THE GREY MANE OF MORNING 
A Bantam Book 


PRINTING HISTORY 
Originally published in Great Britain by George Allen 
& Unwin Ltd. 


Bantam Trade editiSeptember 1980 
Bantam rack-size edition / September 1982 


All rights reserved. 
Copyrightc1977 by George Allen & Unwin (Publishers) Ltd. 
Cover art copyrightc1980 by Bantam Books, Inc. 
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INTRODUCTION




Joy Chant's world of Vandarei was first encountered in 
a magnificent fantasy entitled "Red Moon and Black 
Mountain." That was a story of a time very much later 
than the .setting of the present book. In chronological 
order, THE GREY MANE OF MORNING is a prequel--a 
tale Of ore of the earliest heroes of an enchanted land, of a 
time befo?e the world was even given the name of Van-darei.


Then, as in all ancient times, people lived as the land 
demanded they should. The Khentorei, Gentle People of 
the Plains, drifted in small tribal groups, pushed by the 
varying seasons over a vast domain--a not particularly 
kind or safe existence, but one that was rich with excitement, 
laughter, intense loyalties, and a glorious joy in the 
magnificent Horned Horses, the Davlenei, which they 
alone could ride and which the God had given them to 
guide their wanderings.


Each seven years, the God chose one particular Davlani 
who became Dha'lev, the God Horse, his spirit imbued 
with the wisdom of the God Kem'nanh, Ruler of the 
Wind, Lord of the Herds. The Sons of the Wind measured 
time by the passage of earth signs, celebrating many with 
Festivalsthe Moon of New Grass, the Moon of Yellow 
Flowers, the Moon of Burning Trees... and at the proper 
times and seasons the Dha'lev would grow restless and 
lead the way to new pastures or to safe winter valleys.


The Khentorei had no enemies, nor did the Tribes war 
with one another. Free as the wind, they rode, they 
danced, they drummed, they hunted, they celebrated




their life and worshipped their Gods, and no one kept 
any reckoning of their comings or goings. Except for the 
Golden Ones, those tall, handsome, blond people who 
lived in houses behind walled towns in the hills, worked 
metal, wore cleverly dyed clothes and, once a year, in 
their lordly way, took tribute from the awestruck Gentle 
People of the Plains.


Nothing had changed for centuriesnot that anyone 
bothered to measure the centuries-things were simply 
the way they had always been. Especially was this true of 
the Alnei, a Tribe blessed with a wise and powerful 
Dha'lev and with, unusually, a brother and sister both 
also touched by the Gods. Between Mor'anh and Nai 
there had always been a closeness, something sacred, an 
unspoken communion. They were priest and priestess 
and the children of the leader of the Alnei. More, Nai'was 
known to bring Luck to the Alnei: their herds had been 
strong and prolific, their pastures good, the living easy. 
Everyone recognized that they would therefore, in logic, 
pay greater tribute to the God-like Golden Ones. None 
questioned this--except Mor'anh. For in Mor'anh, 
named for the Lightning, the God had planted a seed that 
questioned the immutable laws of custom.


And when the Golden Ones tipped Nai away from her 
Tribe to be raped and thrown into servitude, Mor'anh's 
doubts flowered into savage rage. But there seemed little 
he could do--even his father, leader of the Tribe, reluctantly 
accepted Nai's fate.


Mor'anh had to acknowledge it was impossible to fight 
the Golden Ones, to throw the Tribe into bloodshed and 
horror just for the sake of one girl. But he was not idly 
named Spear of the Sky. When the time came, Mor'anh 
knew he must and would act. Whether his decision for 
vengeance would bring death to his Tribe, or freedom, he 
could not know. One thing was sure, the ancient pattern 
of life on the Plains and in the Hills would never be the


same.
BETFY BALLANTINE




SOME OF 
THE PEOPLE 
AND PLACES 
OF 
VANDAREI




THE HORSE PEOPLE 
The Khentorei




also known as: 
Wandering People 
People of the Plains 
The Gentle People


The Dark Ones


Sons of the Wind


Men of the Wide Land




Thb Khentorei are divided into several tribes. This story is chiefly of 
the Tribe called Alnei, the Tribe of the Wolf. Only the Khentorei men can 
ride the magnificent homed horses (Davlenei), and among the Davlenei,


the God selects one--the Dha'lev, the God Horse. The Dha'lev is holy


and powerful and magic, God's Chosen to lead the Tribe. ù




KEM'NANH 
the Khentorei deity who chooses the Dha'lev. Kem'nanh 
is Ruler of the Wind, Lord of the Herds.




IR'NANH 
a Khentorei deity, the God of the River, 
the Trees, also known as the Dancer, the Lord of Destiny, 
and the Lord of Life. A very powerful God.




NADIV


Khentorei Goddess, served by the women of the Tribe. Among 
the Alnei, Nai is priestess to Nadiv, the Sacred Mother.




the title given to those through whom the God speaks, not 
always, or necessarily, a priest or priestess. However, in the case of 
the priest Mor'anh and of the priestess Nai, both are Har'enh.




HORN-BLOWER 
the call to death. It is said of the Old One that Horn-blower 
has forgotten his name.




TEMPLE OF HAR'ENH


Tent of Kem'nanh, the God's Tent, a saced place.




SOME KHENTOREI FESTIVALS AND SEASONS


The Fire of Gathering--held in the evening, when the Tribe comes together 
fo a particular event, or a celebration, or to discuss problems.




The Grass Dance


The Feast of the Mother 
Moon of the New Gross 
Moon of the Sheep Shearing 
Moon of Long Days


Moon of the Dances


Moon of the Great Feasts 
Moon of the Flocking Birds 
Moon of the Storms


Moon of the Burning Trees




CHIEF CHARACTERS IN THE ALNEI TRIBE




LORD ILNA---Grey Wolf


Has been Lord of the Alnei for eighteen years.


His grey hair is worn in braids and he rides the davlani Hulakhen. 
His wife Ranuvai has been dead for ten years.




MOR'ANH--Young Wolf


Son of Lord llna and a priest, Chosen of Kem'nanh. Mor'anh rides 
the davlani Racho. Mor'anh is nineteen, wears his black hair short.


He is oddly named, for Mor'anh means Spear of Heaven, Lightning Bolt. 
He is a mighty warrior, excelling at the hunt and at drumming. He is 
also spear-brother to Hran, who is in love with his sister Nai.




NAI


Daughter of Lord Ilna and sister to Mor'anh. She alone among all the 
women can raise her voice at the Fire of Gathering, for Nai, a poetess and 
prophetness, is also Chosen of Nadiv, the sacred Mother. Her relationship 
with her brother Mor'anh is deep and close: they share a common 
dedication to the Gods and can sense one another's feelings.




HRAN---the Eagle


Son of Yom. He rides the davlani Ranap and excels at hunting and dancing. 
Hran is in love with Nai, and spear-brother to Mor'anh.






RALKI


Hran's bold, gay sister, and his favorite dance parmer. 
At one time Mor'anh courted Ralki.




YALN


Ralld's husband.




MANUI


Manui is plump and pretty and fides her pony OVer 
as well as any of the men ride their davlenei. She is in love 
with Mor'anh, her friend and sometimes her lover.




RUNI--the Leopardess


She is well named Runi, meaning leopardess, for she is tall and 
lithe and reckless. She wears her thick, dark hair loose, dinging to 
girlhood, denying the responsibility of becoming a woman.


But Mor'anh loves her passionately, obsessed by her sensuality.




DERNA


Runi's brother.




DURAl


Hran's younger sister.




OLD ONE


So ancient none can reraember the years of his life or even his 
name. But his memories are important to the Tribe.




THE GOLDEN PEOPLE


The Kalnat




They are tall, strong, golden-haired and blue-eyed. They live in 
the mountains, in stationary houses within walled towns. They are 
skilled at the working of metal and their artifacts include swords, 
spears and long knives. They wear brightly colored clothing and cultivate 
fields. Their diet is largely vegetarian as they do not hunt. The Horse 
People regard them as demi-gods to whom they give annual tribute.


The God of the Golden People is Akrol, the Soul of Light.




SOME CHARACTERS AMONG THE GOLDEN PEOPLE




MADOL


Nephew of the Master, i.e., son of the Leader's sister.




MARAT


Madol's sister. Her mother was a Horse Woman taken in tribute.




KARINtOL


A big man with thick yellow hair, sympathetic to the Horse People.




HANIOL


He negotiates for tribute with the Horse People and keeps a tally.




KUNIOL
)


KELDOL
) young male friends to Madol


DARINOL
)




KERATOL


Master of the Golden People




THE PEOPLE OF THE crI'IES




YU-THUREK


Lord of the City Jemaluth, the City of the Wise, in the country of Bariphen.




YA-BUREN


Translator--he spent some time with the Alnei 


when Mor'anh was a small boy.




PRINCESS JATHEROL


Daughter to Lord Ya-Bun and heiress to the throne. 
Inhezitance is through the Eemale Uae.




PRINCE YO-ITIERIL


Son o Lord Yu-Thuek.




Hanurh


REALM OF


THE PLAINS




Heran o




1




he moons had set long since. First the red 
disc of sullen Hega had slid below the 
horizon, then silver Vani's waning crescent. 
But the Plain was not dark. There 
was little cloud to hide the massed stars 
of northern Khendiol, and Vani at her




brightest scarcely outshines their pulsing splendour. The 
grass shimmered, and the camps of the wandering tribes 
lay drenched in pale, shadowless light. Night drew near 
its end. Above the stillness, the tireless stars turned. A 
thousand years would pass before their secrets were 
shared, their true names known. There was none to read 
in them of the changing of an age, as they danced about 
the one that the tribesmen name the Picket Star.


Peace lay over the realm of the Men of the Wide Land, 
the Khentors. For generations they had lived on the 
Plain, hunting and herding, living the life ordained for 
them in the land the Gods had given them. They were not 
yet the wielders of a mighty power, and many lifetimes 
would pass before they were the companions of the Star-born. 
Yet though they did not understand the starry 
dance above them, still that dane went on. They looked 
for no new age. Time to them was the present, and the 
unreckoned centuries brought little change to the Khen-torei, 
who live to this day much as their fathers did then.


i.i But the time when no tribe was greater than another tribe, 
3




nor man than another man, was passing; had passed 
nearly twenty years before, when at the Autumn Feast 
the young priestess Ranuvai had faced a man in the 
firelight and seen what she had never seen before, the 
face of a stranger.


In the camp of the tribe called the Alnei (there was no 
potency yet in that name) men slept, but their herds grew 
wakeful. The air was changing. Racho tossed up his head 
and snuffed the wind. His nostrils flickered; he smelt the 
coming dawn. The starlight glinted in his eyes, frosted 
the tip of his curling beard, gleamed on the pale twisting 
horn which parted his forelock. For Racho was a davlani, 
one of the great Horned Horses which lived on this plain 
and nowhere else in the two-mooned world. Save for his 
horn and beard, he looked like a beautiful, long-limbed 
horse, but he was not, and surpassed horses in all in 
intelligence, in strength and speed, in stamina, in hardiness. 
None rode the Horned Horses but the Khentor 
men, and. no one might call himself a man who did not 
ride a davlani.


Even the plainsmen called them 'horses' as often as 
davlenei, for they had known horses first, and from them 
had learned their mastery as riders. But when their wandering 
took them deeper into the Plain they met the 
davlenei; and thereafter the horses had only pulled the 
waggons. They were fine, strong animals, and the Khen-tors 
took great pride in them still; but they had always 
been their servants, never, as the davlenei were, their 
brothers. They still at that time called themselves the 
Horse People, using the name of the lesser breed; but 
upon the love between them and the davlenei their world 
was founded.


Racho stooped to nudge the young man sleeping at his 
feet, but the young plainsman only sighed and turned 
over, pulling closer the black bear-skin which covered 
him, and the horned head came up again. Racho was 
light-horned, his body dappled storm-grey, his mane 
and tail, beard and feathering white as sunlit cloud. He




was just entering the prime of his strength, and so splendid 
was he, so perfect at every point, that the tribesmen 
accorded him the highest praise in their power, and 
called him a 're-davel.'


Not all the Alnei slept. The herds were not left unguarded, 
and between the herds and the tents Hran was 
keeping the Dawn Watch. The drums were slung before 
him over Ranap's withers, their harness heavy across his 
own thighs, and the great horn was hanging at his side. 
The wind that Racho had felt blew cool upon him. He 
stirred and stretched, his gaze upon the eastern horizon. 
The grey mane of morning was in the sky, but it was not 
yet day. The eastern stars were dimmed by a pallid cheerless 
light. Ranap's neck and homed head were losing the 
beauty lent by starlight, growing firmer, though still 
without colour and warmth. Hran shivered, and felt for 
thedrmsticks; for however unworthy he found it, this 
grey chiIl was the outrider of dawn. Lord Ja'nanh, Rider 
of Heaven, he thought, you should do better than this 
dull smirching of night. You are light and splendour and 
warmth and glory; come, Lord, and banish fear!


The drums thundered like the voice of his fear. Ranap's 
ears twitched and swivelled, and he scraped a hoof. Hran 
bent lower and pounded the drums urgently. For to the 
Horse People this half-light between night and the day 
was part of Hargad--the void, the un-world, the half-lit 
limbo of wraiths and evil dreams. It was not like the good 
dusk of evening, when fires grew bright and the Tribe 
drew together, when there was talk and rest, sleep for 
children and dancing to drums. When the old and sick 
died, they died in Hargad. It was the time when the 
tethers of all souls were loosened, and Creation's heart 
faltered.


He calmed his fierce tattoo. Already, down in the 
camp, fires were blossoming. He was no longer alone. In 
the grass near him, birds were chirping tentatively, and. 
there was a new warmth in the sky. Keeping a steady beat 
on the drums, he felt for the Horn, his eyes on the east.




This was the good part of keeping the Dawn Watch; this 
drove Hargad from mind. O God of Day, loose your 
bright flock in the plain of heaven, O Lord of Glory, 
come ....




A rim of fire-gold crested the horizon; tongues of flame 
reached out north and south, consuming the darkness. 
Spears of light pierced the sky, the stars paled, the clouds 
were touched with delicate fire, and in the same moment 
Hran's horn groaned out in sonorous ecstatic welcome to 
Ja'nanh the Rider of Heaven, climbing the sky in his 
chariot of light. Around the god the sky was woken to 
blue, above the Plain the mighty music beat the air, light 
and sound swelled and mingled, and for a magic confused 
space it was hard to tell which had called, and 
which obeyed the summons.




A thin mist was sinking back into the river; the dark cattle 
around their wade stood breast-deep in it. Mor'anh rode 
past them through a world awash with light, with the low 
sun flooding the mist and burning vividly through each 
dew-drop into glowing colour. When he had passed the 
sheep and the goats, drinking upstream of the cattle, 
their fleeces had been sparkling with the fog-dew. Nothing 
could compare with the tingling, skin-tightening call 
of the Plain in spring; but this time of early autumn, 
when gold mingled with green in the grass, held its own 
enchantment.


The place where the men bathed was far enough below 
the cattle-wade for the water to have cleared. Mor'anh 
dismounted and looped the reins about Racho's neck, 
then stripped and plunged into the river. The chill struck 
through him, but he did not heed it, only diving and 
thrusting into the current just strongly enough to keep 
the pale blur of his body motionless. Then he broke the 
surface, his moustache and the black cap of his hair 
streaming water, rubbed himself vigorously, and tossed 
his head a few times before swimming to the bank. He 
waded out and snatched up a rough woollen doth that lay 
by his leather clothes, and began drying himself.




He was the perfect figure of a Man of the Wide Land; 
the pro.ud wary had with deepset slanting eyes and 
sombre mouth, broad shoulders tapering through strong 
waist and hips to long, taut-muscled legs. A compact 
leather-hard body, well-muscled, and not tall--though 
he was the tallest of the Alnei, save for Hran. His skin was 
the dark ivory of his race, and was marked with scars that 
made him the envy of every young man in the Tribe. On 
his left shoulder and upper arm, the marks of a wolf's 
mauling. On his left flank and dragging across his ribs, 
the traces where the bear's terrible claws had raked him. 
In his right thigh, the fading marks of a young leopard's 
fury. These were badges of honour which they all coveted. 
Few men had collected such an array and lived; 
none, when as young as Mor'anh. He was nineteen years 
old, thgugh if asked his age he would only have answered 
that he had been a man four years: and as a hunter 
he was already a byword to his people. He alone of living 
Alnei had won all four of the skins of honour; and the 
tiger he had killed with his spear had not even marked 
him.




Down into the camp came Hran who had kept the Dawn 
Watch, eager to be gone to the river and his friends. But 
he rode first to the centre of the camp, for he had with him 
things too precious to be long in his care. Ilna, Lord of the 
Tribe, came out from his tent as Hran dismounted, and 
the young man bowed to him, right fist to left shoulder, 
then straightened smiling. Ilna inclined his wolf-grey 
head and smiled back, and took from Hran the drums and 
the great horn. They were ritual objects, of special meaning 
to the Tribe, as witnessed by the wolf-signs painted 
on them and the wolf-tails hanging from the drums. Ilna 
carried them into the Tent of the God, where the most 
precious and most holy things they had---their few metal 
tools, ritual head-dresses and ornaments for the sacred 
dances, the marvellous fire-stones, and the great stone 
cleaver--were kept under constant guard. On the left of 
the door, a tribesman with a spear; on the right a 

wolf


7




skin on a pole, the eye-slits of the mask black and watchful.




The God's Tent, the Tent of Kem'nanh, was made of 
leather dyed deep green, decorated with patterns painted 
in white and black, its roof-edge fringed with black and 
white horse-hair. It was bigger than any other tent, and 
the Alnei thought of it as very old, for although all parts of 
it were often renewed, it had never been remade. It was 
in fact one tent within another; only the Priest or the 
Har'enh of the God might enter the inner, secret place Its 
outer circle was hung with wolf-masks and wolf-tails, 
some white like the Door-keeper, mostly grey. For this 
was the Tribe of the Wolf, and they prayed to the Horse-God 
who cared for them for the courage, cunning, and 
nobility of their namesake.


The Tent of the God stood at one horn of an arc, at the 
centre of which stood the Lord's tent. Between these two 
was the Priest's tent. About to mount Hran paused, then 
went to it and pulled back the flap. As he had expected, it 
was empty. His friend's spears stood in the rack around 
the king-pole, the grey-striped tiger-pelt over the bed 
gleamed silver in the dim light: but plainly Mor'anh had 
not slept there, and Hran ducked out.


But as he did so, there was the soft sound of a door-flap 
falling from the tent beyond Ilna's and Hran's heart leapt 
to his throat. Ilna's daughter stepped out, her bare feet 
soundless, her head bent. He drew a breath, but let it out, 
for she looked neither fight nor left, unaware of the 
world. He stood motionless, watching her, and she went 
to the outermost tent of the crescent, that facing the Tent 
of Kem'nanh: and when she laid her hand on the door-curtain 
he hastily averted his eyes, lest as it opened he 
should see anything forbidden. For this was the Tent of 
the Goddess, and it too was guarded. Before the door 
smoke rose from a round pot of fire; before that, a circle 
was drawn. On the left of the door a woman sat, crosslegged 
under her skirt, hands in her sleeves.


The smoke ceased to waver from her passing, and the




door-curtain hung heavy and still. Hran waited a few 
moments before riiing away, but she did not re-appear.




Ja'nanh's golden waggon rolled steadily up the sky. The 
gold of the day burned richer; the sky was deep, clear 
blue, with no drift of cloud. Nai stood gazing at it, but she 
did not see it, and her hands rubbed up and down her 
arms as if she were cold.


She began to walk slowly forward, still looking up. The 
women on the river bank dropped their voices as she 
drifted by, and when she was gone sought each other's 
eyes perturbed. The men stepped aside for her; the children 
who came running to catch her skirt stopped short, 
abashed. With a slow entranced tread she passed among 
the tents and out through the waggon-circle. Several 
times, she turned from fires at the last moment, and once 
almost.stumbled on a pegged-out hide; but she did not 
falter until brushing through the grass she startled a 
feeding bird. It rose from her feet with a great clatter and 
outcry, and she started back, looking about her bewildered 
as birds rose on all sides, calling and wheeling 
about her. In a short while they settled; Nai felt the sun 
warm on her throat, and looked into the sky with waking 
eyes.


She sank to her knees, and took a new-fallen flower in 
her hand. 'Great Mother: Holy Nadiv:' she whispered. 'I 
beg you, speak to me. What does this fear mean? Vani is 
dark thirteen times in a year, and I never felt my heart 
wane with her before. What is there to dread in the dark 
of the silver moon? Tell me, Good Goddess! Kem'nanh 
has sent my brother no warning. What is it? Is sickness 
coming to the Tribe? Have we angered you, Holy One? 
Tell me, that I may tell them. Dear Lady, speak clearly to 
me!' She turned the flower one way and another, touching 
it delicately. 'Or is it for myself? For me alone? Let it 
be so! Let the danger be only to me. O Mother, let the 
Tribe be safe!' So she prayed from her heart; but tears 
pricked at her eyes, and after a moment she whispered, 
'Great Nadiv; have mercy on me.'




