, but with Yuu'han there was always the sense that his cordiality to Perkar arose out of duty—duty to Brother Horse and the responsibilities of hospitality. Raincaster seemed to genuinely like him—and to have an interest in the ways of the Cattle People. “Perhaps I do need some wine,” he said, by way of further, though indirect, apology. Perkar accepted the proffered skin, tilting it back and catching a mouthful of its contents—though with some misgivings. He quickly discovered his misgivings were justified; the wine was kbena, a strong drink made from some sort of desert plant, sweet and tainted by an unpleasant aftertaste that reminded Perkar of rotten pears. It was certainly nothing at all like woti, the prized drink of warriors in his home country—save that it did warm his belly. He also knew from experience that the first mouthful was the worst, and so quickly swallowed another before passing the skin on to Raincaster. The three of them drank in silence for a while, watching the Fire Goddess consume withered juniper scraps. The night sky lay heavy above, revealing no light.
Perkar quickly realized that he did not want to get drunk any more than he wanted to sleep. The fifth time the skin came around, he shook his head and passed it on. Yuu'han shrugged and took a long draft.
The wine stirred something in Perkar, something he might ordinarily not have brought up.
“I know it was hard for you,” he mumbled, addressing both of the Mang.
Yuu'han nodded, understanding him and already accepting the implied thanks, but Raincaster's expression demanded that Perkar express himself more fully.
“To leave your kin to help us. With the war and everything.” Even a mere five drinks of the potent kbena was enough to thicken his tongue and make him feel more stupid than usual. He wished for eloquence rather than the gruff, clumsy, apologetic statement he had just uttered—but, as usual, it was too late to correct.
Raincaster shrugged, apprehending the spirit of the comment. “Our uncle is right, and the others are wrong. Anyway, I've never cared much for those Four Spruces People. They've always had delusions of grandeur.”
Yuu'han's somewhat bleak expression softened at that. “Remember Mane Gatherer?” he said.
“I've heard the story,” Raincaster replied.
“I haven't.”
“Mane Gatherer told us the sun had spoken to him. He wanted us all to band up behind him and invade the Southlands—conquer Nhol, the Fisherfolk, the whole world, he said.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.” Yuu'han gulped down another mouthful. “He said it was the destiny of the Mang to rule the cities.”
“What happened?”
Yuu'han cracked a cryptic grin. “You've seen a city. Would you want to try to rule one?”
Perkar stared at the two Mang for only an instant, considering, before swearing, “No. By the gods, no.”
Raincaster clapped his cousin on the shoulder. “Our reaction exactly,” he proclaimed.
NOT much later, Yuu'han took the watch and Raincaster retired. Two tents had been erected: one for Tsem, Brother Horse, Heen, and Hezhi, the second for the two younger Mang, Ngangata, and Perkar. Perkar sought his blanket near Raincaster, after making Yuu'han promise that Raincaster—who had the next watch—would wake him for the last, or dawn, quarter. He could tell by Yuu'nan's answer that he would not be trusted to stand watch, not in his present condition.
He lay awake long, unable to understand what was growing in him, gnawing at him. He dozed fitfully once and awoke sweating, heart pounding. Raincaster was gone, Yuu'han in his place. Ngangata was curled in his blanket, snoring faintly. The brief nap had not rested Perkar in the least, but it had tightened something in his mind, so that he knew what dark disquiet had replaced the demon Hezhi and Brother Horse had driven from him. It gathered itself together and shouted him its name.
Fear.
A mere spark before, it had caught in him now and burned furiously. In the past year, he had seen more bloodshed than he dreamed possible. He had murdered and fought fairly. More to the point, he had been disemboweled, been lanced through the throat, and stabbed numerous times—once through the heart. He still dreamed of each of those wounds; the pain of each was written clearly on his body and in his mind. When he thought about it much, it revolted him. Despite all of that, still he had developed the illusion that he was invulnerable, unstoppable, because keeping grasp of that belief was the only thing that kept all of his terrors at bay. When he was a child lying in bed with the terrible nighttime understanding that death would claim him one day, he had faced that by pushing it away, insisting that it was many, many years before he would have to face such an unfair reality. The child in him had used Harka to do that again, to place death in a far-off place and time he need not think about.