The Wolf-clan’s chieftain had seen many summers. He had silver hair, a long beard, and eyes that had gone weak with time. His chest was still broad, his arms still strong enough to wield spear and sword. Tonight, he wore a tunic in the Wolf-clan’s blue and green, and a heavy brown cloak over his shoulders. Kráva had known him all her life, and knew him to be a quiet and thoughtful man, for all his ferocity in the line of battle. He looked up and gave her a gentle smile, while his son took station at the doorway to watch for any eavesdroppers.
“Kráva.” Dúvelka motioned for her to sit. “I am sorry that I haven’t been able to speak to you before. I owe the child of my old friend Derga every courtesy.”
Kráva eased herself down to sit at the old man’s feet. “I understand. You’ve been busy.”
“Yes.” Dúvelka frowned, hesitating for a moment. “Kráva, how much did your father confide in you on his journey?”
“Very little. I knew there was more to it than a simple matter of visiting old friends. Normally we would have traveled with a band of Sun-clan warriors, but this time he and I journeyed alone. Also, you were not the first high-born man or woman that he met with in private along the way.”
“You were not curious?”
“I trusted my father. If he wanted me to know his business, he would tell me. Since he didn’t, I kept my eyes and ears open, and my lips shut.”
Dúvelka nodded with approval. “Wise. I judge that you need to know more now. I think Derga would agree.”
“Does this have to do with your unexpected guests?”
“What leads you to think so?”
“We never visited Verkanta or called upon the king in his hall,” Kráva said slowly. “Instead, we made a wide circle around the town, visiting the outlying clans. Then the king lied, when he said he came here to help against the skátoi. He could not have arrived so quickly, unless he was already on his way here. To intercept my father?”
“Only to find Derga already dead.” Dúvelka sighed. “You are like your father. He always could see into men’s hearts.”
Kráva almost disagreed, but then she thought of the steel sword, and said nothing.
Dúvelka’s voice fell, until Kráva had to listen closely to hear his words. “Your father was visiting the clans in order to weigh their support for the king. Or for a move to depose the king, and elect another in his place.”
“Since you are telling me this, I can guess where you stand.”
“Hmm.” The old man leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His face shone, aged and beautiful, in the dim light of the lamp. “Kráva, I have known the king since he was a small child, in his grandfather’s time. I do not think he came to the kingship as a bad man. Yet a decent man can still make a very bad king, and becoming a king can turn a decent man into a very bad one.”
“You think this is happening to Múrvira?”
“I fear it is. Ever since he was elected last year, he has not acted as a good king should. He treats loyal men as if they were rivals, and in so doing, he forces them to become so. He tramples on the freedoms of the tribe’s noblemen and warriors. He takes land, horses, cattle, and goods, beyond what the law allows, by force if he must. He treats with our ancient foes, the AngvÃrai and the Sudávari, to his own benefit and against the interests of the tribe. I told your father, I do not think it time yet to call for a new king. Yet that time may be coming, if Múrvira does not change his ways.”
“I see.” Kráva looked away from the old man, into the dark shadows in the corners of the chamber. “This explains much that I did not understand.”
“I am sorry to place this burden upon you,” Dúvelka murmured.
“What would you advise me to do?”
Dúvelka sat in silence for a few moments, frowning in deep thought. Finally, he said, “How stands the Sun-clan, now that your father is dead?”
“My uncle ResavÃra rules with a firm hand. He and Derga kept no secrets from one another, so no doubt he knows about our mission, and supports it.”
“You would be safe at Taimar Nár, then. Safer than in the king’s hall at Verkanta, at any rate.”
Kráva frowned. “Do you think it will come to that?”
“It would be unwise for you to put yourself in the king’s power. He already suspects you,” said Dúvelka. “I think you would be better off protesting your loyalty from behind the walls of your clan’s fortress, if that is what you choose to do.”
“And if I choose to do somewhat else?” she asked slowly.
“Then you would still do well to get ResavÃra’s support. Besides, someone should bring the news of his brother’s death to his people.”
“Then I need to leave,” said Kráva decisively. “Now, tonight. If I wait until after the funeral games tomorrow, the king will expect me to travel with him to Verkanta.”
Dúvelka gave her a warm smile. “Good. That is what I hoped you would decide. Drúthan will travel with you, if you are willing.”
Kráva glanced over at the big young man by the door, who still watched for any intruder. “I can survive on my own, if I must.”