The stallion gave another scream of anger, tossing his 
head in a storm of white mane, then beating it against his 
forelegs, trying to free it. He reared, lashing the air, 
jumping sideways; but the strong tether and heavy 
picket stone pulled at his head, dragging him in a circle. 
He came down at last, hacking the ground in fury, and 
screamed again. Once more he ducked his head and 
kicked out high to the back, whipping the air with his 
white tail, tearing at the earth with his horn. Then he 
planted his hooves firmly and strained at the picket with 
his mighty neck arched, until the great stone .actually 
dragged a little from its place. He bucked a few times, 
then snorted and stood still, trembling with anger and 
weariness.


His mares milled and fretted, their foals crowding 
against them. They were frightened by their lord"s rage, 
half longing to run, daring neither to leave his protection 
nor to approach him too closely. The sacred herd was in a 
ferment; the half-grown horses careered around in coltish 
panic, always preparing flight, always turning back 
at the edge of the herd as their nerve failed and the 
cracking whips of the drovers warned them away. Even 
the young stallions with full-grown horns dared to leave 
their place at the outside and come, ears pricking and 
eyes bright and wary, to see what was wrong with their 
leader.


The plainsman set to watch him looked at his sweat-darkened 
sides, and guilt and awe were mingled with his 
compassion. Awe to see his unyielding spirit, and to 
guess how the God must ride him; guilt that they had 
dared again to bind him, the Dha'lev. The aura of power 
and holiness present in all horses was most potent in 
him, the God's chosen. The title they Save him was 
greater than Lord, higher than any they would ever give a 
man. The Dha'lev: the sanctified-to-rule: the King. He 
was Kem'nanh's regent in their midst, th, eir sign, their 
oracle, their sacrifice. No man was held so high. The Lord 
of a Tribe, and the Priest, received the Goal's words, but 
heard them dark and twisted as men do; and not even the




10




God's Har'enh could guide them to grass and water. 
Their life depended on the Dha'lev, and so when the 
God' call came to him they must picket him, lest he lead 
his herd away before they could strike camp and follow. 
Tomorrow they would loose him and follow him to better 
pasturage; but until then he must feel the weight of his 
royalty, and endure the picket stone.


Manui sighed and turned over, burying her head 
under the covers and trying to muffle the noise; but sleep 
once lost, there was no regaining it when the King was 
making such an outcry. She sighed again, and, yawning, 
slid out from the enfolding skins.


It could not be long until dawn. She would begin to 
pack now. She groped for her underdress and put it on, 
then felt for a taper to light the lamp. She shivered when 
he opened her door; she had forgotten how cold it could 
be ii the last watch of the night. There was no moon, and 
the tlick stars blazed unchallenged. In its shelter by her 
door, her fire-pot glowed dimly. As she knelt to kindle 
her taper the Dha'lev screamed, and she shivered from 
another cause. It had happened that he had caught his leg 
in the picket rope and fallen; then someone must go in to 
free him, lest he hurt himself. She thought of the huge 
hooves, the snapping teeth and deadly horn, all that 
strength and royal rage to vent on whomever was 
nearest. She paused, sheltering the taper's flame, and 
tried to recall the names of those watching the God's 
Herd; but she did not find any name to frighten her, and 
went in.


The lamp lit, she finished dressing, and packed her few 
possessions-little more than her cooking utensils and 
the clothes she was not wearing. Then she shook out the 
sheepskins and covetings of her bed, arranging them on 
the big shiny bull-hide that had been spread under them, 
rolled the whole neatly and tied the roll. Next she took up 
the lower inner wall that kept draughts out of the tent. A 
small wind came slipping in to her. Soon the Drum 
would sound; and she thought, with sudden hope, that 
maybe he was keeping the Dawn Watch.




11




All else done, she began the dreariest task, taking up 
the matting of the floor. She was binding the first bundle 
when all at once her eyes stung fiercely. She gasped, 
straightening her back, and rubbed angrily at her tears.


She could not deceive herself. She had not heard his 
name. He was not on patrol, nor watching the horses, nor 
was he on the Dawn Watch. And still he had not come.




He came in the morning. He passed as she was lowering 
her tent, and stopped to help her. Manui stood by as he 
folded it, watching him with a smile, holding his cloak, 
the great bear-skin that he had tossed to her so carelessly, 
the proof of his prowess. She buried her fingers in its 
silky blackness, once or twice touching her cheek to the 
coolness of the fur. She had to keep gathering it up as it 
slipped, for it felt heavy in her arms, and she wondered 
how he could wear it so lightly, swinging it easily from 
his shoulders. She noticed anew the weight of it 
whenever it covered her; the weight, and the warmth. 
She laughed softly, then flinched from a sudden thought. 
He was very merry, and pleased with himself. Who had 
lain under the bear-skin this night past?


Yet even that thought could scarcely hurt her while he 
was there. While he stayed, neither past nor future could 
touch her: but he never stayed long enough. He had tied 
the folded tent, he had taken back his cloak, he was 
riding away to his father's side; he was gone, and with no 
more at parting than a wave of his hand.




12




2




t was three days later when the Lord Ilna 
planted the tribal banner, and they 
pitched camp. The Dha'lev had led them 
far to the south and west, until the mountains 
were a green barrier against the 
sunset which could not be ignored. The




Plain itself was no longer flat, but tumbled into deep 
hollows and rises, tippling and flowing up to the west, 
swelling into the foothills not a morning's ride away. In 
the lee of one such slope they pitched their tents, loosed 
their herds beside the circling fiver, and turned their 
backs to the west. The long hummock felt good behind 
them, like a shoulder hunched against the wind; but they 
could not entirely blot out the sight and knowledge of the 
peaks beyond.


In the evening of the first day Mor'anh, the son of Ilna, 
and Hran, the son of Yom, rode away from the tents, 
through the great circle of waggons, past the herds and 
out of the camp. Racho and Ranap whinnied as they 
passed the horses, and from here and there came soft 
answers. The Dha'lev swept up his snow-crested head, 
and the young men saluted him respectfully; he watched 
them calmly for a moment, then dipped his head again to 
graze.


The grass was shorter here, barely reaching their 
horses' bellies. Out in the deep Plain it often reached




13




their waists even on horseback, but now their boots 
brushed against the feathery heads, loosing a cloud of 
pale powder. It was good to look out over the expanse 
of swaying green, to see the subtle, changing patterns of 
shadow, the nodding of the heavy seed-heads. The flowers 
were mostly past, but sometimes among the blades 
glowed richer colours of berries and ripe pods. The birds 
no longer sang the bold, shining songs of spring. They 
did not sing in autumn for love or combat, but for pleasure 
and content, sweet bubbling songs poured from the 
sky, or from the blue throats of the birds who clung to 
the dancing grass-stems. The great hunters preferred the 
deeper grass; over this smaller world hung an air of quiet


fruitfulness, the hustle of spring and summer past. 
'Euch,!' cried Mor'anh, 'Lai! Eu-ha!'


Racho neighed and sprang forward. Hran clenched his 
thighs as Ranap plunged after him, then collected himself 
and caught up with Mor'anh. 'Yellow dog! Could you not 
leave me dreaming?'


'Vech, you dream too much these days. Kem'nanh 
preserve me from seeing the sun rise anywhere but in the 
eastern sky.'


'Surely Ja'nanh must preserve you from that. And 
Young Wolf, you speak in envy.'


'Ja'nanh save me, then; and shall I be envious, and she 
my own sister? Y-hai, Racho!'


He urged his horse on, leaning into the wind, and 
Hran followed. On the move, this joy was denied them. 
Except when patrolling, they must move at the speed of 
the lumbering waggons. Even those who escorted the 
sacred herd found that the Dha'lev kept a pace within a 
foal's endurance. Now they were free to taste again the 
delight in the strength and speed of the horses that made 
them men, to exult in the grace and power they controlled. 
The thunder of the hooves, the hiss of the grass, 
the song of the wind, blended into a music as potent as 
the dark rhythms of the throbbing drums. They rose from 
their saddles and leaned forward, lips parted as if they 
drank life from the wind that streamed coolly through






14




their hair and poured caressingly over their bare chests. 
When they rode into it, it pressed against them and 
tugged importunately at their open coats. When they 
turned and rode before it, it flurried around them, flapping 
their cloaks, tumbling their horses' manes, urging 
them forward; then swept on past them, singing its 
soul-stealing song away into the vastness of the open 
grass.


But they did not follow. Instead of yielding to the 
aching emptiness and dwarfing breadth of their world, 
.they turned back to the tribe as to a picket-stone. They 
did not return to the camp, however; they raced each 
other past it, sweeping in great curves and circles, turning 
and weaving, sidling and halting, testing their own 
and their mounts' skills in a dozen ways. It was done in 
play, but it was serious play. The davlenei were life to 
them.. Between horse and rider there must be perfect 
confidence, perfect understanding. Men had died because 
their horses did not trust them enough.


They were moving all the time westward, and suddenly 
Mor'anh turned Racho and sped straight towards 
the sinking sun. Following, Hran saw him halt at the top 
of a low hill, and become at once still, a motionless 
silhouette against the flaming sky. After a moment he 
turned and signed to Hran who, sensing some gravity, 
slowed Ranap and trotted to his friend's side.


The grass was barely knee-deep where they stood; 
beyond them it grew shorter yet. The rise sank away from 
their feet and ended in a trench not two hundred paces 
from where they stood: and beyond the trench they saw 
the sight which of all others the Horse People most revered 
and most feared, their dread and their desire. 
Three young men standing and two girls sitting on the 
grass, enjoying the last sunshine. The men leaned on 
long-bladed slim-shafted spears; a dog whose silky coat 
glowed the colour of the spear-blades lay nearby; one of 
the girls was combing her hair. The men saw the two 
riders first, then the girls. They turned to look, then 
turned unconcernedly away. One of the girls laughed;




15




the other tossed her head and flicked her wrist, and the


hair she combed flashed bright gold.


The Golden People . . .


Hran's heart tightened. He drew a deep breath, for 
Once heedless of his friend's reaction. Mor'anh's face was 
stormy, and fire was gathering in his black eyes. But 
Hran did not notice.


To the Horse People, the Golden Ones were both demigods 
and demons, their terror and their delight; but 
above all they were their masters. Years past reckoning 
had it been so, for generation upon generation beyond 
the reach of memory. While a tribe stayed in the depth of 
the Plain it was safe; but once near the mountains, their 
shadow fell on the tents. The Golden People claimed 
tribute of the tribes---tribute of cattle and furs, leather 
and musk and ivory; and sometimes women. For though. 
they despised the lithe, hard-muscled men and saw no 
beauty in them, it was another matter with the women, 
whose fine bones and wide, dark eyes had cost many 
their happiness. If any ornament a man wore caught their 
eye, he had lost it; they had taken from Mor'anh in the 
last year of his boyhood, the first hunting trophy he had 
ever worn. Only horses were safe from them; they feared 
and disliked horses. Indeed, to the plainsmen it seemed 
that one law was the symbol of the Golden People's 
mastery; the long-remembered decree that no horse 
could cross the boundary of their land.


Such were the tokens of their bondage, and bitter they 
were; but they were less regarded than they might have 
been. The dark-haired horsemen had sucked in the bitterness 
with their mothers' milk, and habit robs hardship 
of the worst of i. ts sting. And should they ever grow 
resentful, it needed only for them to meet the Golden 
Ones again, and they were humbled. Surely the Gods 
had made them rulers and ruled, for the Golden People 
lived in walled towns and the earth brought forth as they 
commanded; they wore garments of bright cloth, their 
eyes were blue as heaven, and they had shining yellow




16




hair; and the Horse People did not reach to their shoulders. 
So they paid their tribute, looked on their lords with 
awe,'and did not pull against their tether. Or so did 
almost all.


Mor'anh urged Racho slowly down the hill. Hran 
looked at him, startled, wondering uneasily what his 
friend might do. The Young Wolf was no fool, but he had 
always been headstrong; he might dare anything.


But Mor'anh turned Racho's head and rode across before 
the group, along the edge of the boundary ditch, 
very slowly. His bearing was haughty and he stared at 
them with defiance, a look of stony hate so unmistakable 
that a man and a girl turned away their faces, ill at ease. 
Then he turned away, his face bleak with a helpless 
bitterness, a bitter helplessness. He would not make 
him.self foolish withempty gestures; and what could he 
do?


Feeling silly with relief, Hran cantered after his friend. 
Such moments were part of the price of friendship with 
the Young Wolf, for Mor'anh's mind could go where 
Hran's could never pounds llow; and at such times Hran would 
feel almost afraid, ashamed that he could not understand 
his spear-brother, and against his will even jealous.


There was nothing about Mor'anh which did not set 
him apart from other men. Had he not begun by killing a 
leopard unaided before he had even reached manhood? 
Did he not wear his hair cut short, as no other man had 
ever done? Best of wrestlers, greatest of hunters: he had 
never yet failed in anything he attempted. Even his appearance 
singled him out. Other men might be good to 
look on--Hran was one. But Mor'anh was to them as the 
sun to the stars, surpassing them in this as in all else. 
Beauty lay on him like sunlight on the Plain, beyond the 
reach of age or injury.


Right from the womb it seemed the Gods had marked 
him: for at his birth his mother, who had been a priestess 
with much deep knowledge, had given him a strange and 
ominous name. For whereas men usually bore names




17




Following, Hran saw him halt at the top of the 
low hill, and become at once more still, a 
motionless silhouette against the flaming sky.




taken from the animalsIlna the Grey Wolf, Hran the 
eagleMor'anh was named for the lightning-bolt, which 
sweeps the Plain with fire.




Vani, the silver moon, was almost dark, and Hega, the 
red moon, two nights from the full. Nai watched them 
through the thin smoke from the Fire of Gathering, and 
thought, 'There can be no luck at such a time.' Perhaps 
this was the reason for the dread that grew in her nightly. 
She had prayed again and again for a dearer warning, but 
the Goddess was silent. The sacred cat was healthy and 
content, and She accepted all the offerings. Yet if it is not 
the Goddess who is angry, thought Nai, why is it I who 
am afraid?


Hran, idly spinning a dice with Mor'anh for the bright. 
red seeds they used as stakes, was only half attending to 
his score. Vanh the Singer had finished his songs some 
time ago, and sat plucking a few low, quivering notes 
from his instrument. This was the time when Nai sometimes 
sang, and he wondered if she would begin. He 
glanced over his shoulder, but she was looking at the 
moons, and he turned back. Mor'anh looked at him with 
half a smile, as Hran absently pushed his stake across, 
regardless of having just won.


'If you looked at the dice half as often as you look at her, 
you might give more sport.'


Hran look startled, then grinned self-consciously. 'I am 
waiting for her to sing.' Mor'anh made a derisive noise. 
'So are half the people here. She has a voice like gossamer.' 
Mor'anh rolled his eyes and Hran laughed. 'Just 
because you cannot sing--'


'Eu-ha! My win. I cannot sing like her, I cannot dance 
like you, but I have taken all your seeds. Now you can 
watch Nai all you like.' He rolled over to recline on his 
rug, and Hran leaned on his elbows, looking away from 
the fire. Nai's folding stool was set a little way from the 
smooth, old wooden chair of Ilna the Lord. She did not sit 
on the ground like others, for she was the luck of the 
Alnei, their poetess, priestess, and prophetess. She alone




20




of the women might raise her voice at the Fire of Gathering.


Khenors were governed entirely by the men, and women's 
voices were little heeded. It could not be otherwise; 
they were nomads, hunters and herders, and 
danger and the honour went all to the men. Yet there had 
been a time, long ago, when women had held a much 
higher place among them, and in this one thing, in the 
reverence they gave their Priestess, it was remembered. 
Khentors gave to no other the adoration given to 
Kem'nanh the Mighty, Lord of Herds, Ruler of the Wind; 
but they held the Great Goddess in much awe. On Her 
their life depended, the Giver of All Good Gifts, She who 
made herds fruitful, the bestower of grass and the Mother 
of Mares. She gave or withheld children, and the best 
pleasure of life was Her gift. And the women had never 
yielded .Her mysteries to the men. In those rituals alone 
could they feel themselves still powerful; and the worship 
of Nadiv the Mother had become a thing of darkness 
and secrets, jealously guarded from the men, who now 
held the Goddess in as much fear as honour. So they 
treated with deference the Priestess who placated and 
interceded with that sullen power, giving her equal hon-our 
with the Priest, calling her Lady, and Luck of the 
Tribe.


But the Alnei were blessed beyond belief in the children 
of Ilna. For Nai was more than Priestess, as her 
brother was more than Priest; she, too, was the Har'enh 
of the One she served, and the Goddess spoke through 
her. Maybe once in a generation one of the Horse people 
would be thus singled out; that two should come, in one 
tribe, in one generation, of one flesh, was most wonderful.


Yet Nai did not seem awe-inspiring as she sat there 
uptight, small hands clasped in her lap, her face grave; 
and to Hran she was not Har'enh and Luck of the Alnei, 
but much less and much more. He gazed at her, and 
wondered again if all people thought her as beautiful as 
she seemed to him. Her braided black hair fell heavy and




21




glossy beside her ivory cheeks; her eyebrows, so exactly 
like her brother's, were pure and perfect curves. But her 
greatest beauty lay in her eyes, which were large and 
brilliant, shadowed by thick lashes. He sighed. As she sat 
looking so remote and calm it was hard to think of her 
being otherwise; to believe this was the same woman 
with whom he talked, and argued, and made love.


He sat up, looking away from her. It was time they 
began the dancing. There were few things Hran loved 
more than to dance, and he was the best dancer in the 
Alnei. It sometimes gave him guilty pleasure to know 
that there was at least one thing he could do better than 
Mor'anh . . . but if the Young Wolf did not excel as a 
dancer, no one could make drum-music as he could. 
Mor'anh could beat the drums so that the music forced 
men to dance. It was best to dance, thought Hran, with 
Mor'anh on the drums, and with his sister Ralki for a 
partner. Ralki's dancing made other women seem spear-shafts. 
He caught her eye across the circle, and raised his 
hand to her. She was leaning on her man's shoulder, 
laughing, which was shockingly improper, but very like 
Ralki. She was tall and bold and gay, almost too mannish 
to be pretty, but it had been a surprise to many when she 
went to Yaln's tent. He was wiry and rather ugly, but 
Ralki had thought even Mor'anh no rival to him.


Hran glanced at Mor'anh, remembering with amusement 
his friend's youthful courtship of his sister; then he 
looked away annoyed. The Young Wolf was gazing with 
something not quite a smile on his proud mouth, at 
someone beyond the fire. Hran could guess who it would 
be. It was like Mor'anh to choose her; he loved to test his 
prowess against difficulty.


He let his eyes turn back to Nai; and found her watching 
him. She snatched her eyes quickly away when they 
met his, and stared into the fire. Hran looked at her 
insistently, willing her to look again, and she began to 
bite the corners of her mouth against a smile. But it grew 
for all that she could do and at last she turned her face to 
him, laughter breaking from her. She shook her head at




him, then turned to speak to her father. Hran smiled to 
himself, and lay back. He had no fear of her denials. 
Whatever she pretended now, later she would not turn 
from him. He knew he was as secure of her love as she 
was of his. He had lain with other women before her, and 
she with other men; but they were all forgotten. He 
wanted only Nai, and she would never again give herself 
willingly to any man but him.




23




þii




3




inter was in the wind. The children who 
a day or so before had been running 
naked were clothed now, and Mor'anh 
wore his cloak clasped, not swinging 
loose behind him. Black anger was in his 
face. He knew the women watched him




with surprise, that he was still in the camp. He would not 
speak even to the children, and when they saw his face 
they swerved hastily out of his way.


He had more than one cause for anger. The nearest, the 
plainest, and almost the worst, was that as they had 
gathered for the hunt, one of the youngest of the men had 
begun to show off his horse. They were close together, 
and when the horse had grown frightened at being made 
to turn and dance with so little space, he had bucked and 
kicked Racho on the leg. No great harm was done; Racho 
would not be lame more than two days. But for those two 
days the Young Wolf could not ride; and worse, he had 
been unable to go on the hunt.


He clenched his teeth. It was well for Hran, in the glow 
of his good humour, to try to calm him, saying the young 
man had not meant the harm he did, he had only been 
thoughtless. Only thoughtless!--as if a man could be 
anything worse! It was poor relief to have sent the young 
fool away white from the savagery of his tongue. Let 
Hran see Ranap hurt and limping from someone's




24




carelessness, he thought, and then let me see him be 
patient!


They had ben dismayed that he could not hunt. They 
would have no luck without him, they said: and in the 
soreness of his heart he had almost hoped they were 
right. But when he caught himself in that thought, he 
checked in shame. Even his present anger did not reach 
such a depth.


Mor'anh's rages were fortunately rare and short-lived, 
but while they lasted they were frightening. Only Nai 
dared face him in one of them. He would not have fallen 
into such a black passion even for Racho's sake, had not 
so many other things angered him that morning.


Coming towards him he saw a group of banyei: girls 
who had loosed their hair from the plait of childhood, and 
not yet be-come women in the worship of the Goddess. He 
turned aside: .Runi was at their head, and he had had 
enough speech with her for one day-or even many 
days.


He was well beyond the waggon-circle when he 
paused, the heat of his fury cooled to a tired angry bitterness. 
He looked about him. On the sunward side of a 
slope not far away sat an old man, the grass before him 
scattered with children. Mor'anh laughed drily. Well, he 
thought, since I am left with the children, I will go to hear 
the Old One's stories.


