historian’s painstaking slowness was an obvious ploy to
demonstrate to the tribe the importance of his own position.
Loreman finished writing the names of the contestants with
a flourish, then looked up and nodded to the princess.
Goldmoon had already performed hundreds of religious
ceremonies. Since her mother’s death she had carried all the
burdens of priestess – praying for her people, their crops and
livestock and weaponry, tending the sick and injured,
settling disputes, burying the dead. But because of the
infrequency with which the door to the Hall of the Sleeping
Spirits opened, she had not been able to perform this most
important ceremony, during which she would dedicate her
life to her people. Now, this day had arrived. These men
seated below her would fight for the privilege of escorting
her, and undoubtedly one of them would eventually court
her, as her father had courted her mother.
“One of you had better be worthy,” she said silently to
the men.
Goldmoon unfurled her personal banner; the gold
crescent moon emblazoned on the dark cloth shone in the
sun as brightly as her hair. She called out, “May the
blessings of the Ancient Dead give courage, endurance, and
strength to the greatest among you.”
Cheering in reply, the Plainsmen held the banners of their
individual houses aloft.
Leaning down, the priestess drew a crystal dagger from
her boot scabbard. Cunningly fashioned and hollow within,
the dagger doubled as a vial containing a handful of sacred
sand. With a twist, Goldmoon slipped the handle from the
blade and poured some of the fine, warm, dry contents into
her palm. Turning with a flourish, Goldmoon sprinkled the
golden powder over the men before her, taking care that no
head should escape at least a little dusting.
Resisting the impulse to brush the remaining grains
from her palm, the priestess began to touch each head With
her fingertips in blessing. Each warrior, as she stood before
him, knelt and gazed up at her with admiration and
devotion. All but the last one.
He wore well-cared-for but well-dented armor, and his
clothing showed equal signs of wear and repair. His was not
a familiar face, but Goldmoon recognized his banner as
belonging to a poor family that lived in a hut at the edge of
the grazing lands the Que-shu shared with bordering tribes.
The warrior’s name was Riverwind, and there was
something about him that Arrowthorn, Goldmoon’s father,
spoke about with other men, but it was a subject always
dropped when she entered the room.
Goldmoon moved into position before Riverwind,
wondering idly what emotion she would see in his eyes, but
he stepped back with a feline grace. Startled, and annoyed
at the break in the smoothness of the ceremony, Goldmoon
managed not to show her surprise. Believing the young
peasant too simple to understand the ritual, she said softly,
“We are not quite finished. If you will kneel before me, I
will bless you.”
“I need no blessing to pass this day’s test, and I will not
kneel to you or any other mortal creature,” Riverwind
replied. He spoke quietly, but his deep voice sounded across
the platform.
Goldmoon stiffened with repressed anger. She would
not be embarrassed before the tribe, her holiness denied.
She gestured for the guards to come from the side of the
platform. They stood behind the infidel, prepared to haul
him away at her command.
Before she could motion for them to remove Riverwind
from her sight, however, Arrowthorn was by her side
interceding. “If it please, your grace,” he whispered to her,
“this one” – he glared icily at Riverwind – “intends no
disrespect; he simply does not believe as we do.”
The chieftain spoke up so the crowd could hear,
“Riverwind, grandson of Wanderer, why are you here at this
ceremony? It is not required for you to attend.”
Riverwind shifted his eyes from the daughter to the
father. Goldmoon’s breath caught in her throat at his daring
and pride. Yet the warrior’s blue eyes showed not a hint of
nervousness. Calmly, but with enough volume to carry to
the tribe below, he replied, “I am a warrior, and my
swordarm will be a strength to my people. Although I do