“No doubt. Yet the open country is no place for anyone to travel alone,” said Dúvelka. “Especially if there may be more skátoi about. Take my son with you. He is a solid and honest man, and has his wits about him. He will be a help to you, and no burden.”
She hesitated for another moment, and then nodded. “All right. I would welcome the company.”
Drúthan glanced in their direction, a quick smile on his face.
Dúvelka rose from his bench. “Get your gear, Drúthan, and food for both of you for a few days of travel. Then go to the stables and get Kráva’s chariot ready.”
“We had better not take the chariot,” Kráva objected, rising to her own feet. “If we’re going to travel fast and light, and at night, better to ride the horses than drive them.”
“That’s a valuable thing. Are you sure you wish to abandon it?”
“Consider it my gift to you.” Kráva leaned close, kissing the old man on the cheek. “Thank you for being a friend to my father, and to me.”
“The horses, then,” Drúthan muttered, and slipped away under the cloth hanging.
---
Kráva took the lamp with her, lighting the way through the dark corridor back to her own room. She felt eager to be gone, out in the open country, with the steel sword at her side. A few moments to dress for travel, gather her weapons and gear . . .
A shape erupted out of the dark doorway of Kráva’s room, just as she was about to step across the threshold. It slammed into her, all mass and brute strength, knocking her into the opposite wall of the corridor. Somehow, she kept her feet. The lamp went flying, and shattered when it hit the floor a few yards away.
Kráva snarled in sudden anger, and drew her dagger. There was just enough light from the fires in the main hall for her to see her opponent. She didn’t know him, but she knew she had seen him before: the man in hunting gear from the king’s company, who had been sober and watchful while everyone else indulged in revelry.
He had the steel sword, still in its sheath, in his right hand.
“Thief!” Kráva shouted, and struck.
Whoever he was, the man was quick. As fast as Kráva herself, it seemed. He dodged her blade, slipping smoothly to the side. Then, rather than strike back, he made as if to escape down the corridor toward the main hall.
Drúthan suddenly stood there, blocking the way. Two brawny arms reached out, grabbed and twisted, turning the man’s momentum against him. Suddenly the thief stood off-balance, struggling in Drúthan’s grip. A dagger flashed in the man’s off-hand, but Drúthan pinned that arm to his side with a quick counter. Then the younger man’s bull strength made itself felt, and the thief went over onto his face on the floor.
Kráva looked for an opening, and could find none. Fortunately, more reinforcements seemed to be on the way. Dúvelka appeared in the corridor behind Kráva, and running feet could be heard from the direction of the main hall. In moments, the corridor was full of startled Wolves. A few of them moved to douse the flames where the lamp had broken, while others piled onto Kráva’s opponent.
“What passes here?” Dúvelka demanded.
“This man was in my chamber,” said Kráva. “He has my sword there. He had to have searched carefully to find it.”
“A thief, is it?” Dúvelka drew his own weapon and placed the point near the fallen man’s neck. “Give it up, man, and drop what you have.”
“All right,” the thief said, his futile struggle ceasing. His hands relaxed, dropping his dagger and Kráva’s sword on the floor.
Kráva stepped in to sweep up the sword. The moment she had it, her right hand touching the hilt, she felt a sense of pleasure and relief, as if the thing was happy to be back in her hands.
Then Múrvira appeared in the corridor, an expression of bland puzzlement on his face, two more of his own men behind him. “Dúvelka, what is the trouble?”
Dúvelka stood over the fallen man, his jaw set so that his beard bristled with outrage. “One of your men was caught in the act of stealing from another of my guests. Is this how you repay the hospitality of my hall, arai?”
Kráva saw it, the moment the king’s eyes flickered to the sword in her hand.
He knew, without having to be told, what was stolen.
“Kráskora,” said the king, “what have you to say for yourself?”
The man on the floor tried to rise, but Drúthan’s weight and Dúvelka’s blade discouraged him. “I am sorry, arai,” he said from his position, rather out of breath. “I saw this woman’s sword this morning, when we arrived in the taimar. It’s a very fine weapon, better than mine. I thought I could make an exchange without anyone knowing better.”
Kráva’s hand tensed on the hilt.
Múrvira shook his head wearily. “This is not the first time you’ve been tempted to help yourself to things that did not belong to you. If I didn’t owe your father a favor, you would be dismissed from my service.”