They called him simply the Old One; they had no idea of 
his age, only that he was older than anyone else in the 
Alnei, older than they thought it possible to be. They did 
not reckon their age from their birth, but from their 
manhood; but the Old Man had lost count even f those 
years. He had outlived his horse, which was a thing 
unheard of; he had outlived all his children, and the 
oldest of his grandchildren were growing grey. Bowed, 
white, and incredible, he lived on. Horn-blower, like 
everyone else, had forgotten his name.


For the Horse People, there was no slow decline towards 
death; it came as an ambush, the sudden call of the 
Horn that could not be defied. The Gods, on giving them




25




their span of years, had been sternly practical; they lived 
long enough to rear their children. Maybe for a year it 
was said, 'He is old; is not his second son a father?' But 
unless they were close friends, it was likely they saw no 
change. Their vigour need fail very little; they lived hard, 
sometimes violent, lives. On the Plain, people did not 
grow old; only too old.


The children stared up at Mor'anh as he walked among 
them, then gazed at each other as he stretched out on the 
grass near them. To them the Young Lord was very little, 
if at all, lower than the Gods. The Old Man peered at him 
from the mass of wrinkles in which his eyes were almost 
hidden, but did not pause in the telling of the story. The 
children settled again, only glancing sometimes at 
Mor'anh to see if he was enjoying it. But he gave no sign. 
He leaned on one arm, shredding grassblades with 
strong, impatient fingers, a settled frown on his brow.


'Well, then, it is finished,' said the Old Man at last. The 
children did not stir. 'Are you going to your mothers?' 
They shook their heads slowly. 'Are you waiting for 
another story?' They nodded, more vigorously. Mor'anh, 
remembering the familiar ritual, smiled faintly.


'Well, well,' grumbled the Old One, shaking his white 
braids in pretended annoyance. 'If there is no other way 
to be rid of you. But you must choose the story for me. 
Which is it to be?'


They were silent, looking at Mor'anh. His presence 
tied their tongues. They would not make a choice that 
might be unpleasing to him. The silence was broken only 
by their little, smothered laughs, until Mor'anh looked 
'up, surprised at their slowness. Then meeting the dozen 
pairs of eyes he understood, and smiled at them. His 
smiles were brilliant, and the children began to giggle.


'Are they waiting for me to choose for them, Uncle?' 
'Do you ask me? Are you not closer to them than I am?' 
'You know I am not. Well, I will choose.' He looked 
down at the grass, then frowned again suddenly. 'Have 
you told them of our coming to the Plain?'




26




The old man looked at him. 'Always the same story. 
Have they come, then?'


'Yes,' he aid curtly. 'They came this morning. Did you 
not hear them? It was after the hunt had gone.'


The Old One nodded. 'So. Hear then, children. This is 
how the fathers of your fathers' fathers came to be the 
Horse People.


'Long ago before ever a man made a roof of hides, in 
days so far past they were before the time of my grandfather's 
grandfather, we, the children of The God,




ù
Kem'nanh, lived not on the Plain but far away in holes in 
the sides of mountains. In those lands there were no 
horses, or great herds, or deep grass. Ja'nanh was fiercer, 
and rivers smaller: so the story says. Our long-dead ones 
were a poor, unskilful people, who lived by hunting but 
did not know the true hunter's craft, and served the 
demors of'Hargad in fear. They had no knowledge of any 
good thing.' They could not work and sew leather as we 
can, and they wore the skins almost as they took them 
from the beasts. They had no crafts. All they had were 
their dances and their drums, and with them they made 
the magic to keep the demons out of their holes, and to 
make the animals plentiful. So they lived, in fear and little 
pleasure, in the stony mountains.


'Then came the Golden Ones, the Gods' beloved. They 
came down the mountains in their might and their 
beauty, and our fathers fled before them. They killed the 
men, and they thrust their red spears through the skins of 
the sacred drums so our fathers could not make holy 
music to drive them away, and they scattered the fires; 
and they drove our people down into the Plain.


'Our fathers were afraid, and wept; but this was good 
fortune for our people, and blessed the time that the Gods 
sent the Golden Ones to us. For in the deep Plain 
Kem'nanh was waiting for his children, and he put his 
arm about us. He was kind and loving, he showed us his 
face, he spoke to us. He showed us the ways of life. He 
taught us the right way to worship the Goddess, and




27




Ir'nanh, and Ja'nanh; and he taught us that we were his 
childrer. He showed us new dances, and the hunter's 
skills, ahd the laws of the Plain. And best, he gave us his 
other sons for our brothers; he taught us to know the 
davlenei, that we had never known before.


'Yes, yes, it was then that our fathers learned to ride on 
the backs of horses and to master them. Then they were 
afraid no more, for they were free of the Plain. They built 
waggons, and sewed tents, and listened to the wind. 
Then they knew that the Gods had been good, to send the 
Golden Ones. For had they not come, maybe our fathers 
would nev, er have come to the Plain, and we would never 
have known that we are the Men of the Wide Lands, the 
children of Kem'nanh.'


The old voice died away, and the children stared in 
silence. This was not like the stories they had heard 
before. They looked uncertainly at each other. Then one 
boy rose to his feet, bowed once to the Old Man and once 
to Mor'anh, and went; and then they were all rising, 
bowing respectfully, then running to their games. 
Mor'anh did not move, and the old man went on nodding 
gently. There was a long silence after the last child had 
gone. Then the Old One said with a shadow of reproach 
in his quavering voice, 'You have frightened away my 
friends.'


Mor'anh looked up and shook his head. 'Not for long, 
Uncle. They will be back. We always come back to you; 
and I most often--Lai?'


'Yes, you oftenest. And always asking for the same 
story. I am ashamed to tell it before you now, you must 
know it so well.' He watched the tall young man rise up 
above him. He had seen three generations, but never one 
of the Tribe not even his own sons--so dear to him. 
'Mor'anh, you are troubled,' he said gently. 'And ! think 
it is more than the sorrows of youth.'


'Lai, Uncle, it is more. I am troubled.'


'What is it?What are you thinking?'


'I am thinking--', he paused, 'I am thinking of the 
kindness of the Gods, in sending us the Golden Ones.'




28




At such times, he always sought the river. When the hunt 
returned Hran found him on the bank, leaning against 
Racho's side, watching the sliding water. He did not look 
up as his friend approached.


'How is his leg? Is it well?' said Hran.


'As well as may be. I have salved it and bound it. How 
went the hunt? You were long away.'


Hran grimaced. 'The hunt went ill. When you are not 
with us, Kem'nanh turns away his face. We had much 
labour for little good.' He glanced at Mor'anh's face. It


ù was very bleak; but there had been Runi, too, that morning.


'You missed the Golden Ones,' said Mor'anh abruptly. 
'They came this morning.'


Hran had no reply to make. After a long silence, 
Mor'anh looked round at him. 'You have little to say, for 
once. Whaf has lamed your tongue?'


Hran felt suddenly resentful, and looked at him chal-lengingly. 
'Maybe it is not my tongue at fault, but your 
ear. Tell me, then, of what may I speak with safety? 
Racho? Runi? Nai? The hunt? Which will make you least 
angry?'


Mor'anh flinched slightly, and his mouth tightened. 
He turned with a brief flash in his eyes, then mastered 
himself. 'Euch, maybe you are fight. Well, of those, Nai is 
the safest. Now let me hear you talk.' Hran looked star-tied, 
then could find nothing to say, and Mor'anh 
laughed.


'What, did you think I would find words to praise her? 
I am her brother, not her lover!' Then he sobered. 'No, let 
us not talk of Nai... maybe you were fight, maybe I am a 
little jealous. You mean to claim her, then?'


Hran was utterly taken aback. Mor'anh's changes of 
mood could be sudden, but twice about in one 
speech!--and as for his abrupt question... He might be 
his spear-brother, he might be Nai's brother, but so fla, 
so direct a demandalmost brutal in its curtness-it was 
against all custom, all courtesy. Slanted teasing was one 
thing, friendly and correct; but until a man had actually




29




cast his spear, such an unveiled reference was so impertinent 
as to be almost insulting, and the worst of bad luck 
also. He saw that Mor'anh was himself aghast and wishing 
the words back, but that did not help now. He set his 
teeth and hit back.


'Attend to your own courting, and leave mine to me. 
Yes, and if your heart is set on the Leopardess, you will 
find there is more to winning her than "meaning to claim 
her"--you are like to need all your luck there, Young 
Wolf, and more than all your skills too. I am going to 
bathe. If you are coming to the Fire I will see you there. 
And you will be better welcome if you bring your manners 
with you!'


He flung away. Mor'anh, almost starting after him, 
checked and bit his lip. He would let Hran cool before he 
begged his pardon. He did not wonder at his anger. He 
had shocked himself. The wounding retort had been 
milder than he deserved. A man needed to work hard at 
it, to make Hran lose his temper.


He put his arm up under Racho's throat, leaning his 
cheek against the davlani's smooth neck, and sighed. Of 
late these moods had often taken hold of him: an impatience 
that galled and never left him, a tension bursting at 
times into unreasonable fury. It was as if his people came 
between him and something he needed to hear; as if 
someone were talking on a hunt.


And Nai... She was his sister. Let others think what 
they wished, he was still the closest to her. There was a 
bond between them not always present between 
brothers and sisters, a bond which they hardly understood 
themselves, which had little to do with the blood 
they shared. They might grow to love others more, but 
they would never find the same understanding. And 
Mor'anh knew that Nai was afraid. She hid her fear from 
their father--even, it seemed, from Hran. From Mor'anh 
she could not have hidden it if she would, but still she 
would not speak it aloud. Yet she gave no hint of ill 
omens from her Goddess, and her love prospered; of 
what could she be afraid?




He gave a quick shudder, and turned from the river. 'It 
does no good to think of it,' he told himself. 'If it is 
something, the God will show me in time. Maybe it is 
just my own anger. That is enough, today at least.' He 
bent and ran his hand down Racho's leg. The great horse 
shivered and snorted, moving his other feet nervously; 
but Mor'anh's hands were gentle. The young man 
straightened, and gazed again into the river. 'It was my 
anger only,' he thought; because of her, and Racho, and 
because they came. I will go to the Fire now, and ask 
Hran's pardon. He sighed, and stretched his arms; and 
all at once he thought of Manui. Manui was to him as the 
river was, a refuge; he would go to her, to be healed of his 
anger.




31




4




ran brought Ranap at a slow, springing 
trot along the lanes between the tents, 
sitting very erect, his lips dry with nervousness. 
He was looking his best, 
freshly shaved, his moustache trimmed; 
the glossy, black hair falling about his




shoulders was newly washed, and from the thong that 
bound his top hair back from his face fluttered gay, 
scarlet feathers. His boots and clothes showed no speck of 
dust, and his necklaces and bracelets bounced as he rode. 
He sat without moving on Ranap's back as the davlani 
danced and sidled through the camp, tossing his glowing 
mane and sweeping his tail, displaying himself in obedience 
to his rider's unseen commands. He gleamed like 
the red metal the Golden Ones worked. Hran grasped a 
spear in his hand as he rode.


He met them near the centre of the camp: Ilna, Lord of 
the Alnei, with his son and daughter with him. Mor'anh, 
seeing Hran, grinned arid held back, while Nai lowered 
her eyes. Hran turned Ranap to block their path, and the 
horse pricked from foot to foot, tossing his head; Hran 
drew rein and he half reared, sinking back on his 
haunches until his tail lay like a pool of fire on the 
ground. Hran said, 'Terani!'


'Hran, son of Yom?'




32




Hrn turned the spear in his hand and threw it; it 
thudded into the ground at Nai's feet. Hran looked at


Ilna.


ù
Te:rani, I would be your son!'


Thee people nearby craned, interested. Hran watched, 
pale with dread. Suddenly it seemed possible that Ilna 
might give back his spear--or Nai!--no, never that. Nai 
looke, d at the throbbing spear. She could not say she was 
surprised, but she felt oddly shy and excited. She turned 
to me,et her father's smiling eyes, and answered the question 
in them with a quick nod. Ilna pulled the spear from 
the ground and showed it to Hran.


'I have your spear, my son,' he said; then he raised his 
own ..spear and hurled it to strike the ground before 
Ranal. The horse shied back, but Hran urged him for-vard 
and jerked the spear free. He bowed to Ilna and to 
Nai, a.nsmiling; then swung round and cantered away.


Naii took a step or two forward, watching him out of 
sight; Ilna smiled and turned back, but Mor'anh waited. 
She gazed after Hran smiling, then said something and 
laughed joyously, clasping her hands behind her head. 


Mor'anh stepped up to her. 'What did you say?'


'! w:as wrong!' she said. He looked at her puzzled, half 
smilirng, and she laughed again. 'I said I was wrong to 
think there could be no luck at such a time!'




Mado]l of the Golden People dug irritably at the grass 
with lis spear-butt, and looked again over his shoulder. 
'Where are they?' he demanded again. 'The third hour 
after tnoon, they were told, and it was almost that when 
we ca,ne out here. Where are they?'


He lhad had other plans for this afternoon, but his uncle 
had or:dered him to oversee the rendering of the tribute. If 
the Dmrk Ones were much longer, there would be no time 
left to take his dogs out. He thrust moodily at the ground 
again,, with the red bronze of his spear-blade this time. 
Kariniiol watched him thoughtfully. He had never liked 
Madol[, one of his childhood's chief tormentors, but




33




4




ran brought Ranap at a slow, springing




i!
trot along the lanes between the tents, 
sitting very erect, his lips dry with 

n'er
vousness. He was looking his best, 
freshly shaved, his moustache trimmed; 
the glossy, black hair falling about his 
shoulders was newly washed, and from the thong that 
bound his top hair back from his face fluttered gay, 
scarlet feathers. His boots and clothes showed no speck of 
dust, and his necklaces and bracelets bounced as he rode. 
He sat without moving on Ranap's back as the davlani 
danced and sidled through the camp, tossing his glowing 
mane and sweeping his tail, displaying himself in obedience 
to his rider's unseen commands. He gleamed like 
the red metal the Golden Ones worked. Hran grasped a 
spear in his hand as he rode.


He met them near the centre of the camp: Ilna, Lord of 
the Alnei, with his son and daughter with him. Mor'anh, 
seeing Hran, grinned and held back, while Nai lowered 
her eyes. Hran turned Ranap to block their path, and the 
horse pricked from foot to foot, tossing his head; Hran 
drew rein and he half reared, sinking back on his 
haunches until his tail lay like a pool of fire on the 
ground. Hran said, 'Terani!'


'Hran, son of Yom?'




32




Hran turned the spear in his hand and threw it; it 
thudded into the ground at Nai's feet. Hran looked at 
Ilna.


'Terani, I would be your son!'


The people nearby craned, interested. Hran watched, 
pale with dread. Suddenly it seemed possible that Ilna 
might give back his spear--or Nai!--no, never that. Nai 
looked at the throbbing spear. She could not say she was 
surprised, but she felt oddly shy and excited. She turned 
to meet her father's smiling eyes, and answered the question 
in them with a quick nod. Ilna pulled the spear from 
the ground and showed it to Hran.


'I have your spear, my son,' he said; then he raised his 
own spear and hurled it to strike the ground before 
Ranap. The horse shied back, but Hran urged him forward 
and jerked the spear free. He bowed to Ilna and to 
Nai, 'u. nsmiling; then swung round and cantered away.


Nai took a step or two forward, watching him out of 
sight; Ilna smiled and turned back, but Mor'anh waited. 
She gazed after Hran smiling, then said something and 
laughed joyously, clasping her hands behind her head. 
Mor'anh stepped up to her. 'What did you say?'


'I was wrong!' she said. He looked at her puzzled, half 
smiling, and she laughed again. 'I said I was wrong to 
think there could be no luck at such a time!'




Madol of the Golden People dug irritably at the grass 
with his spear-butt, and looked again over his shoulder. 
'Where are they?' he demanded again. 'The third hour 
after noon, they were told, and it was almost that when 
we came out here. Where are they?'


He had had other plans for this afternoon, but his uncle 
had ordered him to oversee the rendering of the tribute. If 
the Dark Ones were much longer, there would be no time 
left to take his dogs out. He thrust moodily at the ground 
again, with the red bronze of his spear-blade this time. 
Kariniol watched him thoughtfully. He had never liked 
Madol, one of his childhood's chief tormentors, but




when a man was the son of the Master's sister, it did not 
do to quarrel too often with him.


'They will be here soon enough. What tribute do they 
bring?'


The oldest man answered. 'T. irty-five ewes, twenty 
cows, eight deer carcases and hides (one with head and 
antlers complete--that for the Master). Fifteen other 
hides, six furs, and a bag of dumachat root.' He paused, 
then added reflectively, 'Keldol says we should have 
asked for some of that bark they gather too; but it's too 
late now.'


Several men looked round, and Kariniol whistled; 
'How big is this tribe?'


'I don't know. Normal size, I suppose. Why?' 
'Surely that is heavy tribute?'


Haniol shrugged. 'We should be lucky to see the Wanderers 
again before winter.' Kariniol frowned a little, but 
Madol laughed at him.


'Of course it is not heavy! You must learn to understand 
these things, Kariniol. And if they do not bring it 
swiftly, I will in the Master's name make it heavier by one 
cow!' He thought a moment, then laughed again. 'Now 
that is a good idea. How if I command them, because they 
were slow, to bring another cow tomorrow, and when 
they are late then, to bring another, and so forth?' Several 
of the young men laughed loudly. Haniol turned away 
from them, and Kariniol shook back his thick, yellow hair


impatiently. 'Madol, do your dogs ever bite you?' 
'My dogs?' Madol looked blank. 'No. Why?' 
'I am surprised, then.'


Madol crimsoned with anger. He half raised his arm; 
but whatever Kariniol's rank, he was the biggest man in 
Mald, and he lowered it again, scrubbing angrily at the 
beard that only nobles were allowed to wear. Kariniol 
turned from him contemptuously. Then Haniol said, 
'There they are.'


About twenty of the Horse People came over a rise. Ilna 
rode at their head, Mor'anh was there, and Hran; and




Nai. Her presence was strange; but she had insisted. 
Why sh was compelled to go, she did not know. She 
only knew that, again, she was afraid.


They could not take their horses with them; they dismounted, 
and Nai stayed with the horses, by a pony 
laden with hides. She watched as the tribute animals 
were driven across the narrow ditch which marked the 
border that no horse might cross. The fair-haired men 
came to meet the tribesmen; their hair, their tanned 
limbs, the colours of the woollen tunics, glowed in the 
ù rich sunlight. The metal blades of the long slender spears 
they bore gleamed and flashed; it was as if they wielded 
flames. When the men came together, she saw how only 
Hran reached even the Golden Men's shoulders; and not 
he to the shoulder of the tallest. The Horse People looked 
like-.boy, s among them, and she shivered, touched by 
dread. Slxe leaned back against her own pony for comfort, 
rubbing his nose. Great Goddess, I do not understand, 
she thought. Why did you make me come? What do I 
fear?


Madol found the business going too slowly for him. 
Haniol, who had done this job for years, was unhurriedly 
discussing the animals with the Lord Ilna and the two 
herd-masters of the Alnei, but Madol had nothing to do, 
and was there merely to oversee. He felt the afternoon 
slipping away from him, and grew irritable again. 'Come 
on, come on,' he said, 'get some more of that stuff down 
here.' He hustled some of the younger plainsmen up the 
slope again, and saw Nai's figure by the horses. She was 
wearing trousers as the women always did to ride, and he 
took her for a boy. 'Hey, you? he shouted 'Bring that 
pony down here!'


Startled, Nai shrank back and looked about her. The 
women never learned the tongue of the Golden People, 
and she did not know what he asked. But she saw plainly 
enough that he was angry, as he sprang over the ditch 
and came towards her, and she drew back among the 
horses, fearful. Madol came up shouting at her, and went




to the pony with the hides. He untied the straps and 
pulled them off, still cursing in his own tongue, then, 
having lifted the hides to his shoulder, turned back to 
aim a blow at the disobedient boy. Nai gave a scared gasp 
and flinched; but his arm remained motionless.


She had never seen a Golden Man so near. She was 
overwhelmed by his height, his breadth, the red of his 
tunic. She saw the muscular weight of his arm, the brown 
skin gilded by hairs as yellow as the thick hair of his head 
and beard. And Madol realised his mistake. He saw the 
heavy braids of her hair, the wide, frightened eyes, the 
delicacy of the hand with which she had hoped to ward 
off his blow; and the hides slid from his shoulder. The 
impatience on his face died into appreciation. His eyes 
travelled over her slender body, lingered on her face. Nai, 
watching him in fascinated terror, tried to scramble. 
backwards, but his arm shot out and a hand that could 
have broken her wrist with one twist closed around it. 
'Well, what have we here?' he laughed; and she cried out 
in fear. Then he whooped, and dragged her running 
down the slope.


'Hey, look!' he shouted. 'Look what I found!'


Nai screamed, wildly; she resisted, digging in her 
heels, struggling to free her arm, but the big man did not 
even notice. He swung her across the boundary, and she 
screamed and beat his arm. 'Mor'anh!' she cried. 'Hran! 
Father!'


