Kopporu ordered one of the swamp-dwellers to accompany Ufta, to provide her with a guide once her group entered the swamp. The other battle leaders were likewise provided with guides. She then ordered the five battle leaders to their posts, after issuing one final command.
“In the event of my death, Gortoku will assume leadership of the tribe.”
“What’s left of the tribe,” said Ufta softly.
“No.” The battle leaders stared at Aktako, surprised. Despite her personal relationship with Kopporu, the old veteran was always a stickler for protocol. She never spoke at the meetings of the battle leaders.
Aktako’s own mantle was as black as Kopporu’s.
“Ufta still does not understand,” said Aktako harshly. “This is the tribe. From this moment forward, there are no other Kiktu.”
The old warrior waved a palp toward the south. In the distance, the clash of flails and forks could be heard. But above it, swelling, they could hear the shrieks of the doomed. The Utuku cutters had already started their work, in anticipation of the great victory feast.
Aktako made the gesture of negation.
“Those are no longer Kitku. They are meat for the conquerors.”
As soon as the battle leaders left the command circle, Kopporu summoned the remaining swamp-dweller to her side. The swamp-dweller was called O-doddo-ua, and she was what passed for a leader among the swamp dwellers. Her name seemed strange to Kopporu’s ear, but she knew it was a common one among the helots in the Oukasho Prevalate. O-doddo-ua, like most of the swamp-dwellers, was an escapee from the southern prevalates. They had chosen the wretched and dangerous life of the swamp in preference to a life of ceaseless toil and slavery. There were many Kiktu warriors—the great majority, in truth—who despised the swamp-dwellers for that choice. Kopporu admired them for it.
But whether they despised them or not, all the Kiktu would now be dependent on the swamp-dwellers. The swamp was a feared place, unclean; essentially unknown to the Kiktu. Their survival would depend on the knowledge of the outcasts.
“Do you have any questions, O-doddo-ua?”
The swamp-dweller hesitated. There were traces of pink in the ochre of her mantle, Kopporu noted. Not with surprise, except, perhaps, at the absence of red. O-doddo-ua had known, abstractly, that Kopporu was ruthless in her approach to reality. But abstract knowledge is one thing; gutted bodies are another.
“You are afraid of what I will do to you, once you have served us,” stated Kopporu.
A sudden ripple of ochre washed over the swamp-dweller’s mantle, followed by the gesture of affirmation.
“I am not cruel, O-doddo-ua. Treacherous only when I need to be. I promised that we would reward you if you guided us through the swamp. The promise will be kept.”
O-doddo-ua hesitated; then spoke softly, in the slurring accent of the southerners.
“We have not agreed on the reward.”
“True. I offered you five wires of bronze. I can now promise you a few gana, as well. But that is all.” Kopporu allowed a brief ripple of brown into her mantle. “The Kiktu will have nothing more to give. We are now a poor tribe ourselves.”
“Not true, battle leader. You are rich in what the swamp-dwellers treasure most. Richer now, I think, than ever.”
“Indeed? What is that?”
“Knowledge of survival, and its needs.” To Kopporu’s surprise, the swamp-dweller’s mantle turned black.
“Our reward will be adoption into your tribe. No, more. Into your own clan, battle leader Kopporu.”
Despite her iron self-control, Kopporu was unable to prevent her mantle from glowing bright orange. Not often, since she was a child, had Kopporu been so thoroughly astonished.
“What?”
“You heard. Those are our terms, battle leader. We have discussed it amongst ourselves, and decided.”
“But—why?”
“We know the swamp, battle leader, but we do not love it. Not at all. We are tired of being outcasts. And we have long since abandoned the foolish notions of civilization. It would be good to have a place in the world. In the greatest clan of its greatest tribe.”
Kopporu whistled bitter amusement. “Greatest tribe? Its greatest clan? Are you blind, O-doddo-ua? The Kiktu are no longer the world’s greatest tribe, if we ever were. By tomorrow we will be not much more than outcasts and swamp dwellers ourselves.”