not worship as you do, you have my loyalty. I, too, desire a
safe journey for my Chieftain’s Daughter. Today’s games
will prove my worth.”
Riverwind glanced away from Arrowthorn, capturing
Goldmoon’s own reluctant gaze. He smiled ever so slightly.
Goldmoon quickly shifted her focus out across the plains.
What she had seen in those eyes in that brief instant caused
her to shiver despite the golden heat of the sun. It was the
look of a hunter stalking his prey.
“Well said,” Arrowthorn stated, then he turned to the
waiting crowd. “Let the games begin.”
Goldmoon stood stunned, not seeing the men before her
or the plains spread out around her. She could not believe
what she had just heard. How could her father give his
approval to this arrogant, rebellious peasant? And how dare
he circumvent her will? He might be her father, but SHE
was the priestess!
The warriors filed from the altar, Riverwind at the end
of the line. Goldmoon followed behind him stiffly. She took
each step down the stairs firmly, as though she were
trodding on this Riverwind’s head.
The chieftain followed his daughter, appearing
completely calm. Loreman remained up above, still
scratching away at the parchment with his quill, relating his
version of the events which had just passed.
Goldmoon entered her lodge, closing the door behind
her father. Then she whirled about, free to vent her anger
and confusion. “I do not understand how you could allow -”
“Silence!” Arrowthorn said.
Goldmoon bit back her words.
The chieftain surveyed his daughter critically. She
wore a formal robe that Tearsong, his dead wife, had also
worn, and was, but for her hair, the image of her mother.
She performed all the duties of Chieftain’s Daughter
without trouble or complaint. Goldmoon was, in fact,
nearly flawless, yet Arrowthorn could never bring himself
to tell her so. Godhood was not earned by the careless.
He suppressed his pride and snapped, “Your circlet is
crooked.”
Goldmoon felt her face flush crimson as her hands rose
to straighten the slender silver band on her head.
“How are young men supposed to see a goddess in you
if you do not take better care of your appearance? That
won’t do. Take it off. Have your women comb your hair
again before you replace it.”
She was a full-grown woman of power, yet her sub jects
would be astonished to see how she shook before her
father’s words.
Still, it was not easy for Arrowthorn to watch his only
child tremble with shame. He put his hand on her shoulder
and lifted her chin to bring her eyes up to his own. “It would
hardly matter in Riverwind’s case. His whole family is
cursed thus.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Arrowthorn drew in a long breath. “Wanderer,
grandfather of Riverwind, learned too much in his
wanderings. He broke pact with our gods and taught his
family to do the same.”
“Is that why they are so poor?” Goldmoon asked,
remembering their shabby hut out on the plains.
“That is not important. Suffice it to say that I do not
question their loyalty, despite their peculiar beliefs.”
“But, how can you not when they deny us?”
“You remember once we spoke together of those
among us who say their faith is strong, or their loyalty is
great, and yet the truth is another matter?”
Goldmoon nodded. The priesthood of the Que-shu passed
from mother to eldest daughter, but – peculiar among the
tribes of the Plains – the position of chieftain went to the
man who won the hand of the priestess. Such a man’s
worthiness was judged both by the priestess herself and the
current chieftain, her father. It was a tradition stemming
from antiquity, a tradition that had kept the royalty of the
Que-shu strong. Yet there were men, especially chieftains’
sons and spumed suitors, who rankled that their bids for
power were thwarted by one healthy girl-child grown to
womanhood. Arrowthorn had warned her once that many
argued against this tradition, though none dared do so in the
royal family’s presence – yet. That was why she must be
perfect in her example. The people obeyed their goddess-to-