these games – finding a warrior worthy of courting their
priestess/princess. Distressed, however, by the ardor in
Hollow-sky’s gaze and still angered by the broken poles, the
princess was determined to show him no favor. She held her
hand out to Riverwind to give him the same advantage.
Riverwind looked startled at the slender, graceful
fingers before him. He took the hand as though it were very
fragile and turned it over, seeming uncertain as to what he
should do.
“Well, Riverwind?” Goldmoon said, arching her
eyebrows expectantly. Inside, the sudden fear surged that,
for religious reasons, this . . . peasant might refuse to kiss
her, and she would be embarrassed before the whole tribe.
“Perhaps he reads your palm, my princess,” Hollow-sky
joked.
Goldmoon was instantly grateful to Loreman’s son for
breaking the silence and saving her.
“No,” Riverwind replied gravely. “That is not one of my
skills.”
“What? You don’t even see a long journey?” Goldmoon
teased, though inwardly she was growing just a little
nervous – the warrior’s grip on her wrist was now quite firm.
Riverwind’s countenance grew more serious, though his
smile never entirely left his lips. “A journey you shall have,
no doubt. And with my protection it will be a safe one. I
swear.”
Without turning her hand over he lifted it to his lips.
Goldmoon’s heart started pounding as she felt him sniff at
the scent on her wrist and then, very gently, kiss her palm.
Long after he released it and she lowered it to her side, she
could feel Riverwind’s warm breath on her hand.
The Princess Goldmoon spent the remainder of the
afternoon in the privacy of her lodge while the rest of the
tribe began celebrating in earnest – eating, drinking,
dancing, arguing, and brawling. The music filtered into her
quarters, making the priestess wish that she could join them,
like any other young woman. She sat at her loom, but her
shuttle lay unmoving in her lap. Riverwind and Hollow-sky
would be seated with her at the evening feast, and she was
anxious to know what further surprises they had in store for
her.
Finally, her father sent a servant, signaling that it was
time for the priestess to dine with the tribe.
A flute and a drummer accompanied her entrance to the
torchlit feasting grounds, where she sat at her father’s right.
The two chosen warriors then entered as the tribe sang a
victory song in their honor. They sat opposite her.
Goldmoon rose and, with a quick wary glance at Riverwind,
invoked a blessing over the food. If the shepherd/warrior
objected, he gave no sign. Then the feast began.
Goldmoon hadn’t eaten more than two bites, however,
before Hollow-sky rose and begged leave to speak.
“I have a gift to present to you, Princess, in honor of
this day,” he announced.
As the young man spoke, his father, Loreman, walked
proudly toward the head table. He wore a ceremonial cloak
decorated with feathers, and he was carrying a heavy, ornate
leather book.
Loreman lay the book on the table beside Goldmoon,
saying, “It has taken me many long hours to complete this
work. It is a history of the generations of Que-shu since the
great Cataclysm three hundred years ago. I have condensed
many old writings and made them into one book. The last
page, you will see, describes the events of this very day. It
is for all the people of our tribe to read, but we give it into
the care of the princess, and hope she is the first to read it.”
There were many murmurs of appreciation from the
people seated at the tables near the royal family. A book
was a rare thing, and the gift was completely unexpected,
especially coming, as it did, from Loreman, who was not
noted for his generosity. Goldmoon ran her hand along the
smooth cover, delighting in its texture.
Hollow-sky leaned over the table, placing his hand over
her own. “Read it carefully, Princess,” he whispered.
Goldmoon wanted very dearly to see this last page. She
wondered if Loreman had anticipated his two sons winning
today’s contests, and if he had had to rewrite it. Hawker,