They had turned at her first cry, and were frozen, 
staring. For a moment, Hran did not realise what it 
meant. Then when she called him, Mor'anh gave a fierce 
shout and leapt forward, and in the same instant Hran 
understood, and sprang towards Madol. Two tribesmen 
seized him, and Kariniol flung his arms around Mor'anh, 
holding him back. 'Don't be a fool!' he said, 'There are 
some here would spear you without thinking, long before 
you reached him!' But Mor'anh only gave him a 
blank, wild stare and struggled harder. Nai was crying 
for help, pinned by one arm against her captor's side.




36




Madol pulled her over to Haniol, still laughing. 'For 
being late!' he said: 'Better than a cow, isn't she? I'm 
keeping'this one.'


Ilna, his face grey, looked at Haniol. 'This is not the 
tribute asked,' he said, 'We have paid the tribute. Give 
back my daughter. This was not asked.'


Kariniol shouted to some Alnei, and gave the furious 
Mor'anh into their charge. 'Hold him, or they will kill 
him!' Hran was fighting frenziedly. Mor'anh cursed and


twisted, demanding they release him.


'Nai!' called Hran. 'Nail'


'Hran!' Madol was holding her by her hair, but still she 
strained to reach Hran, and the young Golden Men 
shouted with amusement. Mor'anh trembled, and stiffened; 
he would not be a show for them. Planting his feet 
apa'rt and throwing back his head, he watched Madol 
with a black blaze of hatred. Kariniol saw it, and shuddered 
suldenly.


'Let the girl go, Madol. It's true enough, they've paid 
the tribute. Let her go. Haniol!'


Ilna, pleading desperately with Haniol, looked to the 
tall man with a gleam of hope. Haniol might have told 
anyone else to release Nai--not from compassion so 
much as a liking for orderly procedures--but Madol was 
a noble, and he dared not. He shook his head, and 
Kariniol looked exasperated.


'In the name of light! What does Madol want with 
another girl?' A fresh burst of laughter answered him, 
and he grew angry. 'Madol, give her back, before there's 
trouble!'


'Trouble!' said Madol. 'What trouble? I've a right to take 
her if I want. And who do you think you are giving orders 
to? No-name.' His friends sniggered, andKariniol set his 
teeth at the old insult. 'Ah, look at Red Feathers. He 
wants her back. I'm not surprised either.' He swung her 
round to show his friends. 'Look at her. How often do 
you see one as good as this? I'll bet she's not a virgin,






hough. Pity. Look, Kariniol; even you must see--'




37




'Lord, let us take her back. She is our Priestess--'


'You hear that, Madol? The girl's a witch. In Akrol's 
name, let her go before we all regret it.'


'Witch! Regret!' Madol's voice was derisive. 'You can 
save your breath. I shan't let her go. I want her.'


Haniol caught Kariniol's arm. 'Let it go, Kariniol,' he 
said softly. 'Arguing only makes him stubborn. I don't 
want to offend you; but you are the last person he would 
heed, and he could make trouble for you. What does it 
matter?'


Kariniol looked past him, at llna's face, at Hran's anguish, 
at Mor'anh--'What does it matter? Of course it 
matters!'


'Yes, but you are doing no good, Kariniol.'


Kariniol shook off his hand angrily. 'They paid the 
tribute in full. And they have not tried to give less than 
the best of anything. Why should he take their girl?'


'Still on about the tribute?' said Madol. 'Here, hold 
her.' He pushed Nai to one of his friends and walked over 
to the tribute. He drove out a cow, and threw a fur and a 
deer-carcase at Ilna's feet. The lord stared at them 
blankly. 'There. And that's generous. I'll remit that much 
tribute for her. My Uncle can claim it from me.' The cow 
lowed, puzzled; Madol reclaimed Nai. Haniol's face 
cleared.


'They can't quarrel with that, Kariniol. If we had asked 
for a woman they would have to give one, and nothing


would have been remitted. I think he's being quite fair.' 
'Do you?' said Kariniol quietly. 'But we did not ask.'


'Well, I think it's fair. And he won't give her back, 
anyway.'


Kariniol did not answer. He looked at Ilna. 'I am sorry,' 
he said, and turned away. Nai shook her head, tears 
filling her eyes. 'No! oh, no!'


Hran stared at the little heap at the Lord's feet, and the 
cow. Was that the worth of Nai? He gave a cry and began 
struggling again; the men hung grimly to his arms. 
Mor'anh stood unmoving, watching. Ilna looked dazedly 
at Haniol.




4O




'Well?' said Haniol harshly. 'It is over. You may go 
now. Go. What do you'stay for? Go!'


Ilna turndd blindly away. Madol began walking towards 
their town, and Nai realised she was looking her 
last on Hran, and her father, and Mor'anh. She began to 
cry out again, straining against Madol's arm, kicking him 
and trying to bite. Mor'anh gave a bellow of fury, and 
thrashed against the men's restraint, making them stagger. 
Ilna came and gripped his shoulders. 'My son! My 
son! Stop!' Mor'anh paused, panting. 'It is no use. They 
will not give her back. They will kill you if you defy them. 
Am I to lose both my children?'


Mor'anh shuddered violently, and was still. He stared 
after the Golden Ones, watching Nai out of sight, his 
mouth twisting at her cries. Hran still fought. Kariniol, 
going last, looked back. He was ashamed, and sorry for 
them. Then'h. is eyes shifted to Mor'anh; and he shivered, 
and hurried on.


They drove the cow back to the camp, and took the other 
restored tribute. Ilna wept, without attempting to conceal 
it. Hran rode with a stricken, and Mor'anh with a rigid, 
face. The whole party was silent and afraid. Nai was more 
than simply one of their women, for whom they need 
only grieve. She was the Har'enh of the Mother, the Luck 
of the Tribe. What might become of them, now their Luck 
was gone?


The tiding spread through the Alnei like the first 
breath of winter, a tremor of grief and dread. Hran went 
out of the tribe into the Plain, to grieve in secret. He could 
not forget that Mor'anh had spoken too early of his love 
for Nai; could not help but blame him for the disaster that 
followed. Ralki wept, for Nai and for Hran. Manui, Nai's 
closest friend, mourned her bitterly, and ached for 
Mor'anh's pain. Of them all, Mor'anh alone did not weep 
ifor her. In a silent passion of rage and grief, he closed


I


imself in the Inner Tent of the God. There he beat at 
em'nanh's ear with his fury and his pain, storming at


I


he great god until far into the night, crying out against




his loss, until the smothered hatred in his heart seared 
him with agony, and from his bitterness was pressed a 
cold desire for vengeance. Dry-eyed he remained; but 
with the dryness of burning ice, or a winter sky too cold 
for snow.




42




5




he sun grew dark in Hran's eyes, because 
of the loss of the daughter of Ilna. The 
Alnei turned south, and to break the 
camp where Nai lad been claimed and 
lost tore his heart. It seemed that to do so 
was to finally abandon her, and he could




hardly bear it. He suffered much; and the moons made 
his pain not less but more.


Yet even he did not understand Mor'anh. He could 
only think that grief for a sister was of a kind unlike a 
lover's grief, for Mor'anh seemed to feel anger rather than 
sorrow, and a stubborn disbelief. Hran thought, 'It must 
be because he cannot remember a time without Nai, that 
he will not believe that she is gone. My love for her is 
hotter, but his is older. She was a companion of his 
hearth when she was only a name to me. It must be that.'


Mor'anh did not understand himself. He could not 
resist Kem'nanh, when he drove the Dha'lev after the 
sun, but in his heart he raged at the God for taking him 
further from his sister. His strange, baffled anger shook 
his whole life. He could not give up hope of Nai, whatever 
he was told. Ilna, for all his grief, had accepted his 
loss, but his son could not. Worst, he could explain to no 
one. The thoughts that beat in his mind like birds in a 
dark tent could not be caught with words. His soul was




43




shaken with storm; but the spirit which possessed him 
was durab.


'It is fate,' they said. 'This is not an uncommon thing. 
We were luclcy to have been free of it so long. It was her 
fate. What can we do? Can men master their fate?'


And Mor'anh was silent. But in his heart he thought, 
They can try.




The second new moon since Nai had been taken shone, 
and in the circle around the fire a girl looked up at the thin 
curve with wideset, green eyes tilted under winged 
brows. She was tall, for one of her people; lithe and agile, 
with thick, glossy hair still falling loose, the hair of a girl 
not come to womanhood. Her skin was almost as pale as 
Vani herself; her proud and lovely mouth was curved in a 
faint smile. From the darkness beyond the firelight the 
Young Wolf watched her, wishing her smiles were less 
rare, and sometimes for him.


He went to her. 'What is this, Runi?' he said, crouching 
at her feet. 'Do you not dance to Vani tonight?'


She looked at him coolly. 'We did so at moonrise; when 
else?'


'Ai, ai; I had a hope there that you had forsaken the 
banyei at last.' He shook his head regretfully, and she 
laughed at him.


'That I shall never do, Young Wolf.' She met his eyes 
with a challenging lift of her chin. 'And so I have told 
you.'


'Often. But I still hope.'


'Ah, be comforted. Why do I say it? I know you will be. 
You will never die of loneliness.' He laughed, and seeing 
heads turn to them she smiled a little. She looked back at 
Mor'anh, catching the hooded fire of his eyes and the 
oddly disquieting curve of his mouth, and raised her 
brows. 'What are you thinking?'


'Of how beautiful you are, leopardess.'


She coloured faintly, tossing her head. 'Always the 
same. Can you think of nothing else?'


'No,' he said.




44




Her colour deepened despite her. Her eyes grew resentful 
and defiant. 'I wish I had been given some other 
name' she said; for the Horse People, the leopard was 
the lover's symbol. Mor'anh laughed softly. 'And I wish 
you would deserve the one you have.'


She met his eyes. 'All may wish, son of Ilna,' she said 
coldly. 'Few wishes are granted. Yours will not be one.' 
Then she turned haughtily away and would speak to him 
no more. Mor'anh closed his lips and stood up. He 
bowed to her, fist on shoulder, and walked away.


For a few strides he stared angrily before him, resolving 
that in future he would treat her as a woman in one 
thing at least, and not speak to her before others. Then 
reluctantly he turned to look at her. He gazed at her loose 
hair, her slender, untouched body, and ached with longing. 
It was foolish for one who should have gone to the 
Godde. ss in the same feast as Nai to be still a girl. Indeed, 
it was sacrilege. Yet, as he looked at her, it was not desire 
he felt most, but a tenderness that seemed to melt his 
bones. She turned all his strength to weakness, and his 
bold assurance to baffled supplication. He waited a few 
moments, but she did not turn her head.


Runi sat quite still for a while, showing how little she 
cared for the White Wolf, though he bowed to her before 
them all. Then from under lowered lashes she slid her 
eyes around the circle, and seeing the stares and whispers 
bit her mouth to hide a slow, triumphant smile.


Mor'anh found Racho grazing, and leaned against 
him, fondling him; then he leaned folded arms on the 
davlani's back and laid his head on them. There was comfort 
in his warmth and the rich smell of his body. He 
could feel the horse's slow strong heart-beat, and the easy 
surge of his muscles. Occasionally Racho swung his head 
and rubbed his great cheek against Mor'anh. It was 
soothing, consoling, to stand and be warmed by that 
deep, uncomplicated love.


After a while he roused himself and wandered to the 
river, Racho ambling beside him. In the dark night it 
shone faintly, its daylight sparkle changed to a 

mysteri


ous glimmer, its low voice clear in the stillness. The 
banks receded into the dimness, and only the water's 
shine showed where the course ran. Mor'anh stood and 
gazed, feeling the cool stream flow through the turmoil in 
his mind.


He had never been able to explain the spell the river 
cast on him. In part, he thought, it was its certainty; it 
flowed without hurry or hesitation, never faltering or 
turning aside, sure of its way. Then there was the endless 
wonder of where it went, a question that had intrigued 
him since boyhood. Once, he had said that he wished to 
follow the river to its end, but Hran had laughed, not 
taking him seriously. Such a thing was impossible; to do 
it, a man would have to leave his Tribe. And where had 
the river begun? That must be a very holy place, where 
the Dancer's heel had struck. And again, what of its end? 
Or had it no end? Could it end? How could the water 
cease flowing?


Yet it was not questions alone that troubled him. If he ] 
gazed into the sliding water for long it swept his soul l 
away like a leaf, and he sank into a stillness so deep he L 
seemed near to hearing what that low voice said. There [ 
was a mystery in the river, something he needed to [ 
understand; but Ir'nanh did not speak to him as did/ 
Kem'nanh. But the river was very holy. The water alone 
was nothing, yet the river was alive; it was the power of 
Ir'nanh in it, the Lord of Life. Indeed, to Mor'anh, the 
river, dancing, inexhaustible, changing and changeless, 
seemed so full of the Dancing Boy, the Lord of Destiny, 
that at times his fascination was close to fear. Now, 
tonight, its depths were full of stars.


Much later, Hran came along the bank. Mor'anh did 
not notice his approach, and when greeted he did not 
speak; only raised his head and looked at Hran, rapt. For 
a moment he scarcely seemed to see him; then his eyes 
cleared a little, and he said, 'Hran: the river has spoken to


Hran looked startled. Mor'anh said, 'Listen. It is hard 
to say what I mean. The river,' and its banks; which is




lord? I mean, when there is a bend, has the river turned, 
or have the banks?'


'Mor'anh, what are you talking about? Both have, of 
course!'


'No! Which chooses? Which guides the other? Which is 
horse, which rider? Can you see? The river is Ir'nanh's, 
and he is Lord of Destiny--do you not see, it is important! 
Does the river flow in the bed laid down for it, or 
does it choose its own way?'


'Lai, I do not know! It is a foolish question; what does it 
matter?'


'Much, Hran; much. It does matter. For if the banks 
guide the river, then maybe all is fate as they say; but if 
the river makes its own bed---why--then--'




Downstream from the camp a group of women were 
working; their' young children playing in their sight. 
They were weaving rushes, scraping hides; for once Runi 
was working among them, plastering the insides of small 
baskets with clay and setting them to dry in the sun. They 
would be long about it; the year was dying, and the sun 
had little heat. They were camped now among the hills 
where they would spend the winter.


Once Nai had made one of this group, and this was the 
first time since her loss that the lack of her had not cast a 
shadow. But they were laughing now, and Ralki was 
saying, 'I had been sick already, but vech! when Yaln 
brought me the mare's milk I was almost sick again. I did


not believe it would be so strong.'


'You will learn to like it.'


'Since I must drink it for eight moons at least, I hope I 
will.'


'Maybe you will be like me,' said another woman with 
pride. A young child, thumb in mouth, gazed over her 
shoulder, and a baby lay kicking at her feet. 'I like it now. 
Since I began, I have always had one on my back, one at 
my breast, and one in my belly.' She laughed, and others 
with her, while one of the older women laid down her 
work and said, 'Sadi, have you quickened again?'




47




'When I am not with child,' said Sadi with dignity, 'be 
sure I shall tell you of it.'


Why could they not talk of something else, thought 
Runi as they laughed again. It was almost as if they 
enjoyed it.


'So, Ralki, you will not dance for us for a time?' said the 
older woman.


'Ve there is no reason to stop yet.' She put her hands 
on her slender waist and swayed her skirt, adding 
thoughtfully, 'I shall not come down to dance at the Feast, 
of course.'


Mention of the Feast cast a cloud. This year there would 
be no Nai to make their prayers for them. They were


silent, until one said, 'And you, Runi?'


'What of me?'


'Do you go to the Mother this year?'


'Not this year, or next, or any year.' She heard their 
murmur of disapproval, and tossed her head. Ralki said, 
'You cannot stay a child forever, Runi '


'I am not a child. I am of the banyei, as you all were 
once.'


'Yes; and that is to be neither child nor woman nor 
man. Some day you must change.'


'Why should I change? To bow my head to a man, as 
you all do? I have no love for men!'


'So you say; and yet you try to follow them. Do you 
think that Kem'nanh has a davlani for you? You will 
never be a man, Runi; you can never equal them at their 
own tasks. You cannot ride a great horse, nor draw a 
man's bow, nor throw a spear. Why will you not be what 
the Goddess made you?'


'No!' She was made angrier by hearing her voice 
shake. 'What, to work always, never to please myself, 
never to ride, or--or have any pleasures'


'There are other pleasures,' interrupted Sadi with a 
chuckle.


'--to always bend my will to a man's, never to be 
thought of, and to bear children year after year until I am 
no longer light, and at the last to die as my mother died,




48




too worn to bear her last child. I saw her--so much 
blood---I will not! No!' ù


'That is ndt fair, Runi!' Kani the midwife spoke 'It was 
not because your mother had borne so many other children; 
she was as healthy as any woman could wish to be. 
I have seen young women with their first child die of that 
flow of blood. It is as the Goddess wills.'


'Still, she died! I will not be used so by a man, no, not 
when they care as little as my father dido'


'Now, that is enough!' One of them stopped her an.grity. 
'Your father loved your mother. Why else are you 
called leopardess? But when a man is left alone with 
children so young, he must take another woman if he 
can. You were of the banyei then, a grown girl; but you 
would not care for them. What should he have done? He 
did not-take a young woman out of desire, though still 
few would have refused him. He sought a widow with 
children of her own. What is wrong in that?'


'I do not care! Even if he did grieve, he was alive, and 
she was dead! I'will not--no, I will not--' She stopped on 
a gasp, and stood up. 'Anyway, what is it to you? I will be 
a banya all my days, and go to the Goddess as I came from 
her! No man is worth so much!' She turned and ran from 
them, angry and ashamed. The women sat looking at 
each other.


'I am sorry I spoke of it,' said Ralki. 'I did not mean to 
distress her.'


'She is mad!'


Manui bent her head over the mat she was weaving, 
half ashamed to be thinking, 'Do not let her change her 
mind.' Aloud, she said in her low voice, 'She is afraid.


That is not to be mad. I was afraid, at my first Feast.' 
'Who was not? But we did not all hide.'


The oldest woman there snorted. 'Afraid, vech! No: 
"loose hair, no burdens". That is what it is. I remember 
my three summers too; saying what I pleased, speaking


to whom I chose, doing as I wished---oh, yes, a good 
time. But I wearied of it, we all wearied of it; we wanted 
to be women, and take our own place in the Tribe. If we




49




all clung to girlhood as she does, what would become of 
the Alnei? I can remember others who never bound their 
hair, but they did not receive the Goddess's sign, or they 
only had the mind of a child. Runi has strength and 
sense. What does she think---that refusing womanhood 
will keep her young for ever? How will that loose hair 
look, when there is grey in it?'


'She cannot mock the Goddess,' agreed Kani. She 
sighed. 'It was a pity she was there when her mother 
died. But how could we have known? It was time she 
learned; and Leni had always given birth so easily. So she 
did then, but then came the blood. Poor Runi. But there: 
she cannot mock the Goddess.'




In the summer, these stony hills were burned bare of 
grass, and the streams shrank; then the herders shunned 
them. But in winter, when the Old Woman pitched her 
tent on the Plain and the sweet, tall grass was hidden by 
snow, then the tribes drew back among the wooded hills, 
for the nights of frost were fewer there and less cruel, and 
the grass did not all die.


Among those, boys no longer, who brought new-won 
davlenei back to the Alnei that autumn was Derna, 
brother of the leopardess. His sister's joy in greeting him 
was beyond measure, for him at least Runi loved better 
than herself, and she had feared for him. But Derna, 
finding her stubborn in her girlhood still, was not 
pleased. He was as much in awe of the Lord's son as 
others of his age, and his sister's conduct filled him with 
shame.


For the women, winter's work was much like summer's. 
The meat they dried, the hides they cured, were 
from the autumn sacrifices, and not hunts; they spun less 
and wove more; but their tasks changed little with the 
seasons. But for the men, winter was another life. The 
herds needed them no less, though milking dwindled; 
but for five moons they did not hunt. Their work hardly 
took them beyond the herd, no further than they need 
go to find the wood and the flints they needed, and that




the deep-soiled Plain did not yield. They became 
craftsroen in winter, making and mending; and artists, 
carving in the firelit evenings. No man spent less than a 
fourth part of his waking hours giving his horse the care 
it needed to stay in good fettle. They still had the boys to 
teach, but now they joined their sons at their target 
practice, lest they lose their own keenness of eye. Even 
the games they played changed in winter, not only to 
better suit the uneven, rocky ground, but because they 
served a different end; not just for play, but to keep their 
bodies hard.


Winter was the only time Tribes were encamped close 
together, and there was much riding from valley to valley, 
making and renewing friendships, exchanging 
.news, sitting as guests at other Fires of Gathering, receiving 
guests at their own. The days in winter were 
crowded; but the darkness was long, and made the season 
a slow, quiet time, full of old tales and songs. It was a 
.season for dreaming, for thinking and talking, for brood-lng 
over memories, and making plans. And that year, 
most of all so for Mor'anh. As the new men laboured day 
by day at the teaching of their horses, so he daily struggled 
with his mind.




51




6




he Old Man's winter clothes, sheepskin




v
with the fleece turned inward, made his 
outline strange and bulky. His white


braids hung down beneath a sheepskin 
cap. He sat in the shelter of a large rock, 
out of reach of the wind's cold probing. 
But it blew on Mor'anh, stretched at his feet, stirring the 
long, black hairs of his cloak to show the grey down 
between them, and pale stripes of the skin beneath. 
Mor'anh held it close about him, his face pale with cold. 
The wind tumbled his black hair. He was silent, listening 
to the Old Man's quiet voice, hardly louder than the wind 
itself.


