She grinned. "I had hoped that they would give you more. Is it enough, do you think-nine endowments?"
"I ve fought the wyrmlings all of my life with only the strength of my own two arms. So I will go. I had hoped to lead this expedition, but now I ll be satisfied if I can only keep up with you."
He came and stood close to her, only an arm s breadth away, and smiled in satisfaction. He had never been in the presence of a woman as powerful as Talon, a woman that he respected so much. He found himself attracted to her.
A lovely girl, he thought. It is a shame that she is not older.
In his native Dalharristan, it was the custom of old lords to marry young women, in hopes of siring one last extraordinary child. But it was not a custom that he ever hoped to engage in. The very thought sickened him. For him, marriage was a lifelong commitment. He believed that men and women should be of equal age when they married, so that they might mature, grow old, and die together. In an ideal world, the two might stand together at the last, holding hands, and die in one another s arms.
But men who married young girls in the hope of siring children upon them were selfish. He could not imagine feeling any kind of peace as he died in old age, knowing that he had left his children only half-grown.
So he held back from Talon, as a gentleman should, determined to conceal his attraction.
But there is a closeness that two people share when they have faced death together-even when they have faced death at each other s hands.
The passion that the battle had aroused in Talon came swiftly.
She grasped him by the shoulder, then pulled him close. As if reading his mind, she said, "I m old enough to know what I want."
She kissed him then, and he was surprised at the ferocity of it-and at his own passion.
They stood for a long moment thus, holding one another, hearts beating as lips met. It felt good to be in her arms. It felt like coming home after a hard day s labor. He had never felt so… honored to have the love of a woman. He had known love before, but in his society, a wife was rarely considered a man s equal.
"What would your father say of this?" the emir asked softly.
"Which father? Aaath Ulber loves you like no other. He would leap for joy to have such a match. You ve saved his hide more than once.
"But Sir Borenson, I fear, would be incensed to find that I love the shadow of Raj Ahten. He killed you once. And if he knew that you kissed me, he d try to kill you again."
"Well then," the emir said, "let us break the news gently."
He held her, and suddenly became worried that in the coming battle he might lose her.
After long minutes, Tuul Ra pulled out of her embrace and prepared to go back down into the cavern.
"One question," he asked last of all. "On that shadow world, how was I, the mightiest of all flameweavers, killed?"
"Raj Ahten s limbs were lopped off with axes," Talon said. "Then he was wrapped in chains and thrown in a lake to drown. My father had as much to do with it as anyone."
"So I was killed by good men?"
"Yes."
The emir absorbed the news. "It was an act worthy of a hero. I must thank him, when next we meet."
It was with a heavy heart that the emir ducked beneath the hanging roots of the great pine, shoved the door securely closed behind him, then descended the stone stairs with Talon at his side.
At the foot of the stairs the great room opened up; once again the emir was struck by the magical atmosphere of the place.
Crowds of folk were settling in for the night against the walls, having laid their bedrolls upon rafts of dry moss. No cooking fires burned. Crickets chirped merrily, while out among the crowd a trio of musicians played softly on woodwinds. The air was thick with the scent of water and clean soil. Stars seemed to hang in the air above them, and it seemed lighter now than before. But that had to be an illusion, he decided. When first he had entered the shelter, he d come in from the harsh light of day, and all had seemed dim. Now he had come in from the gloom of dusk and storm, and the same room seemed bright.
In a far chamber, the emir could hear the facilitator Thull-turock chanting. He was already preparing to start the endowment ceremony.
"How soon shall we leave?" Talon asked the emir.
"A couple of hours at most," he said.
"That is not much time to say good-bye." Talon had probably been thinking of her own mother, Gatunyea, but the emir drew a sharp breath of pain. His daughter, Siyaddah, had offered her own endowment to him, and once the endowment was transferred, he would never be able to speak with her again. It was a terrible sacrifice, and the emir spotted Siyaddah down in the crowd, waiting near the foot of the stairs for him.
Alun stood at her side, and as the emir approached his daughter, Talon withdrew a few paces to offer some privacy. Siyaddah strode forward, her eyes glistening from tears in the light of the false stars.
"Father" was all that she managed to say.
He stood before her, admiring her, but could not speak.
"Tell her not to do it," Alun suggested. "I will give you one of my dogs. You won t need her."
"And if I back out," Siyaddah said, "won t the others who have offered their endowments feel deceived? They made their gestures in part because of my sacrifice."
The emir did not answer. She was right. He just held her eyes, admiring her.
Such strength, such goodness, he thought.
He admired her more than words could tell. But he spoke as well as he could: "Why are there not more men with such great hearts as yours?"
"You can have all of my dogs," Alun offered. "I don t care about them."
But no one was listening. To steal endowments from a dog would be a churlish thing, the emir decided. To take advantage of a dumb animal because of its faithfulness-it was beyond his power. He did not have that kind of cruelty in him.
"Take my endowment!" Alun offered.
The emir smiled at the young man. Alun was a mongrel, an ill-bred man, but it was obvious that he loved Siyaddah. It was just as obvious that her affection for him was as a friend, not a lover.
My daughter seems intent to break many hearts today, he thought.
"I thank you for the offer, Alun," the emir said. "But I fear that I would be taking it under false pretenses, and that would be dishonorable."
"I love your daughter," Alun said. "There is nothing false in that. And because I love her, because I wish to honor her desires, I offer my endowment. She made her offer because she believes in you, believes that you are the best hope for this rescue. I think she is right."
The emir needed endowments, that much was true. Another one, offered honorably, would be greatly valued. But he did not want to give Alun false hopes that he might win his daughter s hand. Nor did he wish to take an endowment from someone whose motives were not entirely pure.
Alun was hoping to buy Siyaddah s love, and the emir knew that it could not be purchased.
Had Alun begged to give his endowment in order to free his king, or to save his people, the emir would have taken it gladly.
But the Emir Tuul Ra had recently been in a council meeting attended by Glories, and he wanted to be like them. Something inside him whispered that taking Alun s endowment would be wrong.
It is not a gift that he offers freely, he realized. It is a bribe, one that carries an onus.
"I thank you for your offer," the emir said, "but I must decline. You hope to win my daughter s heart, and it may be that you shall. But you will have to find another way."
14
Battles are seldom won with an ax and shield upon the field. More often, they are won by cunning before a blade is ever swung.