“Well done, little sister. You are the proper lady of this clan house—”
“I accept of your welcome, Lady Rosann.” Fors showed more courtliness than had been in his manner when he had greeted the chieftainess.
“Now,” Arskane was frowning again, “I must go to my father, Fors. He is making the rounds of the outposts. If you will await us here—”
Rosann had kept hold of his hand and now she gave him the same wide smile with which she had favored her brother. “There are berries, brother of my brother, and the new cheese and corn cake fresh baked—”
“A feast—!” He met her smile.
“A true feast! Because Arskane has come back. Becie said that he would not and she cried—”
“Did she?” There was an unusual amount of interest in that comment from her tall brother. Then he was gone, striding away between the tent lines. Rosann nodded.
“Yes, Becie cried. But I did not. Because I knew that he would be back—”
“And why were you so sure?”
The hand tugged him closer to the shield stands. “Arskane is a great warrior. That—” a pink-brown finger touched the rim of the last shield in the row, “that is made from the skin of a thunder lizard and Arskane killed it all alone, just himself. Even my father allowed the legend singer to put together words for that at the next singing time—though he has many times said that the son of a chief must not be honored above other warriors. Arskane—he is very strong—”
And Fors, remembering the days just past, agreed. “He is strong and a mighty warrior and he has done other things your legend singer must weave words about.”
“You are not of our people. Your skin”—she compared his hand with hers—”it is light. And your hair—it is like Becie’s necklace when the sun shines upon it. You are not of us Dark People—”
Fors shook his head. In that company of warm brown skins and black hair his own lighter hide and silver head-capping must be doubly conspicuous.
“I come from the mountains—far to the east—” He waved a hand.
“Then you must be of the cat people!”
Fors’ gaze followed her pointing finger. Nag and Lura sat together at a good distance from the sheep and the tough little ponies as they had apparently been ordered to do. But, at Fors’ welcoming thought, Lura came up, leaving Nag behind. Rosann laughed with pure delight and threw her arms around the cat’s neck, hugging her tight. The rumble of Lura’s purr was her answer and a rough pink tongue caressed her wrist.
“Do all you people of the mountains have the big cats for your own friends?”
“Not all. The cat ones are not so many and it is for them to choose with whom they will hunt. This is Lura who is my good friend and roving companion. And that yonder is Nag who runs with the Star Captain.”
“I know—the Star Captain Jarl, he who has the kind eyes. He talks in the night with my father.”
“Kind eyes.” Fors was a little startled at a description so at variance with what he thought he knew. Though Rosann probably did not see Jarl as he appeared to a mutant and tribal outlaw.
Smoke was rising from the line of fires and borne with it was the fragrance of cooking. Fors could not repress a single sniff.
“You are hungry, brother of my brother?”
“Maybe—just a little—”
Rosann flushed. “I am sorry. Again have I let my tongue run and not remembered the Three Duties. Truly am I shamed—”
Her fingers tightened on his and she pulled him under the entrance flap of the tent.
“Down!”
Fors’ heels struck against a pile of thick mats and he obediently folded up his long legs and sat. Lura collapsed beside him as Rosann bustled about. Before Fors could even make out the patterns of the hangings on the walls Rosann returned, carrying before her a wide metal basin of water from which rose steam and the spicy scent of herbs. A towel of coarse stuff lay over her arm and she held it ready as Fors washed.
Then came a tray with a spoon and bowl and a small cup of the same bitter drink he had brewed under Arskane’s direction in the museum. The corn mush had been cooked with bits of rich meat and the stimulating drink was comforting in his middle.
He must have dozed off afterward because when he roused it was night outside and the crimson flames of the fire and the lesser beams of a lamp fought against the shadows. A hand placed on his forehead had brought him awake. Arskane knelt beside him and there were two others beyond. Fors levered himself up.
“What—” He was still half asleep.
“My father wishes to speak with you—”
Fors gathered his wits. One of the men facing him now was a slightly older edition of his friend. But the other wore about his throat a pair of silver wings fastened to a chain of the same stuff.
The chieftain was smaller than his sons and his dark skin was seamed and cracked by torrid winds and blistering suns. Across his chin was the ragged scar of an old and badly healed wound. Now and again he rubbed at this with a forefinger as if it still troubled him.
“You are Fors of the mountain clan?”
Fors hesitated. “I was of those clans. But now I am outlaw—”
“The Lady Nephata gave him earth—”
Arskane was both interrupted and effectively silenced by a single sharp look from his father.
“My son has told us something of your wanderings. But I would hear more of this Plainsmen encampment and what chanced with you there—”
For the second time Fors repeated his outline of recent events. When he had finished the Chief favored him with the same sort of intimidating glare which had worked on his son a few minutes before. But Fors met it forthrightly.
“You, Rance,” the Chief turned to the young man with him, “will alert the scouts against this trouble and make the rounds of the western outposts every hour. If an attack offers, the two beacons on the round hills must be fired. That you must keep ever in the minds of the men—”
“You see, rover”—the Chief spoke over his shoulder, addressing a shadow near the door, and for the first time Fors noted a fourth man there—”we do not go to war as to a banquet—as these Plainsmen seem to do. But if it be necessary then we can fight! We who have faced the wrath of the thunder lizards and taken their hides to make our shields of ceremony—”
“Do not greatly fear the lances of mere men.” The Star Captain appeared faintly amused. “Perhaps you are right, Lanard. But do not forget that the Beast Things are also abroad and they are less than men—or more!”
“Since I have ordered the war drums for more than the lifetime of this my youngest son, I do not forget one danger when faced by another, stranger!”
“Your pardon, Lanard. Only a fool tries to teach the otter to swim. Let war be left to the warriors—”
“Warriors who have sat too long at their ease!” snapped the chieftain. “To your posts, all of you!”
Arskane and his brother went, the chieftain stamping out impatiently after them. Fors started to follow.
“Wait!”
There was the crack of a whip in that one word. Fors stiffened. Jarl had no power of command over him—not even the faintest shadow of power if he was an outlaw. But he dropped his hand on Lura’s head and waited.
“These people,” Jarl continued with the same harsh abruptness, “may be broken between two enemies. It is not in their nature to back trail and in their own country there has been nothing they could not vanquish. Now they have come into this new land and fight on strange territory against those who are familiar with it. They face worse than they can imagine—but if that truth is told them they will not believe it.”
Fors made no comment and after a moment the Star Captain went on:
“Langdon was my good friend always, but there was a streak of rashness in him and he did not always see the road ahead with clear eyes—”
At this criticism of his father Fors stirred but he did not speak.
“You have already, youth that you are, broken the clan laws—going your own way in pride and stubbornness—”
“I ask for nothing of the Eyrie’s giving!”
“That is as it may be. I have twice heard your tale—you have a liking for this Arskane, I think. And you have eyes and a talent for getting under the skin of a man. This Marphy is one whom we might well remember. But Cantrul is a fighting man and of a different breed. Give him something to fight and he may be more open to other thoughts when the victory lies behind him. Very well, it is up to us to give him something to fight—something other than this tribe!”