'Why do you ask me this? Is the son of Yom no longer a 
friend to your mind?'


q-Iran is the brother of my heart, but he had no answer 
for me.'


'And your father?'


Mor'anh's mouth tightened a little, and he lowered his 
eyes; but he said only, 'My father could not say, ethe ù


'And so you bring it to me. Am I wiser than Terani, 
then? Or do I know you better than your spear-brother? 
Do you look for an answer from me?' He peered down 
again, but the White Wolf neither spoke nor moved.


'Why do you think I will know? Because I am old? It is 
true that the world speaks louder to me now. I have time




52




to watch and listen, time to smell every breath I breathe. 
Does this make me wise?'


He paused.'The wind moaned a little, coming over the 
shoulder of the hill. Mor'anh shivered and huddled his 
cloak up to his ears, but did not speak.


'Age does not bring wisdom, Mor'anh. It may take it 
away. Age has given me patience, because it has taken 
away desire; there is nothing before me that I wish to 
hurry to meet. And long life has given me many 
memories. In that is all the wisdom I have. Memory puts 
it into my power to say I have seen this before, and this is 
what came after. Often this is good. But if I have not seen 
a thing before, what can I say? The old are not wise in 
new things. About new things, they may be less wise 
than the young.'


Mor'anh took his chin out of his cloak, his eyes kindling. 
'Is 'the'river new?'


The Old On smiled slowly. 'No, the river is old. But 
the thought you have, and would share with me--that is 
very new. '


The young man sat up, a quick blaze of delight in his 
face. 'Uncle I thank you! I knew you would not fail me!'


'I? Have I not?' He sounded surprised. 'I have given 
you no answer.'


'No, no.' Mor'anh stood up. 'No, you have not. But I do 
not think I came expecting an answer like that. I came in 
the hope of having my question understood. You hear 
what I am asking. Nai would hear. But they did not. Hran 
thinks it is foolishness, and my father too; he says it is a 
thing of no importance.'


'Of no importance.' The Old One repeated the words 
slowly, closing his eyes. 'A thing of no importance. Ah, 
no, Young Wolf. It is not that.'


Mor'anh waited to hear if he would speak again; but he 
did not open his eyes, and soon his head drooped, in a 
doze. Still, as he walked away the Young Wolf felt his 
loneliness lessened. It never ceased to hurt and surprise 
him that Hran could not always keep pace with his mind 
or catch the thoughts he could not speak. It was at such




53




times that he felt most his need of Nai, the pain of his 
severance from her total sympathy.


When he reached his tent, Ilna was just emerging from 
his own. Mor'anh stiffened, remembering how they had 
parted, but his father greeted him smiling, and nodded 
towards the porch of the God's Tent.


'One of the boys brought some firestones.'


Mor'anh scooped them up, exclaiming with pleasure, 
and struck them to see the sparks leap out. He did not 
mean to speak; but before he knew, he had said, 'Father,


we were saying--'


'No!'


His own words had taken him by surprise, but not so 
much as the sudden violence of Ilna's reply. He stepped 
back and stared at the Lord, who looked at him exasperated.


'You have said enough, Mor'anh; and it is all folly. You 
do not know what you would say. What makes you speak 
so wildly? I know what it is. Something has hurt you, so 
the world must change. My son, the sky sends down 
hailstones. Will you punish the sky? When the winter 
blows, what then? Will you turn it back? Some things 
must be endured. Can you resist the Gods? Dare you try?'


Mor'anh closed his hands carefully around the firestones. 
He felt dizzy sickness surge through him, and 
with it dread of what he knew was coming. He felt the 
familiar tightening of his head, the stiffness of his neck; 
felt the storm swelling within him. The God was coming. 
He swallowed and clenched his teeth, breathing carefully. 
His hands shook, with impatience, or fear, or 
strain. Words would not come. Formless knowledge beat 
in him, and thoughts without a name. He tried to speak, 
but his tongue would not obey him.


'It is bad, my son, I know.' Ilna's voice was gentler. 'But 
it is as the Gods will.'


'No!' Mor'anh cried out as his spirit leapt with protest. 
He shook with tension; he felt as if he were bound with 
strong ropes. He looked at Ilna with desperate appeal. 
'No! No longer!'




The Lord turned back. 'What do you mean?' He spoke 
sternly,,but the anger in his voice could not quite hide the 
fear. 'What do you mean?'


He shook his head. 'I do not know!' He felt stifled. His 
arms ached as though they held an unbearable weight, 
but only the firestones were in his hands. He struck them 
convulsively together, and suddenly began, 'Nai--'


Ilna said harshly, 'Forget Nai!' He glanced at his son, 
then away. 'Let her go. It is useless. We shall never see 
Nai again. Kem'nanh has told me so.'


'Kem'nanh--' repeated Mor'anh stupidly, staring at 
his father. Confusion and doubt clapped about him. Why 
should Kem'nanh say one thing to him, another to his 
father? Could the God lie?


'I have prayed,' said Ilna, 'I have wept, and pleaded. 
Bur. alw. ays I am answered "You shall not see her again." 
She is gone forever. Mor'anh! Mor'anh! Do you think I 
loved her less than you? But can I fight Kem'nanh?'


His whole body throbbed and hurt, and his head spun. 
One of us is wrong, he thought. Is it I? Am I mistaken? Is 
Kem'nanh deceiving me? But as he formed the thought, 
he knew it was impossible. He could not doubt 
Kem'nanh. What Ilna heard did not matter; on that he 
would not be shaken. 'I must listen to the God when he 
speaks to me,' he thought, 'and not when he speaks to 
other men.'


He heard his own voice from far away. 'They should 
not have touched Nai. She belongs to the Goddess.' And 
all the time through the spinning darkness in his head he 
knew it was not Nai, not only Nai; but that was all his 
father would understand. He was standing against a 
mighty wind which smote and buffeted him, and which 
if he yielded would tear him to pieces. It wailed within 
him. He could not endure much longer. His blood 
pounded, and ran burning through his limbs.


'Then she is the Goddess's to defend.' Ilna's distant 
voice came to him with words that quivered in him like 
arrows. 'Not for us. The Golden Ones are our lords; if 
they command what can we do but obey?'




55




The question went through him like a spear, and all the


baffled rebellion in him leapt with pain.


'---Disobey!'


The cry was wrenched from him; it came like blood 
frown a wound. The strong, cold wind howled exultantly 
through him and left his head clear; and he saw his


father's face, grey and old with shock.


'What did you say?' he whispered.


'Disobey!' There was a wild, delicious terror in the 
word. 'If we can obey, then it is plain we can also disobey!'


'You are mad!' Ilna's voice shook. 'Mad! How could 
we? And have you thought what their revenge would be? 
For one woman? This is worse than wildness!' He struggled 
to calm himself. 'You must bend your neck 
Mor'anh. "Only a King lives unbridled." I know your 
heart, I know your pride. But you must rein them both, or 
they will destroy you; and maybe more than you.' His 
eyes fixed for a moment, and he checked;'{hen went on, 
'This is bitter broth, I know; but we must all swallow it. 
Why must it choke you? Learn to live in the world as it is, 
my son, before you break your heart.'


Mor'anh thought wearily, ,'He still does not understand,' 
and it hurt him a little. But he was weak and 
shaken, and needed quiet; he kept silence, and Ilna 
turned away.


Mor'anh stood still for some time. He heard again, 
'They will destroy you and maybe more than you,' and 
saw the flicker in his father's face. Mor'anh: Lightning-bolt: 
Destroyer. He stared at the firestones in his hands, 
turning them over and over. But no matter which way he 
turned them, there was no where they did not strike fire 
from each other.




He knew when he woke that the day had gone. His cloak 
had not covered him as he lay, and he was cold. When he 
opened his eyes he wondered where he was; then he 
became aware of the.God, and knew he was in the Secret




Place. And he smiled, remembering that a clear word had 
come .to him at ldst.


He stood and stretched, feeling the surge of muscle in 
his arms and shoulders, the braced power of his body, 
and he laughed, exulting in his strength. He felt full of 
vigour and high spirit, like a stallion full of summer 
grass. Within him all was sun and white clouds. It was a 
surprise when he stepped out of the Tent to find rain, and 
a cold, gusting wind. The Fire was a dying glow, and few 
remained around it. He caught his cloak around him, and 
walked over to Hran.


'I did not think it was so late,' he said, crouching by his 
friend. Hran shook his head.


'It is not. No one wished to stay tonight. It is no night to 
lie under the stars; I will find myself sleeping by the 
door:' In the communal tents used by the young unmarried 
men and women, the first comers took the places by


the king-pole; latecomers risked sleeping in a draught. 
'Use my tent.'


'I hoped you would say that. May I have some of your 
covers also?'


'Be comfortable; take the whole bed.'


Hran turned his head, an amused glint in his green 
eyes. 'Do you not sleep tonight?'


'Yes,' replied Mor'anh absently, then caught Hran's 
eye and laughed. 'V, yes, but not yet. I have hardly 
woken.'


'Not yet, and not in your tent?'


'And not in my tent,' he agreed, standing up. 'Sleep 
well, my brother.'


The women had all gone. He would have to seek, and 
he hardly knew for whom. One face then another came to 
his mind as he walked. He thought of Durai, Hran's 
young sister who had gone to the Goddess at the last 
Feast. Her quick tongue made him laugh, and he enjoyed 
her half-resentful fierceness. But he did not want Durai. 
Then he thought of Manui, and desire quickened; he 
turned towards her tent.




57




It was not usual for a young woman to have her own 
tent. Young people might share a tent with younger 
brothers and sisters if they did not like the communal 
tents, or they would sleep in the open. Mor'anh and Nai 
had tents because they were Priest and Priestess, not 
because they were the Lord's children. But the Great 
Sickness which had wasted the Tribe ten years before, in 
which Mor'anh's mother had died, had killed all Manui's 
family save her, her youngest brother, and the oldest of 
her five sisters. This sister had gone in the same year to 
her man's tent, and had cared for the younger ones. The 
brother still shared her hearth, yet a child, but for several 
years Manui had lived alone in the tent which had been 
their father's.


Mor'anh often wondered whether her times of quietness 
were due to this disaster of her childhood; for even 
when she was merriest she had an air of holding her 
happiness delicately, as if it were brittle. Yet he could not 
remember that grief had seemed to weigh too long on 
her, as a child. Grave and shy she had always been; but 
whatever shadow lay on her heart, it had fallen since her 
womanhood.


He turned into the lane where her tent was pitched. 
Ahead of him, vague in the uncertain light, he saw a man 
and woman, and slowed to let them draw away. The tone 
of the man's voice, though not the words, reached him; a 
young voice, and he grinned to hear the persuasion descend 
to mere pleading. But it was not until the man 
reached out his arm and the woman, avoiding it, 
laughed, that he recognised Manui.


The shock robbed him of breath; then he could not 
think why it should, nor why he should feel such cold 
dismay. He had never thought ,e was the only man ever 
to share Manui's bed. Had he ever considered it, he 
would have assumed that she gave herself to others also. 
To sleep alone was no virtue. Manui was in the third year 
of her womanhood, and well he knew the heat of the fire 
beneath her gentle',ess. And yet, the thought of her with 
another man gave him pain.




The wind drove cold rain against his face. He stood 
still, feeling utterly foolish. How could he have come so 
confilently, so arrogantly? How could he have been so 
sure he would find her waiting? Were other men not to 
desire her, or was she to keep her welcome only for him? 
He felt angry with himself, and ashamed, and strangely 
hurt.


He stepped back quietly, and had turned to go when he 
caught Manui's voice again, but not laughing. He hesitated; 
but when she spoke again, her distress was plain. 
So he went towards them, taking care not to be heard; 
they saw him, and moved apart.


'I greet you,' he said formally. 'Manui, is anything 
wrong?'


She could have wept with humiliation, but she said 
steadily, 'Nothing, I thank you, Mor'anh. Linhai is just 
going:'


'I am not!' retorted the young man, flushing angrily. 
Mor'anh knew him now; he was entering his second year 
of manhood, and had probably meant no real harm. It 
was punishment enough to speak to a woman in front of


him, as if his presence were of no importance.


'You are!' whispered Manui fiercely.


'Most certainly you are,' agreed Mor'anh, 'if Manui 
asks you to.' His voice was easy, but his relaxed stance 
was a quiet threat. Linhai's mouth tightened, then he 
shrugged and bowed sarcastically.


'Manui knows her wishes best,' he said. 'I yield to you, 
Young Wolf.'


Manui's face flamed, and she bent her head. She hardly 
knew which would be worse that Mor'anh should think 
that she admitted other men to her bed, or that he should 
know that she did not. Mor'anh watched Linhai go, then 
looked at her and paused irresolute. He had been meaning 
to go at once, but looking at her he did not want to go. 
He wanted to stay; but for the first time, he was unsure of 
his welcome.


The silence was not long, but seemed very heavy; they 
were not usually ill at ease together. Then Mor'anh




59




moved as if to depart. Although at first Manui had 
wished him to go, she felt suddenly desolate, and looked 
up to meet his eyes. He was smiling, but doubtfully, and


with a look of appeal which overwhelmed her.


'Must I go?' he said.


She thought, 'If I had any pride I would send him


away.' And she thought, 'Alas, I have no pride.' 
'Why should you think you must?' 
'You sent Linhai away.'


'Oh, Linhai; he is so young,' she replied; then added 
with a faint laugh, 'And he had only come for shelter from 
the rain.'


His eyebrows rose. 'You think so!' he said; then, 'It is 
still raining. Will you send me away for that?'


'Oh,' she said as if considering, 'you have a tent of 
your own, if all you want is a roof over you. Besides,' she ù
smiled, 'you do sometimes come at other times.'


He followed her into the tent, but when he would have 
kissed her she slipped laughing out of reach, and left him 
to fasten the door-curtain. She untied the braids of her 
hair and shook it loose to comb it, while he sat down and 
looked about him. It was warm, for her fire burned at the 
back of the tent, the roof opened a little to draw the smoke 
out. It always seemed comfortable in here. he thought; 
better than his own tent, or his father's; or even than 
Nai's. There was a coloured blanlet over the bed, not 
only skins--Manui was a better weaver than most Khen-tor 
women. And she burned something on her fire that 
covered the stinging smell of the smoke. He stretched 
and took off his cloak, casting it over the bed, then leaned 
forward to watch her. She had kneeled to light the lamp, 
for the only light was a deep glow from the fire. His 
steady, thoughtful gaze made her self-conscious, and he 
saw her hands shake slightly, though her face was calm. 
Heavy sweeps of her hair kept slipping forward, and she 
cast them back with her hand, not tossing her head as 
Runi did. Manui's hair was not raven, but very dark 
brown, warm in the orange light. Young pla.inswomen 
were always slender; but Manui had neither the fragility




60




of Nai nor Runi's lithe firmness. There was a softness 
about her, a curve at once yielding and supple. The 
lampfldme lit tall and shaking, quivering into black 
smoke, casting over her rich light and swaying shadow; 
and suddenly he wanted her, not as before, but fiercely 
and possessively.


'Manui,' he said, and his mouth curved to see her 
hands grow suddenly still. He went on one knee beside 
her, and heard her unsteady breath, and put out a hand to 
quench the lamp.


'Lamp-fat is running low; leave it,' he said. 'Do we 
need the light?'




The frost-bitten grass grew withered and tasteless, the 
herds gaunt and slow-moving, as winter trailed by. The 
camp was lifeless much of the time, with tent doors 
closed' and fires burning within them. Everyone 
hungered for fresh food, weary of smoked meat and dried 
roots; rarely either full-fed or really warm they grew 
listless and silent. They slept far more than in summer. 
On the hillsides scarred by the pyres of past winters, new 
fires burned. The Feast of Ja'nanh passed, with dancing 
up on the flat hill-tops where they rarely ventured, and a 
sacrifice of rams to bring them to the mind of the Lord of 
Heaven again. The days began to lengthen; but this was 
the worst time, when summer seemed very far behind 
and the end of winter not in sight. Only the ewes, big-bellied, 
gave promise of spring.


Neither Nai nor the Golden Ones had been mentioned 
between Mor'anh and his father for many weeks. There 
was a quietness in their dealings, which seemed on 
Mor'anh's part oddly like compassion. The affection between 
them was stronger than ever, a sad tenderness, 
deep and regretful; but other bonds had loosened. To 
those who sensed the change it was disturbing, for it 
seemed that the Lord and his son were saying farewell--knowing 
they must part, and bent on parting with kindness. 
And strangest of all, it was as if Ilna asked pardon, 
and Mor'anh forgave.




61




7




pring hid behind each tree and under








every stone; but still it delayed.


There had been no frost for many. 
nights; the snow on the hilltops was 
shrinking, and the streams were loud 
with water. The earth was softer, and 
twigs were uneven with knots still too hard and small to 
be called buds.


Mor'anh, walking from the ewes to where he had left 
Racho, lifted his head restlessly, turning into the rough 
wind. The green tingle in the air teased at him, but the 
breath he drew smelled only of the rain-sodden end of 
winter, cold and heavy. He felt like a fretting horse held 
on a firm rein. This time was to spring what dawn was to 
sunrise, the hargad of the year.


He saw Manui riding her strong brown pony beyond 
the stream; no one else was near, and he called to her. She 
raised her hand and urged her pony to a gallop, soaring 
over the water. He smiled, watching her. He had once 
drawn Runi's wrath by naming Manui as the best rider 
among the women or girls, for Runi claimed that for 
herself. But her Vixen'$ liveliness was all play; Runi could 
not have handled the real strength and spirit of Manui's 
pony so capably. They halted beside him, Manui's laugh 
making a cloud on the air, while steam rose from Otter,




62




who tossed his head and danced, snorting. Mor'anh 
leaned down to feel him. 'You have been riding far?'




'Yes; I shall be stiff tomorrow, it is so long.' She sighed 
with pleasure. 'It is the only thing I envy you men; so 
much time in the saddle.'


'And you have such a pony, too. I have never seen his 
equal.' He patted the strong, arched neck admiringly, 
and laughed at the delight on her face. 'Now I have begun 
well, I will ask my favour. Will you cook for me tonight, 
Manui?'


'You are welcome. And your father, also?'


He shook his head. 'He is eating with friends. They 
would feed me, too, but I like your cooking better. It is 
true. The food you cook is worth eating even at the end of 
winter. Better even than Nai makes it.'


-She Caught her breath. It still amazed her that he could 
speak-of his sister soas if she belonged to the present 
and not the past. She looked up at him to see if his eyes 
belied his voice, but just then the sun broke dazzling 
through the cloud, striking over his shoulder so that she 
could not see him clearly. 'Yes, I will cook for you,' she 
said, blinking and shading her face. 'I must go; Otter is 
too hot to stand.'


He rode away, and she trotted down to the camp. If 
Mor'anh came to eat, he would stay till morning. Well, 
she thought defiantly, so much the better, whatever Ralki 
said. She groomed Otter and spread his blanket over his 
back. The sun was brilliant now; out of the wind it might 
even be warm. She looked for a sheltered spot to picket 
him, but sun and wind came from the same quarter, and 
there was no such place.




Manui stirred and woke. The glow from the fire was very 
dim; the roof quivered a little, as the wind that ended 
night rose. The covers had slipped down. She was warm 
enough, but when she felt Mor'anh's shoulders he was 
cold as stone. Gently she freed her hands and, reaching 
behind him, drew the blankets up to cover his back. The




hairs of the bearskin wavered against her mouth, then 
danced in her sigh. She slid her arms around him and 
tightened them, turning her face into his neck.


It almost seemed she had dreamed what frightened 
her; as if those few freezing heartbeats had never been. 
And in memory it seemed a little thing, nothing to fear. 
Only the taste of her terror lingered and would not be 
denied.


The cold of his absence had wakened her, and thinking 
him gone she had started up, puzzled and hurt. But he 
was in the tent. He was poised half crouching, half kneeling, 
motionless. His rigid stillness, like a figure carved of 
bone, was frightening. She must have made some sound, 
or moved, for he turned his head towards her; and it was 
then that terror shook her. His face was expressionless, 
but his gleaming black eyes raged, and the look he gave 
her was like a blow. His hand made a movement, very 
slight, but so full of anger and violence that she fell down 
before it, and hid her face. How long he stayed there, and 
whether she had been awake long, she did not know. He 
had roused her when he came back to bed, but the 
roughness of desire could not hurt her. Only the cold, 
remembered fury of his eyes ached in her mind.


She felt him stir, and loosened her arms hastily. He 
rolled onto his side and raised himself a little to look 
down on her. She almost flinched from meeting his eyes, 
but they were familiar, sleepy and warm, and she had 
seen that proud and lazy smile before. She relaxed a little, 
but her smile was tremulous, not as usual a veil across her 
eyes. He seemed to feel a difference, and stroking her hair 
back looked at her earnestly, his hand against her cheek. 
Her wide eyes gazed gravely back, and he sighed.


'Manui,' he murmured. 'Gentle One. Was there ever a 
woman so well named?'


He laughed at her startled look, and kissed her ardently. 
For an instant she responded, clinging close, 
pliant and eager; then the brief passion was gone. She 
jerked back and pushed him abruptly away, turning her




face aside. He released her, staring amazed, then said,


'You are angry witt me!'


