“A message, Vaintè, from the Eistaa.”
“Speak.”
“Your presence is needed at once in the ambesed.”
“Return. I come.”
Vaintè had given much thought to this moment, considered how long an interval to leave between the message and her departure. Not long; there was no need to anger Malsas< without reason. She had considered applying formal arm designs, but then had rejected the idea. There must be no obvious display. She simply took a few drops of scented oil on her palms, rubbed some into her crest so that it shone slightly, used the rest on her forearms and the backs of her hands. With that she was done. She left then and did not hurry, but she did take the shortest route to the ambesed. There, in the heart of the city, she had once sat as Eistaa. She returned now—as what? Penitent, supplicant? No, not those, she would die before she asked a favor. She went prepared to accept commands, to serve Alpèasak, nothing more. This decision was in every movement of her body as she walked. The ambesed was larger now, with all of Inegban* come to swell the ranks of the city's Yilanè. They stood in groups, talking, or milled about slowly from group to group. They were aware of her presence, moved casually to let her pass, but none caught her eye or gave her greetings. She was there—but not there until she had spoken with Malsas<. The group around the Eistaa opened a path for her as she approached, not appearing to see her, but stepping aside as though by chance. She ignored these half-insults, walking stolidly forward to stand before Malsas<. Stallan was at the Eistaa's side. The hunter looked at Vaintè and her palms colored in recognition. Vaintè returned the greeting, vowing silently to herself to remember the bravery of this simple act of recognition, when all the others had turned away. She stopped before Malsas<, waiting silently until one eye moved in her direction. "I am here, Eistaa." "Yes you are, Vaintè." There was a blank neutrality in the statement, neither welcome or rejection. When Vaintè stayed in expectant silence Malsas< went on. "There are ustuzou to the north, bold enough to approach the shore where they may be found and slain." "I know of this, Eistaa." "Do you also know that I have ordered Stallan to go there, to kill them?" "I did not know that. But I do know that Stallan is the first killer of ustuzou and still the best." "I am pleased to hear you say that. But Stallan does not agree with you. She feels she is too unskilled to lead and be sarn'enoto in the pursuit of the ustuzou. Do you agree?" The answer had to be phrased with exactitude. There was great danger here and no latitude for mistakes. When Vaintè began speaking there was sincerity in her movements, followed by firmness of intent. "Stallan has great skill in the killing of ustuzou and we all learn from her. As to her ability to be sarn'enoto—that is not mine to judge. Only the Eistaa can raise a sarn'enoto up, only the Eistaa can set a sarn'enoto down." There, it was said. No rebellion, no attempt at argument or flattery, just a simple statement of fact. As always the decisions had to be made by the Eistaa. Others might advise; only she could decide. Malsas< looked from one to the other while all those present watched in silence. Stallan stood solid as a tree as always, ready to obey the orders she was given. No one who saw her could believe she could ever disagree with the Eistaa. If she said she had not the ability to serve as sarn'enoto it was simply because she believed this to be true. Nor was Vaintè rebelling against orders. She was here to receive them. Malsas< looked at them both and made her decision. "The ustuzou must be destroyed. I am the Eistaa and I named Vaintè as sarn'enoto to bring about that destruction. How will you go about accomplishing that, sarn'enoto?" Vaintè put all thoughts of victory from her, forced herself not to feel the jubilation rising up. Instead she signed simple acceptance of duty, then began to speak.