they might not believe her. She wondered if they would be loyal enough
to the Vaunyogi to overlook the crime. And then the elder of them spoke.
"We will find him, Idaan-cha," the man said, his voice trembling with
rage. "We'll send for the others and turn every stone on this mountain
until we find him."
"It won't bring back my father. Or Danat. There won't be anyone to stand
at my wedding."
She broke off, half surprised to find her sobs unfeigned. Gently, she
cradled the corpse of her brother to her, feeling the blood soak her robes.
"I'll gather his horse," another of the hunters said. "We can strap him
to it-"
"No," Idaan said. "You can give him to me. I'll carry him home."
"It's a long ride back to the city. Are you sure that-"
"I'll carry him home. He'd have done the same if our places were
reversed," she said. "It is the way of our family."
In the end, they draped him over her mount's haunches. The scent of the
blood made him skittish, but Idaan held control firmly, cooing in the
animal's ears, coaxing and demanding. When she could think of nothing
else, she sang to the beast, and the dirges possessed her. She felt no
sorrow, no regret. She felt no triumph. It was as if she was in the
moment of grace between the blow and the pain. In her mind were only the
sounds of the songs and of an arrow splitting bone.
THE FARMSTEAD WAS SET HACK A SHORT WALK FROM THE ROAD. A CREEK RAN
beside it, feeding, no doubt, into the river that was even now carrying
dead men down to the main channel. The walls were as thick as a man's
outstretched arm with a set of doors on both the inside and outside
faces. On the second story, snow doors had been opened, letting in the
summer air. Trees stood in close, making the house seem a part of the
landscape. The horses were kept in the stables on the ground floor,
hidden from casual observers.
Amiit led Otah up the stairs and into a bright, simple room with a
table, a few rough wooden chairs, an unlit lantern and a wide, low
cabinet. Roast chicken, fresh cheese, and apples just on the edge of
ripeness had been laid out for them. Sharpened by Otah's hunger and
relief and wonder, the smell of them was wonderful. Amiit gestured
toward the table, then opened the cabinet and took out two earthenware
mugs and flasks of wine and water. Otah took a leg from the chicken and
hit into it-the flesh tasted of tarragon and black pepper. He closed his
eyes and grinned. Nothing had ever in his life tasted so good.
Amiit chuckled.
"You've grown thinner, old friend," Amiit said as he poured himself wine
and Otah a mixture of wine and water. "You'd think accommodations in
Machi would he better."
"What's going on, Amiit-cha?" Otah asked, taking the proffered drink.
"Last I heard, I was going to be either executed as a criminal or
honorably killed in the succession. This ...... he gestured at the room
with his mug. "This wasn't suggested as an option."
"It wasn't approved by the Khaiem, that's truth," Amiit said. He sat
across from Otah and picked up one of the apples, turning it over slowly