Ghe frowned in puzzlement. “A what?”
The Mang slapped him on the back. “That answers my question, I think.”
“But it doesn't answer mine,” Ghe said. “What is a godbladel”
The headman looked bemused. “A weapon with a god in it. I've heard of them but know little enough about them. I'll be happy to tell you what I do know, though.”
“I would appreciate that,” he said. In his mind he traced the bitter image of Perkar's sword arcing toward his, how his own River-blessed blade had shivered and nearly shattered when the strange green metal met it. Godblade.
“The gaan can tell you more.”
“When will I meet him?” Ghe asked a bit distractedly, waving to the still-shouting crowd.
“He meets us tomorrow, at White Rock,” the headman said. Ghe nodded, turned to wink at Qwen Shen, whose own eyes held an interesting mixture of fear and relief. He felt renewed affection for her; she was an amazing woman and had given him much. When he was at last rejoined with Hezhi, his true love, he would be as gentle as possible in ending her life.
TSEBA, Ghan discovered, meant “White Rock,” and the place seemed aptly named, a low-walled canyon of chalky stone that led more or less north into a range of high country. In the last day of the journey, they had been joined by more and more riders; over a hundred sets of hooves clattered into Tseba.
A single rider awaited them there.
Ghan wasn't sure what he expected of a Mang chief, but he certainly thought the man would have at least a few retainers, perhaps musicians to herald his coming. The rider was some distance away, but from what Ghan could make out, he wore no regalia—indeed, he seemed worn and bedraggled, as if he had ridden harder and longer than they. He would have doubted this man's identity, save that every Mang present dismounted before him, as did he and most of the Nholish soldiers when they realized what was going on.
Ghe, Qwen Shen, and Bone Eel were led before the chief by the headman, and the group of them began speaking. Voices carried far in the canyon, but so did the whickering of horses and the stamping of restless hooves, and even though Ghan could hear them speaking, he could make out none of what they said.
But after a moment, Ghe left and strode back into the army of men and horses. He came like a titan, men moving deferentially from his path, and it was clear he came for Ghan. Ghan gathered his strength and awaited him.
“Hello, Ghan,” Ghe said when he arrived. “I see that you fared well enough on our journey.”
“Well enough.”
“Would you come with me?”
Ghan quirked a faint half smile. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Why, then, I will be more than happy to come.” He dusted the horse hair from his legs, and when he took his first steps they nearly wobbled from under him.
“Let me help you, there,” Ghe said, and took a firm—even painful—grip beneath his arm and began escorting him toward the fore of the party.
“I must admit, Ghan, I've been angry with you,” Ghe confided as they walked along. “Though that isn't precisely why I have avoided you these past days.”
“Oh? Have you avoided me?”
Ghe tsked. “You betrayed me, Ghan, and betrayed Hezhi, too, though I'm sure you pigheadedly thought you were helping her. I have avoided you to save your life, however. Every time I look at you, I desire to empty your withered shell of its spirit. And yet I thought some use might still exist for you. And, as it proves out, there ¿s.”
They were almost to the other leaders now, and Ghe slowed a bit—perhaps so that he would not appear to be dragging him. Ghan opened his mouth to ask Ghe what use he might have, but then they were there, the Mang chieftain watching him with bright eyes.
He was weary-looking, clad in the same manner as any of the Mang around him: long black coat, breeks. The only marked difference was that he wore no helmet. The most astonishing thing was his age; he couldn't be more than sixteen.
“You are the one named Ghan,” he said in heavily accented but comprehensible Nholish.
“That is what I am called.”
“You and I have much to talk about, along with these others,” he said, indicating Ghe and the rest. “You may be happy to know that Hezhi is still alive and well.”
Ghan blinked as the words sorted into sense, and with comprehension came a flood of sudden emotion, cracking the levees which had so long held it in place.
“How do you know?” Ghan asked.
The chieftain tapped his chest. “I see her, in here. Not long ago I rode with her.” He placed his hand on Ghan's shoulder. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am shaman and war prophet of the Four Spruces Clan, and also by the will of the River and heaven, the chieftain of the three northwestern bands.” He swept his hands to encompass all of the men and horses who stood dismounted in the valley, awaiting his command.
“But you, my friend, may call me Moss.”
XXX The Roadmark
PERKAR drew a sharp breath and stiffened when Harka suddenly hailed.
“What?”
“Fifteen men at least in the rocks ahead, ” the weapon replied.
“Within earshot?” he whispered.
“Shouring, I would think. ”
“Mang?”
“How should I know? I only know they haven't certainly decided to attack you. They are waiting for someone or perhaps guarding something. ”
Perkar noticed Hezhi staring at him. He flashed her a little smile.
“Just pretend we're talking about something innocuous,” he said softly.
“I thought we were,” Hezhi answered, recalling the conversation Harka had interrupted, about the merits of red cattle as opposed to brown ones.
“There are warriors up ahead of us.”
“They weren't there last night,” she assured him.
“Well, now they are. Ngangata, do you hear all of this?”
“Yes. I say we go back the way we came.”
“Too late for that,” Perkar said. “They surely know we're here. When I give the word, all of you bolt for the cover of those trees. I don't think we're in line-of-sight for bows yet, anyway—”
“You aren't going to fight them all by yourself,” Hezhi hissed.
Perkar smiled weakly and reached over to touch her hand. “I don't intend to fight them at all, unless I have no choice. These are most likely my people, considering where we are. But in times of war, rash, unplanned things can happen. If they shoot too hastily at one of you, it might kill you. If they make the same mistake with me …”