“I understand, arai.”
Kráva shook her head slightly, wondering how it was that no one else could hear the insincerity in the king’s voice. Liar. He does not care that this man is a thief. Only that he failed.
“Dúvelka, I see no reason to drag this out in a court case,” said the king. “My man’s guilt is plain. Would you be satisfied with the usual fines?”
The old clan-chief nodded. “Kúndan?”
An elderly man stepped forward, wearing the robes and silver torc of a senior vaita. Kráva saw Lóka standing just behind, paying close attention to the proceedings.
“For theft of a longsword of fine quality, the property now recovered and in the hands of its proper owner, one silver penny, to be paid to the young woman,” the vaita pronounced.
Múrvira nodded at once in agreement.
Unfortunately, the vaita was not finished. “For theft in the hall of a clan chieftain whose face-price is five hundred komoi . . . fifteen silver pennies, two-thirds to be paid to Dúvelka for the violation of his hospitality, one-third to be paid to the young woman.”
Now the king winced, landing a firm kick to Kráskora’s ribs in a show of temper. “If you were going to be a thief, you might at least have done it out in the open country!”
Kráskora said nothing.
Múrvira opened a belt-pouch and counted out sixteen silver coins, handing them one by one to Dúvelka under the vaita’s eyes. Only when Dúvelka had them all, and had examined them for flaws, did he nod and hand six of them off to Kráva.
“This matter is settled,” said Kúndan formally.
“I agree,” said Dúvelka, putting away his sword and motioning for Drúthan to let his victim rise. “Now, arai, I think it might be best if you and your men removed yourselves from my hall. You may camp in the fallow fields at the bottom of the hill, with the Wolf-clan muster. I will have anything you need sent down to you.”
“Are you closing your gates to your king?” Múrvira said, his voice suddenly gone silky and dangerous.
“Not at all. I only wish to avoid any further misunderstandings, while night is upon us, and many of your people and mine alike are fuddled with drink.”
The king hesitated for a moment, looking suddenly thoughtful, and then nodded. “I suppose that is wise. We can discuss this more in the morning, then, before the funeral games.”
Kráva and the Wolf-clan folk stood in the hall, and watched the king and his men depart. A few of Dúvelka’s men left the hall as well, to follow the king and make certain he left the taimar entirely.
Once they were gone, Kráva said, “The king was lying. All through that business, he was bending and hiding the truth.”
“Yes,” said Dúvelka. “He knows about your sword, and wants it for himself. I wonder how he found out?”
“It was not any of our people who told him,” said the vaita Kúndan, rather tartly. Lóka nodded in agreement.
“How many people know?” Kráva asked.
“Only myself, young Lóka here, and the chieftain. I trust the rest of the Wolf-clan, but why put temptation in the path of honest men and women?”
Dúvelka chuckled. “Just as well you didn’t assess Múrvira the true value of the weapon. I think the poor man might have died of an apoplexy on the spot.”
“Or signaled to his men to try to take the hall, and kill anyone who opposed him,” Kráva muttered.
“Or that, yes.” Dúvelka peered at Kráva, assessing her. “Are you still prepared to leave with Drúthan before morning?”
Just then, Kráva hesitated, because another thought had come to her mind. A thought with the taste she was beginning to associate with the steel sword’s advice.
Dúvelka isn’t saying all that’s in his mind, she realized. He has other reasons for wanting Drúthan to go with me.
Of course. Now that Father is dead, I stand to inherit all his land, his herds, and his wealth. The second-biggest holding in the Sun-clan, one of the largest in the whole tribe. Whomever I marry becomes a rich man. Far richer than Drúthan could normally hope for, as a third son. Putting the two of us together is just good policy, as far as Dúvelka is concerned.
It was a cold thought, colder than Kráva was accustomed to when she considered matters of love. Not that being an aregbana had ever left her much freedom for such pursuits. At least with men.
“I think I must,” she said at last, setting the thought aside, for the moment. “If I’m still here for the funeral games, the king will insist that I come with him to Verkanta. Better not to be here to receive the royal command.”
“That is wise,” said Kúndan. “I suggest you take Lóka with you as well. He has much to tell you about your sword, and he will be able to offer you good advice.” The old man’s eyes twinkled. “Almost as good as mine.”
“I had better leave quickly, before half the Wolf-clan decides to come along,” said Kráva, but she smiled as she said it.