'I am' not!'


'You are. Why is it?'


'I am not angry!' But she knew she was. She resented 
his good humour, and was angry because he did not 
know what it was, to be frightened by someone he loved 
more than daylight. And that was foolish. So she pressed 
her lips together and kept her face averted, until he firmly 
turned her head towards him 'Please tell me,' he said.


She pushed his hand away. 'I please you now, then. It 
is not always so.'


His amazement was obviously real. 'What do you 
mean? Manui, when have you ever displeased me?'


'Under your cloak I do, maybe. At no other time.' She 
was shocked to discover the depth of her own bitterness. 
'When' you are not in my bed it is different, even if you 
are in ny tent.'


He studied her frowning, then with dawning understanding. 
'Did you wake in the night, and I was not 
there?' She could not answer. 'I think you did. Did I 
speak harshly to you, Manui?'


ù 'You did not speak at all,' she answered huskily, horrified 
to hear her voice shake. 'It was the way you looked 
at me. As if you did not know me, and hated me for being 
here.' She swallowed, anger crumbling into misery, 
fighting the wish to cast her arms around him and sob: 
help me, help me, make me forgive yow; if I do not love 
you I am nothing.


'Eu--!' he aaid, and shook his head. 'I am sorry. I am 
sorry, Manui. It was not me. It is---' He hesitated. 'It is the 
God. I cannot choose when he comes to me.' He stroked 
her hair, pulling some forward over her shoulder, then 
looked at her again. 'I am sorry.'


As soon as he said 'It is the God' she understood 
herself. She had thought that Runi had been the cause of 
the look he gave her. It was a cold wind through her, and 
his words now were no shelter. For there was Runi; and




65




the only words that could really comfort her were words 
he would not say.


But that was knowledge not to be looked at. So she 
gave the smile that was a screen before her face and said 
lightly, 'Do not look so grave. It was the strangeness. I 
should not have made so much of such a little thing,' 
and she clasped his neck. He smiled also, and stretched 
out beside her, smoothing his hand along her side. 'If it 
troubled you it was not a little thing. I would not do so 
willingly.' Unexpectedly, he turned his head and kissed 
her wrist, then said, 'You are good to me, Manui. No, it 
is true. You are always patient with me, and it cannot be 
easy. I am lucky to have such a friend.'


Friend. She could not look at him, and did not know 
how to reply. The word he had used was not one spoken 
by men to women; their language hardly contained .a 
stronger term. He could not have paid her a higher compliment, 
nor one that hurt so many ways. 'My lord hon-ours 
me,' she stammered at last; but just then the Dawn 
Drum boomed, and Mor'anh cursed, and she could laugh 
almost easily as he struggled out of bed and pulled on his 
clothes. 'Dawn comes very soon,' he grumbled.


'It is the spring coming,' she said, hugging the covers 
round her shoulders. 'Are you not glad of it?' And from 
the door he looked back with a small crooked grin and 
said, 'Not always.'




The davlenei were shedding their winter coats. Great 
clumps of grey hair fell from Racho under his rider's 
vigorous grooming, and he snorted and shuddered with 
pleasure at the harsh caress of the reed pad. Mor'anh 
paused to splutter some hair out of his mouth, and to


greet his father, who led his own horse up for grooming. 
'Have you seen the Dha'lev today?' asked Ilna.


'Yes. He is restless. I think it will not be long.' His voice 
lifted at the thought. Ilna looked at him over his horse's 
back.


'You are very glad.'


'It is spring. Does it not make you glad?'




'Of course.' The Lord paused, loosening a tangle in 
Hulakhen's mane. :But it is more than that. You are eager 
for sonething.'


Mor'anh's eyes met his warily. 'I am eager to leave the 
hills. It has been a dreary winter.'


'The cause was in you, not in winter. How will things 
grow easier?'


'Who knows? A summer is long. Anything is better 
when we are on the Plain.' He spoke easily, but Ilna was 
not reassured.


'You choose words to hide your thoughts, not show 
them! My son--' He swallowed, then shook his head and 
turned aside. 'Ah, I cannot blame you. You know my 
mind too well, and I know yours. You will not let your 
sister go. It has made you mad.'


Mor'anh left his grooming. 'Father!' He caught hold of 
Ilria's 'arms. 'Terani! You do not know my mind. You 
cannot know what is in my heart. I do not know myself. 
Until Kem'nanh guides me, I cannot. I do not forget what 
you have said, I think of it. I know you do not think as I 
do. I do not ask your help. I ask only that you will not 
make my way harder than it is.' Ilna's eyes were expressionless 
before his son's urgency, his arms passive in 
his grip. Mor'anh's voice grew pleading. 'Do not be 
against me. I am not mad. I can be patient. I am your son. 
Only, what is coming will come. I ask you only not to 
stand in the way and make its coming harder.'


'I do not understand you,' said Ilna in a level, stubborn 
voice, and Mor'anh let go of his arms. '! do not think you 
understand yourself.'


'That is true.' Mor'anh began grooming again. 'Often I 
do not. There are many things I do not understand. But I 
am wise enough not to stop my ears when Kem'nanh 
speaks.'


'You are young, and reckless.'


'Maybe. When young, birds learn to fly. That is reckless.'


'They learn by doing as the old ones do.' Ilna mounted, 
seeming to have forgotten why he had come, and sat




69




fingering the reins. 'No, Mor'anh. You will do as you 
choose; but I have a Tribe about my neck, and must 
follow what I know. Let the God decide between us.' He 
looked down at his son, who continued to groom Racho 
with hard, even strokes. 'Let there be no anger between 
US.'


Mor'anh raised his eyes and shook his head. 'There is 
no anger, my father. Or if there is, it is not mine.'


'No, you do not make me angry.' The chief's worn face 
creased, and he rubbed his brow. 'Not angry. You make 
me afraid .... '




'I have been talking with Darenu,' said Hran, dismounting 
where Mor'anh stood talking to the Old Man. 'He 
says he cannot remember a year when so many of the 
lambs have died.'


Mor'anh nodded. He had seen the flock-master 
himserf.


'Why should it be a bad lambing?' said the Old One. 'it 
has not been a hard winter.'


Hran grimaced, and hunched his shoulders. 'Has it 
not? It has seemed endless.' md for him spring was 
bringing no end to the bleak time, but a quickening of 
pain. He leaned against Ranap's shoulder over the sunlit 
brightness of the new rass, and repeated stubbornly, 
'The longest 1 remember.'


'But your memor is not long,' said the Old One, whfie 
Mor'anh turned to look at his spear-brother, stroking his 
moustache thouþhtfu]]�. 'The winter was neither Ionþ
nor cold. The rass did not fail, and no sickness came to 
the sheep. Why do the ewes miscarry?'


Mor'anh unted. 'There is cause enough,' he said. 'I 
rode over the hill yesterday to the Eregei; their flock 
increases well, with no abortions.' He looked from one to 
the other as he spoke. 'But the Good Goddess is not with 
us. We have lost the Luck of the Tribe.'


Hran's eyes flashed. 'Were we to blame for that, that 
she should curse us?' 
Mor'anh shook his head. '! did not say she had cursed




70 ,




us. She may have blessings ready to pour, but we have no 
bowl to catch them. If my horn is broken and I can draw 
no waer, has the fiver run dry?' But Hran's brief energy 
was gone.


'Maybe the calves will die too, then. And the foals. This 
is a bad beginning to the year.'


'So?' said the Old One. 'A year that begins badly may 
easily grow better. But if it does not, it is only one year. 
There will be more. For you, many more.'


'And for you, Uncle,' said Mor'anh; but the Old Man 
shook his braids with sudden fierceness.


"Not many more! If the Gods are good to me, not 
many! Do you think I wish for them? If I were given back 
my strength, then I would never wish to die, but I am 
old!' He stretched out his hands, and his voice shook 
With .anger. 'Look at them! Once they were strong on 
spear a,nd bridle, once they drew the bow and held bulls 
on the rope; now they shake and will not straighten. I am 
not a woman to ride in a waggon, I am a man, a rider; but 
my horse is dead, and were he not I could not stay on his 
back. And my girl is gone, my Velani--she will be weary 
of waiting for me. She died before you were born. Let me 
see the Great Plain, where I shall be young again! It is 
many years since I stood up to dance. And when the 
drums beat at the Autumn Feast, where were you? I was 
among the tents, with the children and the sick. I am too 
old to worship the Goddess. Too old for a woman!' His 
voice rose with disgust. Hran shook his head, but 
Mor'anh's wry smile turned to a grimace and a shudder. 
The old man smiled grimly. 'Ah, that touches you, does 
it? I have heard about you. Well, if you are ever as old as I 
am, you will not please the women so much. You will not 
find them so willing then!'


Mor'anh opened his mouth, then closed it without 
speaking. Hran laughed aloud at his confusion, while the 
Old One creaked with amusement. 'Foolishness!' 
growled the Young Wolf, turning to Racho. 'I have work 
to do. Hran, what of you?'


The davlenei crouched back at the men's command,




71




springing up when they were astride. They took leave 
and cantered away. Hran was still chuckling, but 
Mor'anh was too pleased to see his mood lighten to mind. 
A young tribesman greeted them in passing and when he 
had gone Mor'anh said, 'Is it true that Huldo is courting 
your sister, Durai?'


Hran nodded. 'He and others. You know she is with 
child?' He gave Mor'anh an amused sidelong glance, but 
he only looked astonished and said 'In her first winter! 
No, I did not. I hear no women's gossip now. Will she 
take any of them, do you think?'


To the Horse People, fatherhood began only at a child's 
birth, and was the mother's gift; a man quickened a 
woman, he did not beget her child. That was the law. A 
woman who conceived never lacked suitors.


'There is no man she prefers to the othersunless it is' 
Linhai, and it is known he wants Manui.'


'She will not have him,' said Mor'anh positively, even 
abruptly. Hran said nothing for a while, then mused, 'It 
is strange that Manui has gone to no man's tent. Linhai 
chooses well, at least.' He paused, then said thoughtfully, 
'The man who wins her will have a woman worth more 
than many sons.'


Mor'anh drew rein sharply. Hran wheeled and looked 
at him surprised. Mor'anh said, 'My sister is soon forgotten.'


Hran gazed at him, then looked away. 'Your sister is 
not forgotten, nor ever will be. But she is with the Golden 
Ones.' He went on carefully. 'I did not say I would court 
Manui; I am sure she would not have me. But I could do 
worse. '


Racho jumped. Mor'anh said angrily, 'Manui deserves 
better than that!' Hran said nothing, 'And Nai--Hran, 
you must not despair! Trust me. Trust Kem'nanh-he has 
not lied to me, I know! Do not forget her; and keep your 
spears, my brother!'




72




8




he song of a spiralling, sun-struck bird 
was the loudest sound in the valley as the 
Alnei watched the brief ceremony which 
ended winter and began their new year. 
They were ready to wander; the tribal 
banner, loosened from its shaft for the




first time in almost five moons, shook and swung in the 
light breeze.


Though the sun was brilliant, the grass beneath 
Mor'anh's boots was crisp with frost. He walked towards 
the King, feeling the weight of their eyes upon him, and 
the lift in his heart which always came when he stood as 
he did now; for the people before the God, for the God 
before the people. The Dha'lev stood outwardly calm; but 
Mor'anh was not deceived. He stopped before him and 
bowed, then stepped closer and ran a hand down his 
nose.


'I greet you, Holy One; and the Lord Ilna greets you, 
and all of the Alnei greet you. We kneel at the feet of the 
Horse. Be merciful, Great One, bear us on your back. The 
moons of winter have passed. Holy One, lead us again 
into your Plain.' The Dha'lev's ears twitched, turning 
towards Mor'anh's voice, and he lowered his head, lipping 
the salt on the proffered palm. The Tribe gazed 
quietly on the God's chosen ones, the King and the 
Har'enh, matched in strength and lordly grace as they




73




spoke together, sunlight and birdsong falling about 
them.


'I am the God's chosen, as you are,' Mor'anh was saying, 
'and I have spoken to Kem'nanh, and asked him to 
guide you where I would have you take us. I tell you this, 
Great One, only that you may know what is in my heart. I 
know you will go only as the God guides you, and the 
Tribe can only follow you, and I am of the Alnei, and 
must go with them. But I ask Kem'nanh this, as a gift; for 
a sign.'


The davlani turned one dark, bloomy eye upon him, 
and made a deep, throaty sound. The young man reached 
up and pulled free the knot fastening picket rope to 
headstall, and stepped back.


'Go forth; and the Lord of Herds guide you!' he cried. 
The re-davel shook his head and sidled, then, certain 
of his freedom, arched his neck and blared his exultation, 
until the hillsides, giving back his bellow, seemed full of 
thunder-throated stallions. He pawed the air and sprang 
forward, his herd streaming after. Mor'anh stood in his 
stirrups to shout, 'The Dha'lev leads! The Alnei follow!'


The column heaved, and began surging forward. 
Mor'anh whooped, and galloped forward with the other 
young men who would escort the holy herd. A new year 
had begun, the Plain was before them; and Winter, the 
great enemy, though he had made some fall had been 
thrown down again.


Dusk had fallen before the Dha'lev stopped and 
gathered his herd to rest; mares and yearlings at the 
centre, the young horses about them, and the young 
stallions outside all. It was yet later before the other 
herds, the ponies and the sheep, the cattle and the goats, 
were settled to their grazing, and the waggons drawn 
into the great triple circle of a one-night camp. They lit no 
Fire of Gathering, but ate, and turned at once to sleep.


The wind of dawn woke most of them before the 
Drum. The air was raw, the ground damp; those who did 
not sleep in waggons were glad enough to rise. They set 
out more quietly that day, the first wildness out of their




blood; but their hearts grew ever lighter as their journey 
went on and the Plain widened about them. The long trail 
could not weary them while the wind of Kem'nanh blew 
about them, scented with the freshness of new grass, 
singing to them of the summer and the plenty to come.


In the deepening blue of the sky the sinking sun 
glowed deep orange, shadowed smokily on one side so 
that it looked round and solid, like a great smooth-skinned 
fruit. Thin streaks of cloud in the sky around it 
caught its colour, as if the rams which drew Ja'nanh's 
chariot had left behind wisps from their fiery fleeces. In 
the darkness of the east, stars shone, and Vani's silver 
brightened. Hega had not yet risen.


It would have been wiser, thought Manui, to stay with 
the other young women, crowded close for warmth; it 
was too cold a night to sleep alone. But she could not stay 
Whre Durai was. She felt shamed in the younger 
womn's presence, touched by a dread she dared not 
admit; the first stirring of the worst fear that a plainswo-man 
could feel.


She unsaddled Otter, and he began to graze. Her bedding 
lay at her feet, but instead of preparing it she stood 
with drooping head, dulled by a great weariness. 'Too 
cold to sleep alone,' she whispered, and laughed bitterly. 
What night was not? 'Great Mother,' she spread her 
hands, 'Great Mother .... ' But her prayer died unshaped. 
Raising her eyes she looked at the silver moon, 
and thought of Runi. Where did she sleep, always defiantly 
alone? Did she never feel the weight of the night 
leaning on her, never dread the cold silence of the lonely 
stars? Did she not feel time flowing pitilessly over her, a 
fiver that she knew would drown her some day?


A sound made her turn. The white of Racho's mane 
gleamed unnaturally vivid in the dying light; he looked 
unearthly. Mor'anh said, 'I thought I would never find 
you.'


'Why were you looking?' He laughed, and her breath 
shortened. Resentment stirred; she sought to crush it and 
said, 'What do you want?'




75




He smiled; she saw the gleam in the dusk. His coat was 
open, baring his deep chest. She seemed to feel already 
the hard strength of his body. There was a roughness 
under his voice, like pebbles moving beneath a stream. 
'To know if you will share my cloak tonight.'


He came close, reaching out to her; and at once her 
body was crying its hunger. It was as if even her flesh 
obeyed his will and not her own. He had no fear of 
denial. And suddenly many thoughts--of Durai, his confidence, 
her own lifeless womb, Runi--tumbled confusedly 
through her mind. Shame and rage shook her; 
she ducked her head and struck his shoulder. 'No!' she 
cried. It was a stifled scream. 'No! No!'


She heard herself, horrified. Mor'anh recoiled, astounded 
by her fury. 'Manui! Manui, what is wrong?'


She took it for surprise that she should refuse him, and ù
her anger swelled to swallow him. 'Nothing is wrong! 
Need it be? Must I have a reason not to choose to lie with 
you? Even if it is cold; is that why you came?' He tried to 
speak but she would not let him. 'Do you expect a welcome 
always? There is nothing wrong, I just do not 
choose to share your cloak. Leave me alone; leave me in 
peace. I do not want you, that is all. Go away!'


She stopped with a gasp, and stood taut and trembling. 
There was a still moment, then he turned and mounted. 
'Whatever I have done to make you angry, I am sorry,' he 
said stiffly. 'And if my going pleases you more than my 
staying, I will go.'


'Go, then,' she whispered, standing with face averted 
until he had left; then she sank to her knees, pressing her 
fists against her mouth. Her anger spent, she shook with 
longing and misery. 'He loves Runi; he lies with other 
women; why must he come to me?' she whispered. She 
knew she had hurt him, and it doubled her pain. 'Did I say 
I did not want him?' she asked. 'I said I did not want him. 
How could I say that?'


For the first time since her childhood she lay andwept 
that night, for she saw her life clear-eyed, and her heart 
failed. Even if Mor'anh never won Runi her own 

happi


76




ness was not certain; and what chance could there be that 
even Runi could refuse him for ever? Then how frail 
seemec] the hope she lived by; yet if that hope failed, 
what life at all was there for her?




The tents were raised, and the Fire was lit; the Alnei had 
made their first camp of the year. It was a good place, 
made more beautiful by the blossoming bushes which 
grew theremore blessed too, they hoped, for many 
shrubs were the Goddess's holy galya. But though 
Mor'anh had scouted far beyond the camp, north and 
west, the horizon of the Plain remained unbroken. Yet, 
he told himself, there was time between the Moon of 
New Grass and the Moon of Burning Trees for many 
things, This year, more time than in others, for spring 
was early.


Leah!ng beside his father at the fire that night, he said 
to the lord, 'I wonder what the Plain is like in winter. I 
should like to know how it looks.'


Ilna laughed. 'You have seen snow.'


'In the hills, yes.' He shifted, his eyes wide and 
thoughtful. 'But think of it here; flat and wide and empty. 
I wonder how deep it lies? Does it keep its whiteness all 
winter? I am sure more falls-here. I should like to see it. 
One winter I will not go to the hills, I will stay here.'


'And wrestle with the Old Woman? You will not find 
her so easy to cast down as the tribesmen. What of Racho? 
And what would you eat?'


'Ve that is true. But I would like to do it.'


'But you would like to follow the river, too,' said Hran, 
turning to look at him. 'And more than once I have heard 
you say that you would like to spend a summer with 
another tribe. You are as full of wild schemes as a boy.'


'Well, so long as I act always with the judgement of a 
man, is that a bad thing? You laugh at what I say of the 
Tribes; do you not want to know more of them? This year, 
we camped near the Eregei. We know which words they 
say strangely, we know the name of their lord, they gave 
my father a beautiful coat.' The Eregei bred fine goats, of




77




whose hair they wove a white, silky cloth. 'Last year, we 
saw the way the men of that tribe piled up their hair. our 
years ago, we were beside the Kar'denei: what do you 
remember of them, Hran?'


'I remember the men carried falcons, and would hunt 
with them.' He chuckled to recall it; the Alnei considered 
that hawking was for women.


'You see, it is so little we know. In a summer, a man 
could really learn to know a tribe.' They laughed, shaking 
their heads at him. 'Ah, do you never feel that one life is 
not enough? There are so many things to do.'


'But all these schemes--Mor'anh, you would have to 
leave the Tribe!' Hran sat up and faced his friend, who 
looked crestfallen. 'How far would you be taken? Would 
you leave the Plain?'


Even to speak the idea was so preposterous that all 
three men laughed. Khentors knew the world was wide. 
They did not think that the sun shone only on them and 
the life they knew. Tribes who had wandered east had 
told of spending a whole summer within sight of trees as 
vast as grass, and how the Plain came to an end at last. 
They had all heard that beyond the mountains lived other 
yellow-haired men, who were not Kalnat and were yet 
stranger in their ways. And very far in the south, unimaginably 
far, there were people whose life was so strange 
that the Khentor tongue had not words to tell of it. The 
Alnei knew this was true, because in Mor'anh's childhood 
a man from this people had come among them; but 
other plainsmen heard it like the work of a wonderful 
storyteller. They spoke of this place by the word their 
guest had most often used of it, 'The Cities', but the name 
had no meaning for them.


Yet though they knew of the world beyond the Plain 
and loved to hear tall tales of it, few felt stronger curiosity. 
Their sense of destiny was strong. They were 
Kem'nanh's children, to whom the Gods had given the 
Plain. Other places were not their concern. Besides, 
though there might be wonders, who could see them but 
a man who left his Tribe, and who could do that? A man




parted from his Tribe would be like water taken out of the 
river--he would sink into the ground and vanish.


Ilna smiled down at his son. 'You will do none of these 
things. You will be the Lord of the Alnei after me, and 
you will have a tribe to picket you.'


