She rose, bringing her face level with his, staring into his eyes. “She told me I had much still to do. That great trials lay ahead and a lifetime of grief was not a luxury I would be permitted. And she said she had once gifted a Seordah name to a man, a man I would come to love.” She gave a laugh, her breath soft on his lips. “I thought she was mad. I was wrong.”
• • •
They returned to Orven’s company two days later, finding them all mounted and drawn up in battle formation. The reason was easily found, at least a hundred Lonak on their stout ponies plainly visible on the crest of a hill a quarter mile to the north.
“They appeared this morning, my lord,” Orven reported as Vaelin rode up, greeting Dahrena with a surprised bow. “Very good to see you again, my lady.”
“My lord. I hear congratulations are in order.”
Orven gave a small grin before casting a wary glance at the Lonak. “I fear they’ll have to wait.”
Vaelin raised an eyebrow at Kiral who looked upon her fellow Lonak with steady gaze. “They come at the Mahlessa’s bidding, though not without misgivings.”
“Then we’d best say hello.” He told Dahrena and the others to wait with Orven’s men and rode forward with Kiral. They approached to within a few yards of the base of the hill, halting when one of the Lonak spurred his pony down the slope, a hulking man with a bearskin vest and a mazelike tattoo covering his shaven head. His face provoked a rush of recognition as he halted his pony a few yards away, regarding Vaelin with a baleful glare and greeting Kiral in terse Lonak.
“This is Alturk,” she told Vaelin. “Tahlessa of the Mahlessa Sentar.”
“We’ve met,” Vaelin said, nodding at the big man. “Your son is well?”
Alturk’s face spasmed with anger and Vaelin resisted the urge to reach for his sword as Kiral tensed beside him.
“My son was varnish,” Alturk said in harsh Realm Tongue. “A worthless life well ended.”
Vaelin wondered if he should voice some word of sympathy but guessed it would only be taken as further insult. “The Mahlessa has granted us passage,” he said. “What is your purpose here?”
Alturk gritted his teeth, speaking in slow controlled tones as if worried his anger might choke him. “The Mahlessa commands one hundred of the Sentar follow you. The finest blood of the Lonakhim, to be spilled at your word.”
“You know our course? We travel across the ice to the lands of our enemy. The dangers are many.”
“Word from the Mountain is not questioned.” Alturk tugged on his reins, turning the pony. “Follow our track, do not stray from it. There are few here who welcome your coming and I give no promise of safety.”
• • •
They covered thirty miles by nightfall, the Sentar setting a punishing pace through myriad canyons and valleys. Vaelin noted they rode with weapons ready, many holding bows with arrows notched, eyes constantly scanning the surrounding hilltops. His eyes also picked out a few riderless ponies among them and noted some warriors sported recently bound wounds.
“The Mahlessa asks much of our people in allowing your passage,” Kiral explained, following his gaze. “The False Mahlessa may have fallen but her words still linger in many ears.”
“But you are . . . were the False Mahlessa,” Vaelin said. “Won’t your presence among us discourage them?”
Kiral smiled sadly. “When the Mahlessa freed me I went forth from the Mountain with my sisters, telling my story at the fires of every clan. It’s a story welcome at any fire, being so rich in incident. Most believed it, some didn’t, thinking me somehow turned from my true course by the Mahlessa. The thing that held me had a way with words, an ability to plant the seeds of doubt in the hearts of those already versed in malice and cruelty. It’s easier to hate when given a reason, and she had many.”
They encamped amidst the crags of a low plateau some hours later, Alturk posting a heavy guard on all approaches. Most of the Sentar seemed content to stay away from the Merim Her but not all were so wary, one stocky woman approaching to peer at Dahrena as she unsaddled her horse, speaking in rapid Lonak.
“I don’t know your language,” Dahrena said, clearly discomforted by the scrutiny.
“She asks if you belong to the Arrow Glass Clan,” Kiral explained. “Your face reminds her of a cousin she lost years ago.”
Dahrena offered the stern-faced Lonak woman a cautious frown. “Lost how?”
“A raid,” Kiral related. “An entire village was wiped out, her cousin died along with her sisters and their children. They thought it the Seordah but the tracks were wrong, and the Seordah never kill children.”
Dahrena’s expression became more intent and she laid down her saddle, stepping closer to the Lonak woman. “Did her cousin have a name?”
“Mileka,” Kiral translated. “It means Owl.” She paused as the Lonak woman spoke on. “She asks if you have a story for the fire.”
“Yes.” Dahrena gave a reluctant nod. “I have a story.”
