Son of Tall Eagle by John R. Fultz

Author:John R. Fultz [Fultz, John R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2017-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

9. Skyroot

Once again we were guests in the House of Urlidain. The royal court gathered into the red pavilion and greeted us with respect, but not all of them were glad to see us. We were Urlidain’s toys, here by his whim alone. We lounged on great pillows at the high table, eating roasted fowl with the Sesthi nobles and enduring the stares of Zayadna. Urlidain’s beard was stained with mead, his big fingers greasy from the meat. When he spoke to the Sesthi he used their native tongue. He was the only one who exchanged words with us in the Myktu language. His courtiers glared at us and made mocking comments, knowing we could not understand their insults. The horn-helmed guards stood silent as statues about the pavilion.

“Thank you for returning the scalps of my people,” Urlidain said. “You are a worthy leader for the River People, Kai. Your father will never be able to lead them from the City of Eagles. Yet every herd needs a strong chieftain. Has Tall Eagle told you this?”

I ate modestly, uncomfortable in the face of Zayadna’s quiet anger. Athri kept her thoughts to herself. “He told me that the Circle of War must stay broken,” I said. “So our children can grow up in a land full of life instead of a land crowded by ghosts.”

Urlidain wiped his chin with the back of his hand. His front hooves stamped against the mammoth-hide rugs. “You speak with your father’s wisdom. Yet my advisors insist that Red Knife’s death alone does not equal the four sentinels his men killed two days ago. They want at least four more of your warriors to execute.”

“Then remind them of Farwater,” Athri said. “Remind them of the thirty-seven men, women, and children killed there by the Sesthi. Shall we keep counting bodies? How many Sesthi died on these night raids? You think I don’t know? It was nine.” She looked at me. “You never told Kai that your price for nine Sesthi lives was thirty-seven of ours. Red Knife makes thirty-eight. Now you want four more?”

“Nine dead Sesthi is nine too many,” Urlidain said. “Yet now the total stands at thirteen of us. Plus one blinded by an Opyd claw when you escaped Zayadna’s hunters.”

“Thirteen dead Sesthi does not equal thirty-eight dead River People,” I said. “The truth is that all of these deaths were due to Red Knife’s scheming. Now you have him in your custody and will soon execute him. Any more deaths would not be justice, only cruelty.”

Urlidain smiled, drank, and refilled his cup. His colt servant filled ours as well. He knew the oldest of rules between tribes: To best negotiate, get your opponent drunk. So he filled us with honey-mead because he had no cloudmere.

“If you will not give us more lives to back this treaty,” he said, “then give us more of the yellow metal.”

Now his tactic made sense. The yaitha was what he wanted, not war or executions. Zayadna had been right about her lord’s motivations.

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