Mor'anh bent his head in assent, but said nothing. 
After a moment he changed the subject. 'We will eat fresh 
meat tomorrow.'


'You will take a hunt out so soon?'


'There is game. I have not been idle today, I have found 
it.'


'You must give the wild herds time to grow fat, to 
increase.'


Mor'anh chuckled. 'Was there ever a father who believed 
his son was a man? I am the Hunter of the Alnei, 
father, for the third year now.'


'That is a long time indeed,' said Ilna gravely. Mor'anh 
made th wrestler's sign of submission, smiling. Hran 
said, 'Terani, how long have you been our Lord?'


'This will be the eighteenth year. I came to it when 
Mor'anh was two years old, the year Nai was born.'


It was the first time since her loss Mor'anh had heard 
his father speak her name needlessly. He turned to look at 
him, surprised, and for a moment saw Ilna's face clearly, 
unblinded by familiarity. It was scored with lines. Even 
his cheeks were wrinkled and no longer firm. There was a 
pale rim to the brown of his eyes, and his hair was no 
longer dark hair greying, but grey hair. 'Why, he is old!' 
he thought, shaken. 'My father is old!'


He looked away, suddenly afraid. Ilna's words, 'You 
will be Lord of the Alnei after me,' heard so often, pierced 
him with their meaning. 'I laughed,' he thought, 'because 
he seemed not to remember that I am a man; yet in 
my heart ! am still a boy, boasting to the others that my 
father is strongest of all.' Grief and pity wrenched him, 
and helpless protest. For the first time he wanted to dig in 
his heels and hold back the turning sky.


He stood up abruptly. 'Hran!' he said, 'Hran, is not this


he time
to dance the Grass Dance?' Hran rose, agreeing,




79




surprised at his urgency. Ilna laughed: and it seemed 
terrible to Mor'anh that his father should laugh when his 
own heart was weeping for him. He shook his head 
violently, and slung on the drum.


Most drums were played sitting or kneeling, but the 
White Wolf preferred the long drum, which was slung 
from his shoulders while he straddled it. He began the 
beat, and the dancers sprang up. He heard Ralki's cry of 
laughing rage, and grinned without mirth. Change, he 
thought, time and change; where is Ralki the Dancer, 
nimble and graceful, the first girl I wanted, the first 
woman I courted? Slow-footed and big with child. Is this 
what a horse feels, when first he knows the weight of a 
rider? His drum beat more fiercely. The dancers' feet 
flashed, their bodies whirled past his eyes. Mor'anh 
bowed his head, pouring his heart into his drumming, 
and the taut skin roared under his hands. Where did the 
summer go? My father is old!


The girls danced close together, arms twining shoulders, 
with quick delicate steps; swaying, rippling, showing 
the grass how to grow thickly, deep and rustling. The 
men shouted and leapt, higher each time, urging it to 
grow tall. Lifegiver, do not fail us, prayed the dance: live, 
live and feed us, be strong, grow green, stand tall. Life, 
cried the music, life, life; and Mor'anh's blood cried with 
it, though not to the grass.




9




herd of the beasts called the Grey Cattle 
had cropped a wide area of grass close, 
and now grazed quietly, unaware of the 
eyes upon them. In the scrub the other 
hunters crouched, concealed among the




longer, coarser grass, and the tough, 
bitter-tasting stems of yellow flowers. Mor'anh studied 
the prey. They were big animals, taller and longer-limbed 
than cattle, heavier than deer, a dusty colour with 
striped flanks. The skin hung loose about their shoulders, 
where in autumn they would bear a hump of fat. 
They had thick, heavy horns, curving down beside their 
faces and then forward, like pale hair parted at the crown. 
From time to time one raised its head to look about, or 
another dropped to the ground to rest. Among the big 
animals moved small, dark shapes, and Mor'anh 
grimaced as he saw them. These little deer often sought 
shelter among a herd of larger beasts, and, being quicker 
of mind and body than their companions, might give 
warning of danger. They were antlered, and had long, 
soft ears drooping by their cheeks; when pricked, they 
looked absurd on the dainty heads, but few sounds escaped 
them. However, they were so small they were not 
lawful prey, so had little fear of men.


The herd was large. Mor'anh calculated, then signalled 
to his companions to kill two animals apiece. He slid




81




three arrows into his belt, and fitting the fourth to his 
bow, took careful aim. It was important that the first arrow 
should kill instantly, without sound; in the brief pause 
Before alarm spread, a skilful archer could bring down 
another.


He loosed his arrow, and heard on either side the faint 
whip of bowstrings and light drone of arrows in flight. 
Along the fringe of the herd young bulls staggered to 
their knees with at most a faint grunt, almost all shot 
exactly behind the shoulder. The hunters had their second 
arrows on the strings instantly, and Diveru, the 
swiftest of them, had shot his second when his first had 
barely found a mark.


But one man, Halnu, was unfortunate. The fine bull he 
had marked dropped down to rest in the instant he released 
the bowstring. The arrow sped harmlessly over his 
back, and pierced the throat of a pregnant cow beyond. 
She fell with a choked lowing, and blood gushed from her 
mouth. The long-eared deer beside her leapt into the air 
belling delicately, and the whole herd took fright. The 
bull Halnu had chosen lurched snorting to his feet, 
and the man seized another arrow for him. Diveru, 
Mor'anh, and two others managed to bring down a second 
victim, but Halnu's arrow, aimed and loosed much 
too hastily, was no more fortunate than his first. It took 
the bull in the flank, and the animal swerved, bellowing 
in furious pain.


Shamed and angry, and horrified at having killed the 
cow, Halnu leapt to his feet and sprang into the open. 
Fitting another arrow to his bow he ran forward, but the 
wounded bull was faster. It turned out of the stampede 
and charged Halnu. He tried to evade and failed; the horn 
took him in the side, and as they sprang to their feet the 
other men heard his scream, and saw him go down under 
the hooves.


A cold sweat of terror broke from Mor'anh as he seized 
his spear and ran forward, out-distancing the others. The 
bull was turning, bellowing, to trample Halnu. Arrows




82




struck it, but it seemed not to care. In a voice like its own 
Mor'anh,roared warning, daring it to harm one of his 
men. He swung back his spear and prepared to throw, 
then even as his arm tensed he saw the bull swing round, 
leaving Halnu, and charge him. There was no time for a 
spear-cast. He took a grip on the shaft and braced himself. 
The animal ran itself onto the point where he had 
directed it, between neck and shoulder bone. The force of 
its rush struck Mor'anh down; he felt the earth jerked 
from his feet, the spear bucking under his arm, bruising 
'his side. He trailed from the shaft, his heels kicking for 
enough foothold to keep him off the ground, clinging 
grimly to avoid falling under the hooves. There was 
bawling confusion as the bull tried to reach Mor'anh 
along the length of the spear; then it pitched to its knees, 
and a hot rush of blood over his legs told Mor'anh it was 
dead.


After a moment he got stiffly to his feet and walked to 
the other men. 'Halnu?' he said, 'Does he live?'


He knelt down by the injured man. Calling to mind all 
that the Healers had told him, he felt Halnu carefully. He 
had several broken bones, and a large split bruise on his 
head, but the worst was the wound in his side. By good 
chance the horn had had a broken tip, so that it had torn 
his flesh, not pierced it. But the tear was deep and ugly, 
and bleeding fast.


Halnu groaned and opened his eyes. They did not 
wander, but gazed up at Mor'anh wide with pain. He 
reached across with his unbroken arm to feel his side, but


Mor'anh took his wrist and gently put his hand away. 
'Leave it. Can you feel your leg?'


Halnu nodded, and tried to smile. 'Too well,' he said 
hoarsely.


'And the other leg, can you move it?' The man flexed it 
a little, and Mor'anh nodded. 'It is not as bad as it might 
have been. Derna, ride swiftly and tell Mnevenh and 
Lal'hadai what has happened. Hran, bring one of the 
slings here.'




83




They were as gentle as they could be; but the journey 
back could only be an ordeal, and he was unconscious at 
the end of it. Maybe it was as well for him, for Lal'hadai 
had to clean and stitch his side before the edges of the 
wound hardened, and there had been no time to prepare 
one of her drinks. When that was done, Mnevenh the 
bonesetter was waiting. But Mnevenh was strong and 
skilful, and there was a quietness about him which drew 
away fear, as many said his hands had power to do with 
pain, drawing it out of their limbs. Halnu's wife had 
come by that time. She did not weep; Khentor men could 
weep without shame, but not a woman. They lamented 
for grief, and so Nusani would have done had she found 
him dead; but he lived, and there was enough to do 
without wailing. The tears were shed by his children, 
gathered from their games by the news; so, there beirg. 
no other help he could give, Mor'anh took them away to 
comfort them.




When the boy came calling to Halnu's wife, the other 
women stopped their work and began talking, shocked 
and agitated. Only in the shadow of an accident that had 
already happened was it safe to voice their constant fear 
for their men. Curiosity at seeing them talking so 
energetically drew Runi aside to join them and hear the 
news. She was interested but not much moved; and those 
who were most shaken found relief in turning on her.


'This is what hunting is, you see,' said one. 'It is not a 
game the men play. Now do you see why the Young Lord 
will not take you? Is there not danger enough for our 
men, without you adding to it by your folly and your 
pride?'


'I am not afraid of the danger!'


Another woman snorted. 'No; why should you be? 
You know well enough that Mor'anh would never let 
harm come near you. If you drew peril by your wilful-ness, 
do you think the men would let you face it? No, 
alas; it would be they who died. No, Runi, I never 
thought you were risking a goring. Vech! If I thought that




86




would happen, I might add my pleas to yours, that you 
should go!'


Manui looked round, startled by the malice in the 
woman's voice. She thought suddenly, 'Why do we hate 
her so? I have cause, but they cannot have. Why is it?' But 
Runi seemed not to care, only hunching her shoulders 
disdainfully, and sitting down.


'Runi!' said Ralki, between scandal and amusement.


'Did you ask Mor'anh to take you on the hunt?' 
'Well, what is funny? They take the boys.' 
'You did not really expect that he would do it?'


She looked round at them. There was laughter on their 
faces, and she bridled. 'Oh, I was not surprised at his 
answer. Vani knows, he does not like the banyei.' But it 
was an. ill-aimed shaft. Women who had watched the 
Young .Wolf flirting with their little sisters laughed mockingly, 
while Manui said, 'You are not saying he cannot 
judge who may hunt?'


He was the Hunter of the Alnei, and the chosen of the 
Lord of Herds. To deny his judgement was too much. 
Runi shied from it. 'Oh, I would not dare. We all know 
what a mighty hunter Mor'anh is. No man can bend the 
bow he bends, nor wield the spear he wields.' She spoke 
derisively, though at random, and was pleased to see the 
colour come up into Manui's cheeks, while others glared 
tight-lipped; and though she did not understand why 
some smothered shocked giggles, it gratified her. 'Never 
does his hunting fail. Never do his weapons fail him. The 
quarry seems hardly to flee him. No, it waits for his 
spear, it seems, as if it wished to die---does it not, 
Manui?' She saw the woman press her lips together 
firmly, but before that she had seen them tremble, and 
her angry heart rejoiced. 'Even,' she added spitefully, 
'the game he does not particularly want!'


All around her women turned with angry cries; and 
Manui whirled to face her, as pale as she had been 
flushed, dropping her work at her feet. For a moment she 
could not speak; but when she did, her voice was steady.


'Why make a riddle-game of what we all know, Runi?'




87




she said quietly. 'Mor'anh loves you; and that he does is 
my grief as much as his. But I do not see that it is matter 
for your mockery.'


For a moment they stared at each other, but though 
colour rose in Runi's cheeks, her eyes did not waver; and 
facing her beauty, Manui felt the bitterness of her own 
inevitable defeat, and turned away. The other women 
did not watch her go. They looked at Runi, and she met 
their hostility smiling.


'One day, Runi,' said Ralki angrily, 'you will sting 
yourself with that poisoned tongue you have, and die of 
it.' But Runi. only laughed.




Vani waned, and was new, grew to the full, and waned 
again, while Hega more slowly waxed to her pride. On 
the first day of the moon called the Moon of Yellow 
Flowers, the Alnei lowered their tents and went north. It 
was a long wandering; seven days the Dha'lev led them, 
from first light to sunset, before he found a place to please 
him.


Hran had not escorted the God's herd; arriving with 
the waggons he went in search of Mor'anh, surveying the 
ground as he rode. It was uneven, moulded into hills and 
hollows; and as he trotted across the likeliest place for the 
tents, on the long low slope of a hill, where the morning 
sun would strike, he felt uneasy. Halting Ranap, he 
looked about him.


The short flesh grass was bright with yellow flowers, 
but his memory was seeking a different mingling of gold 
and green. The river cast a wide loop about the hill and 
the level ground beneath. Hran stared at it, then rode to 
the brink. It was brimming, the hurrying water glittering, 
but he saw in its bed a shallower, clearer river, 
drinking the mist of an autumn morning. Moving along 
it, he recognised one place then another. But he held off 
belief as long as possible; until he turned to face west, 
and looked at the pattern of the mountain peaks. His 
throat tightened, and his heart swelled; he felt it throb




heavily many times, before he urged Ranap on. He knew 
now where to find his sPear-brother.


Mor'anh was standing beside Racho on a hill-crest, 
and did not look round. Hran had come with words on 
his tongue, but they died, and he too was silent as he 
stared away to the dark walls and pale roofs of the Golden 
People's town. They were working in the'fields around it; 
for a moment Hran looked for a man in a red tunic, but 
there were many. Then he turned his eyes to his friend. 
Mor'anh was smiling, a glad terrible curve of a smile, 
while his cold eyes watched the gate which had framed 
his last sight of Nai.




89




10




his is your doing!'


Ilna's voice shook. His hands opened


and clenched over and again. The light 
flickered as he passed through the column 
of sunlight leaning down from the 
opened roof, then turned and strode jerkily 
back. 'You have done this!' Mor'anh said nothing, 
only watched him. He was sitting on his bed, leaving the 
stool to his father, but Ilna did not use it. He stopped by 
the king-pole and took one of his son's spears from the 
rack, staring at it unseeing. Mor'anh watched his hands, 
working on the shaft.


'You are to blame.' The spear rattled back into the rack. 
'You meant this to happen. You brought us here!'


Mor'anh spoke at last. 'My father, you speak in anger. 
You say what you cannot mean. Sit down, my father; be 
calm and consider.' He waited until Ilna, yielding, sat 
heavily and faced him. Then he went on less formally, 
'Father, how could I bring us here? How could I force the 
Dha'lev to choose one place or another? Did I mount his 
back and bridle his head? If I could, I would not dare. I 
follow the Dha'lev, as we all do; only the God may guide 
him. Wherever we go, it is the will of Kem'nanh takes us 
there. It was you who taught me that, when I was a child. 
How then can you say that I meant us to come to this 
place?'




'You are the Har'enh of Kem'nanh. You have the ear of 
the God.'


'No; I have th favour of the God. He speaks to me; but 
I do not know if he listens to me. I may pray, but is he a 
feather, to be blown from his own way by my praye, rs?'




Ilna stared at him, baffled by the undeniable truth of 
his words, feeling that it was not so simple, shamed by 
the young man's calm. He tried to keep hold of his anger, 
but it was slipping away.


'It was your desire drew us here. How, I do not know. 
But since they took Nai, your heart has been picketed to 
that town.' Mor'anh said nothing, only looked steadily at 
his father, his black eyes a door Ilna could not enter. The 
lord sighed, lifted his hands, and let them fall.


'What will you do?'


ù Mor'anh thought, 'He knows. He feels what I feel. He is 
Lord of a Tribe, nd Kem'nanh speaks to him too. He sees 
the shape of thins as clear as I do, but it makes me glad, 
and it makes him afraid.' He felt a remote pity. 'If I were 
old, I too would be afraid,' he thought, and tried to 
believe it.


'I will do nothing. What is to happen is in the hands of 
the Gods; and the Golden Ones.' He smiled, but it could 
not reach Ilna, who rose to his feet.


'I have watched the men who try to wrestle with you, 
Mor'anh, and proud of my son I pitied them. Now I feel 
for them more. I cannot match you. I am Lord of the 
Alnei, and I cannot command my son. You say to me, 
"Let what will come, come!" as if it is an easy thing; but 
the days come down on me now like a stampede of bulls.' 
He raised his head. 'You think I am old and timidah, 
yes!--but you are not a father. You speak for the God: but


I roust think of my people, and stand before them.' 
'But, they are my people too! Father--'


'Father?' Ilna's quiet voice cut in, and the twist of the 
word silenced him. 'Father? Yes, I have been a father to 
you. I have reared you and loved you; taught you and 
trained you.' Mor'anh listened dumbly, feeling the approach 
of a grief strange to him, strange to his people. 'I




91




gave you your spears; I showed you to the Dha'lev when 
you were born. But who it was quickened the spirit that 
is in you, I do not know.'




They were showing some little loys how to make and 
throw a noose when the Kalnat summons sounded. Hran 
turned swiftly to Mor'anh; but he seemed unmoved. He 
went on talking to the children as if he had no other 
interest, and only when they had trotted away swinging 
their ropes did he say 'Shall we go out?' He spoke as if he 
hardly cared, yet there was almost a smile in his eyes. 
Hran wondered at it. A year before, Mor'anh had met 
even a mention of the Golden Ones with anger; now, 
with real cause to hate them, he seemed to welcome 
them.


When they joined the other men, Ilna was talking to the. 
spokesman. Seven other Golden Men sat in the great 
painted dray which had brought them; the floor was 
shoulder height to a plainsman, and carved seats were 
placed on it. At the back stood the boy with the metal 
horn. They were drawn by five yoke of red oxen; gay 
fringed cloths covered their backs, and their short horns 
were painted in stripes of red and blue. The men wore 
bordered cloaks and tunics, bracelets gleaming on their 
arms.


Hran saw Madol at once. He was not wearing the red 
tunic, but one of yellow bordered with brown, a long 
blue cloak on his shoulders. Hot, painful hatred rose to 
choke him; he felt his blood grow rank with it. Madol did 
not know them. His blue eyes scanned them without 
interest, as he talked to the only other bearded man 
present. Nor did the man talking to Ilna seem to recog-nise 
them, though Hran knew him for the one who had 
received their tribute. He looked for the tall man, but he 
was not there. His eyes returned to Madol. This was Nai's 
man. She tended his fire, cooked his food, lay with him; 
maybe the clothes he wore had been made by Nai. Each 
thought was torment, but he was greedy for the pain,


92




anything to slake his thirst for Nai. He stared at the 
Golden Man, wondering if a woman would find that 
squard browh face pleasing, if Nai was a willing captive 
now and sang by his fire. Was he perhaps hating something 
that was precious to her? But no, that was not 
possible. That could not be possible.


His demands delivered, Haniol climbed up onto the 
wain. The driver shouted, and the curly-polled oxen 
lumbered forward. Mor'anh, watching the cumbersome 
vehicle turning, smiled. 'They are the same,' he thought: 
'So much is changed, I thought they would have too. But


' they are the same.' He watched their calm arrogance, that 
regarded oxen and tribesmen in the same spirit. They 
had not changed.


Hran, his eyes still fixed on Madol, took a stride after 
the w.aggon, then stopped. He turned to Mor'anh, who 
stood watching him with a faint, approving smile. Hran 
waited, expectant; but Mor'anh only said, glancing 
scornfully after them, 'Is that a way for a man to travel?'




The tribute-day was grey and cold. The Golden Ones 
huddled their cloaks about them against the fingering 
wind, with no sun to brighten their pale hair. Hran 
looked down on them, then swallowed hard, trying to 
empty his mouth of the bitterness of fear. He was angry 
with himself, for there could be no reason to be afraid. He 
looked at Mor'anh's impassive face, and dread twisted 
him again. His friend's calm confused him; it was not 
reassuring. It was like the stillness of a hovering eagle.


He balanced a roll of furs on his shoulder, hiding his 
face from his companions, and went down the slope. The 
wind had sharpened, and the Kalnat put up their hoods. 
Hran could not fail to see that on a windy day there was 
something ridiculous about men who were wearing 
tunics, but hooded, they gained menace, and the two 
impressions jarred.


But they could not hold his mind for long, when he 
knew who was in this town. He waited a little apart,


93




keeping the furs on his shoulder, and turned warily to 
look up at the walls. A section was under repair; alternate 
stakes had been removed, and a pile of new logs lay 
nearby, but no one was working there. Through the 
spaces he could see a little of the town. That was good 
luck undreamed of.. The sour juices had gone. His mouth 
was dry now, and he could not get enough air. He scanned 
the wall eagerly, knowing his hope almost too frail to 
stand, but intent nevertheless on the broken view of an 
open space within the town. He moved away, but the 
Kalnat, blinkered by their hoods, did not notice. Hran 
had forgotten caution. He gazed, and then it was as if the 
weight of his longing had pressed a hollow that must be 
filled, or the singleness of his passion had borrowed a 
god's summoning power: for he saw a woman, small and 
dark, walk into the open.


The furs fell. Gaining the gapped wall, he grasped two 
stakes and stared between them, unable to find enough 
voice to call to her. She had changed. She had changed so 
much, it was hard to say how he knew her. Much of her 
beauty was gone. She was heavy with child, near her 
time, and they had cut short her glorious hair. The shapeless, 
unbleached dress she wore, pressed by the wind 
close against her body, was ugly and shaming, and without 
her tight-laced Khentor dress her breasts had sagged. 
She seemed little more than the embers of herself until, 
before he could speak, she stopped, looked round and 
saw him.


'Nai,' he said, his pain dissolved by the wonder and 
joy in her face. 'Nai.' He stretched his hands through the 
palisade, and she came towards him with awkward 
swiftness. Little of her former grace was left to her, but as 
their hands met again Hran cared for nothing else. The 
hair that had been cut about her shoulders, too short to 
braid and falling about her face, gave her the look of a 
young girl, shocking above her pregnant body; but the 
face it framed looked older, thinner, with lines it had 
never worn. Her mouth and shadowed eyes had grown




harder, aged by more than one winter. Her bare arms 
were puckered with cold, and stained with the marks of 
bruises. Hran thought, 'It was because of her beauty that 
he took her; why then has he tried to destroy it?'


She closed her eyes and leaned her head against a 
stake. 'Hran,' she said between laughter and grief, 'Hran, 
do not look at me. You have not changed, and I have. I am 
ashamed.'


'Have I not changed? I should have. I have waited long 
to look at you, Nai. Do not ask me to stop now. Nai,' he 
could not say her name often enough, the pledge of her 
presence, 'Nai, you are unhappy?'


'What else could I be? Are you happy?' He shook his 
head, and she laughed shakily. 'I am a hard-hearted 
lover, my leopard. Through these moons my worst fear 
has been that you might be less unhappy than I am, that 
you might have been comforted. But I-Iran,' she tightened 
her grip on his hands, trying to move closer, 'Hran, 
if you stopped loving me, I could not bear it!'


'Never, never!' He was shaken by her desperation. 
Seeing the pleading in her eyes he felt for the first time 
that he was the stronger, and even at such a moment 
there was sweetness in it.


'What is it like, Nai, in there?'


'It is terrible. I cannot tell you--you cannot dream what 
it is like. It is a--a hard place. I am so lonely, Hran. I only 
have Marat, his sister... There is no comfort in these---houses.' 
She frowned over the word. 'And the winter; it 
was terrible. I have never been so cold. I thought ! would 
die. And I miss you, Hran.'


He would ask, though the words stuck. 'Your man--I 
saw him. Is he good to you?'


She looked at him, then shook her head and leaned her 
cheek on his hand. 'Fie might be, if I let him. But he is 
angry, because he knows I hate him.'


'Is he not pleased that--that you--about the child?'


'Yes! He is so proud, I laugh at him when he is gone! 
He has no cause!' There was a feline fierceness in her




95




eyes. 'Hran, I am Har'enh of the Mother! Do you think I 
would let a man quicken me unless I chose? I carried this 
child when I came here.'


Delight flooded him. Leaning against the stockade he 
had forgotten the Kalnat, the tribute, forgotten everything 
but Nai, her hands, her voice, her face. He felt no 
urgency, only a vast happiness.


'But it troubles me that he will be born here,' she was 
saying; 'I may lay him in the lap of the Mother, but he will 
not be shown to the Dha'lev.. ù Hran. Hran, why are you 
smiling?'


'Am I? I do not know. Because you are here. And 
because you do not love your Golden Man. Nai, it has 
been a long winter.'


She smiled gently. 'Tell me the news of the Tribe. Greet 
my father for me. And Mor'anh.' Suddenly her fingers 
hardened. 'Tell Mor'anh it is true!' she whispered. 'Say I 
hear it too. And tell him they will not let me be quiet. He 
will know.'


But at this reminder of their meeting's brevity Hran 
was shaken with panic, and pressed against the unyielding 
trunks. 'Nai, the days have been long without you, 
and there is all my life before me. I want you more than 
spring and more than morning. How shall I live, if we do 
not meet again?'


'We will! We will! Hran--!' But then she screamed. 
Without that warning, the blow could have killed him; 
even so, he was sent sprawling on the ground, sick and 
dazed. A blond giant stood over him, shouting. Though 
Hran's spinning head could not make out the words, he 
understood the spear levelled at his breast. He tried to roll 
aside, but his stunned limbs would not obey him. Yet no 
blow came; and as his head cleared he saw Nai, her arms 
stretched through the wall, clutching the spear-butt, 
shouting wildly. Hran began to scramble up as the man, 
crimson with anger, turned on Nai. 'You scrawny 
whor' he said, and drove the butt viciously into her 
chest. She choked and fell back, winded; but Hran was 
on his feet, and wild with rage.




With a dancer's leap, unerring, he kicked the man's 
wrist so that the.spear fell from limp fingers, and landed 
poised to spring again. Though no Mor'anh, he could 
wrestle, and he was past weighing his sacrilege. The big 
man had no defence against his whip-crack swiftness, 
and crashed to the ground. Hran fell with him, but 
twisted clear and sprang up again, heeding neither the 
other Kalnat watching in disbelief, nor Nai's desperate 
pleas that he should flee. He waited for his enemy with a 
wild elation he had never felt before. The furious Golden 
Man was up again and rushing on him. Hran stepped 
forward, bent, and threw him over his back, turning 
swiftly on his heel. Swiftly enough to see how awkwardly 
the man fell, and to hear his neck break.


For several heartbeats there was complete silence. 
Then a Golden Woman rushed up to the palisade, stared, 
and' screamed.


Hrn was aware of a sudden burst of sound, of Nai 
almost shaking the stakes as she called to him, but he was 
numb. He could only stand staring at the great body 
sprawled at his feet, limbs limp, fingers curled, open eyes 
blank as pools that mirrored the sky--a blue sky, another 
sky than the one over Hran. He was dead. It was not 
possible. He had killed him. Awe and horror engulfed 
him, and a terrible grief. There had been so much life; 
and he had destroyed it.


'Hran, run, oh, run!' cried Nai despairingly. But he did 
not move, and she cried with all her power, 'Mor'anh!'


Hran looked up then, roused by the anguish in her 
voice. The Kalnat men were coming with raisei spears, 
consuming the slope with their long-legged strides, 
eager to revenge their fellow and to punish the 
plainsman's mad impiety. They were before, and the 
wall behind. Flight was impossible. In despair Hran 
snatched the dead man's spear, not even thinking how he 
could use it. Along the wall behind him women's voices 
called the men on. Hran clutched the spear and prayed for 
courage..


Then Racho leapt the ditch and came up the long slope




97






as if the storm wind had taken a body, wounding the 
ground that had never known hoofprints with his savage 
speed. He swept past the Kalnat so close that one man 
fell, and his flashing heels kicked earth back at them. 
Hran sprang forward as the horse whirled before him, 
and Mor'anh stretched a hand to swing his friend to the 
saddle. Hran would have let the spear fall, but Mor'anh 
seized it. Yet all the while the Young Wolf's eyes were 
busy elsewhere, searching the wall for his sister. They 
exchanged one brief intent look, their faces blank of 
emotion. But as Racho galloped away Mor'anh drew a 
long shaking breath and let it out in a deep sigh.


The other plainsmen were mounted and riding away; 
the tribute animals wheeled and cried, then turned to 
follow. On the ground where the Golden Ones had stood 
to receive their due, only the hides and furs remained, 
and a dead man by the wall.


Hran, wrapped in his horror, knew little of the ride 
back to the camp, hardly knew where he was until they 
were standing, a mill of steaming horses and shouting 
men, in the centre of the camp. Ilna was in front of him. 
'What happened?' he was saying. 'Quiet! Quiet, all of 
you! Hran! What happened?'


Hran slid from the saddle and stared at the aging, 
half-afraid face. 'I have seen Nai,' he said loudly, and 
they were quiet. 'I killed the Golden One. He hit Nai; and 
I, I killed him.' He saw Ilna's face collapse, and his own 
terror overwhelmed him. He fell to his knees and covered 
his eyes. 'I killed him!' he cried. 'Oh, Kem'nanh! 
Kem'nanh! I killed him!'




98




11








n the dusk when the fire was first lit, 
Hran met the Lord before his tent. The 
healing woman had given him a drink 
which had made him sleep most of the 
day, so that the morning's happenings 
had retreated from him a little. Having 
just risen he felt a little unsteady, and the evening seemed 
colder than usual, 'Terani,' he said. 'Your daughter bade 
me greet you for her.'


Ilna stood quiet, his face turned a little away. 'Did she?' 
he murmured. Then, 'And I did not see her, not even 
from far off. How did she look?'


The ordinary question, springing from feelings he understood, 
soothed Hran. 'Not well,' he answered sadly. 
'She is big with child, but she looks thin, and much older. 
They have cut her hair.'


Ilna sighed. 'Then I am glad I did not see her. I will 
remember my daughter as she was. To see your child 
suffering, and to have no power to help, is the worst pain 
I know. But I should not ca//her my child, and she looked 
for no help from me. When they took her, she called for 
you, and for her brother, before she called on me. Is it not 
so?'


'Not quite, Terani. I was not first. It was Mor'anh she 
called to first, before either of us.'




'V, it may well be. From the time they were small, 
there was no getting a grass-blade between them.'


She called to Mor'anh first, thought Hran, but it was ! 
who killed the Golden Man for her sake. And beneath his 
pain there wriggled a glowing worm of pride, and he 
could not quite crush it.


The Young Wolf put back his tent door and came out 
smiling. Ilna hesitated, then turned away to take his place 
at the fire. 'Mor'anh,' said Hran. 'Nai gave me a message 
for you.' The words sounded foolish, and he stumbled 
over them. 'To tell you it is true; and she hears it too; and 
they will not let her be quiet. She said you would understand.' 
He paused, and went on, 'Also, I think I must be 
purified.'


'It is certain you must; but we will speak of that in the 
morning, in the Tent. Wait, Hran, I have something Of. 
yours.'


Hran stood puzzled until his friend came out of his tent 
again. 'Here,' he said, arm outstretched. 'This is yours.'


Hran recoiled a step. 'What is it?' he said, though he 
could see plain enough what it was. The firelight turned 
its blade to flame.


'It is the Golden One's spear,' said Mor'anh. 'It is 
yours. Take it.'


Hran shook his head. 'I do not want it. You keep it.'


Mor'anh looked at the spear, but shook his head regretfully. 
'No, I have no right. Take it, Hran. Here.'


Half unwilling, Hran put his hand to the shaft, and 
looked at the weapon. It was taller than he was. The shaft 
was of pale wood, smooth as bone. The long blade, with a 
broad point and straight sides widening into shoulders, 
shone warmly, and the metal that sheathed the butt was 
figured. It was very beautiful.


'No other man has such a spear among all the Horse 
People, so I should think,' said Mor'anh.


Hran weighed it. The metal sheathing, though it made 
the weapon feel light and easy in his hand, did not 
exactly balance the blade. 'It would not throw well,' he 
said, trying to find fault where truly he could see none.




100




'It is not made to be thrown. It is not a hunting spear.' 
Hran turned it about, watching the light catch it, 
brighter t the honed edges, shadowed in the groove 
along the centre. 'How shall I use it, then?'


'Is it not enough to look at it? It is very beautiful. It 
could only be used as the Kalnat would use it.' Hran met 
his eyes and saw there a look which appalled him. 'They 
made it for killing men.'




It was a hunting morning. Mor'anh had risen long before 
sunrise to pray before Kem'nanh the Hunter, and was 
with the other men at the river while it was still dark. 
Vani was sinking behind the mountains. In her light the 
snowy peaks seemed to float free of the dark mountains, 
shapes of calm airy beauty: until as she sank they became 
only a jagged darkness against the fading silver. The men 
bathed in silence. The Dawn Salute sounded as they were 
coming u out of the water. The snows kindled, and the 
green mountainsides were folded with shadow.


Hran stretched his limbs, enjoying the warmth; the 
water had been achingly cold. The other hunters were 
keeping a little away from him, but on this morning he 
did not really mind. He knew why they kept a distance: 
he had become something strange and terrible, a man-killer, 
in whose ordinary-seeming hands a dreadful 
power was hidden. Guilt could be purged in the ordeals 
of the two Tents, but knowledge could not, and they 
feared him. It had hurt him at first, but not today. He was 
content with the sun, the ordinary world. He had just 
passed through his purification, and the bright morning 
was all he asked.




Mor'anh said, 'The smell of the Tents clings to you, it 
seems. It will pass.'


Hran thought, 'It is the smell of death,' and wondered 
if it would pass, but he said nothing. This was something 
Mor'anh seemed not to understand. The dread that made 
men draw back from him Hran could accept, for he felt as 
they did. What hurt and horrified him was the look he 
saw on some faces, of envious awe.




101




Kariniol paOsed, gazing ahead of him. The sun's low rays 
flooded his face and bared head with gold. He raised his 
arm in salute.


'Akrol, Soul of Light,' he whispered, 'have mercy on 
us. Do not deal with us as our folly deserves.'


He walked on as the other men reached him, fitting his 
helmet to his head again. But Keratol had caught the end 
of his prayer, and said angrily, 'Folly? What do you 
mean, Kariniol?'


'Only that if we must do this'


'If we must! Would you let the savage go unpunished?-He 
killed Deram, remember?'


'I know, yes, it cannot go unavenged. I do not wish it 
should. But I still say that it would have been better to go 
as we always go, not like this.'


'Unarmed? In peace? And just ask them to gve the 
murderer to us? Are you a fool, Kariniol?'


'When did we ever"just ask" a thing of the Wanderers? 
We would demand him.'


'And you think they would give him?'


'They might. How can we tell? What do we know of 
them?'


They laughed scornfully, and he set his mouth. 'What 
do we know?' he thought. 'All we know is what tribute 
they can provide.' And he felt sure that whatever the 
power they had over the tribes, it lay in awe, not fear; but 
his companions disagreed.


'A show of force will impress them far more.' 
Kariniol looked around. Fourteen men: two, Keratol 
and the Master's downy-chinned son, with helmets and 
breast-plates of metal; the others, like himself, with 
leather armour. All bearing wooden shields on their 
backs, spears, and daggers. 'Force,' he thought. 'We are


not even carrying our swords.'


'And what force are we?'


'You speak as if we were going to war! This will be 
enough for them.' He saw Kariniol's ironic look, and his 
face darkened. 'In Akrol's name! They are the Wanderers! 
Are you afraid of them?'




102








'No, I am not! No more than I fear the cattle on th 
mountain; but'that does not mean that if I see my bul 
scraping his feet I will throw stones at him!' Now they ali 
joined the cry of disgusted anger, and his temper rose. 
'All right! I will tell you why I do not think we should gc 
like this, and it is not only because I do not think that we 
shall frighten them. It is because I do not think we should 
give them lessons, when it seems there are some among 
them who are willing to learn!'


There was a pause; then their leader laughed derisively. 
'Ach, one madman, one. And him we will take 
and kill, and that will be their lesson, and an end of it.'


Kariniol smiled dourly. He had not expected to be 
heeded, and maybe after all he was wrong. But he enjoyed 
one last cut at Keratol.


'So, we will take him. Do you know, Keratol, which 
on to take? Do not make a mistake, or they might know 
you are only a man. Who killed Deram? How will you 
know him?' Keratol looked startled. He had given it no 
thought. Kariniol laughed mockingly. 'Well, I shall tell 
you. He is the tallest of them, he rides a red horse, and he 
has a bunch of red feathers in his hair. Let us hope that is 
enough. You fools, if we mean to do more than tithe 
them, it would be wise to look at them more.'




The wind of dawn had fallen; there was scarcely enough 
breeze now to ruffle the bright feathers in Hran's hair, or 
to roll to the hunters the heavy smell of the flat-antlered 
deer.


Hran watched Diveru, who was leading this party; 
Mor'anh with the other was two bow-shots away. He 
raised his bow and took aim, loosed, at Diveru's signal, 
and rejoiced to see his buck fall. A faint breeze moved 
against his cheek as he fitted another arrow. Then, 
through the herd, animals flung up their heads with faint 
snorts and moved forward briskly, but without much 
fear, until they saw their fallen comrades. Then they 
cried, and began to run.


Diveru cursed, swinging his bow to try for another




103




victim, then gave up. He came behind the other men to 
Hran. 'They scented something,' he whispered, his eyes 
bright with eagerness. 'A leopard, maybe?'


Hran laughed silently. They all knew how Diveru 
longed for a leopard skin. But before he could reply, there 
rose the sound of a ram's horn, beating the air: Mor'anh 
was telling them the hunt was over. Hran went forward 
with the other men to retrieve his arrow from his kill. He 
stood a moment, looking thoughtfully upwind, and 
wondered what the scent had been. Not a leopard, or 
they would have been more afraid.


Curious, he walked forward. The grass grew very tall 
there, in great dark clumps sprouting silver plumes taller 
than a man on horseback. He trod carefully, but caught 
no sign or scent of danger that he knew. Then he came 
round a huge fountain of grass-blades, and meta Golden 
Man.


He was too astonished to shout; and the young man, 
whose head and chest were covered by shells of red 
metal, dropped his spear and clamped his hands over his 
mouth to stifle his own cry. Then Hran was seized from 
behind. He gave half a cry before his mouth was stopped, 
and he began to struggle.


Mor'anh was trotting towards Diveru's party when he 
heard Hran's cry. He gave a shout, and sent Racho galloping 
towards the sound. He saw the other men leave their 
tasks and follow, then he was within the grove of great 
grass. He shouted, 'Hran!' and snatched a spear from the 
quiver at his knee. Then Racho burst between two 
clumps and Mor'anh saw what seemed a horde of Golden 
Men, all strangely clad. On the far side of the cleating 
Hran struggled, held by two men; and one of them, 
seeing Mor'anh, pulled the long dagger from his belt.


There was no time to consider. Giving a fierce cry he 
galloped straight on, towards the man, levelling his 
spear. Behind them a man screamed. What followed was 
too swift to understand. He glimpsed an astounded face, 
there was a shriek, and his spear jerked out of his hand.




104




Racho stumbled and recovered. Glancing back he saw 
Hran,,his fight arm free, seize his hunting knife and turn 
on the man who still held him. Mor'anh wheeled Racho.


The man he had ridden down lay dead. His hide 
breastplate could turn many blows, but Mor'anh's spear 
had had the power of a galloping horse behind it. 
Another Golden Man was running towards Hran, and 
Mor'anh kicked Racho into a gallop again. The man 
checked, seeing them bear down on him, then turned 
with a shout of fear. It was the sweetest moment of 
Mor'anh's life, and he rode him to the earth. Then the 
other hunters came bursting through the grass.


Hran's bewildered young captor wailed and released 
him, his arm slashed to the bone; Hran darted to join his 
fellows. One man levelled his spear and ran forward at 
him, .then fell with a scream, Mor'anh's spear piercing his 
thigh..The Golden Ones fell into a brief confused panic. 
They ran to form a line, shoulder to shoulder, to fight in a 
way they understood, facing Mor'anh on his dancing 
horse and the tribesmen behind him. Then Keratol and 
another man, fired by fury and pride, gripped their 
spears and charged. Diveru raised his bow. Keratol 
choked, faltered, and fell with Diveru's arrow through 
his throat. The other man gave a hoarse cry, dropped his 
spear, and clutched his shoulder, staring at the feathered 
shaft between his fingers.


A taut silence followed. Mor'anh stared at the line of 
Kalnat, then glanced at the hunters. Their faces showed 
nothing but watchfulness. He dismounted and ordered 
Racho away. Hran snatched a spear as the horse passed 
him, but Mor'anh stood unarmed in front of the tribesmen. 
The only sound was the muffled groaning of the 
man with the wounded leg. Mor'anh thought, 'Five of


them are down, and not one of us is hurt.'


He spoke. 'Who is chief among you?'


Wordlessly, Kariniol pointed at Keratol. Mor'anh 
glanced down, then caught a movement and raised his 
head sharply. 'Do not move,' he said, 'or you will lie as he




105




lies!' He could almost hear them drawing breath, he saw 
their shocked anger, but the stir died. Other men besides 
Diveru had fitted arrows to their bows. At his side Hran 
balanced a spear. He looked back at Kariniol.


'Who will speak for you?' The men shifted, glancing for 
a moment at the other man wearing metal, but he shook 
his bent head, clutching his arm, blood spurting between 
his fingers. 'We all have voices,' Kariniol said at last. The 
Young Wolf nodded, and took a step forward, Hran at his 
side. 'Why are you here?' he said.


The tense line of Golden Men slackened a little. One or 
two of them caught back their arrogant bearing. One man 
pointed at Hran. 'For him,' he said. 'He killed Deram. We 
have not forgotten him. He must be punished.'


'He has been punished. We have our own laws. He has 
suffered for what he did. It is past.'


'It is not past! We have not taken our due!' And another 
man shouted, 'How has he been punished when he still 
lives?'


Mor'anh looked at the man who had spoken, then from 
face to face. 'To please you, he must die also? You would 
have taken him from us to kill him? You thought we 
would let him go?'


He wished he dared look at the Alnei. Kem'nanh, he 
prayed fiercely, Kem'nanh, keep their reins in my hand. 
Yet if their faces betrayed anything, the Kalnat had not 
seen it.


There was one man in whose eyes there was no doubt 
or unease, only anger at the Wanderer's daring. 'Yes, we 
would have taken him,' he said. 'We would have taken 
him and taught you all what price is put on a man of ours. 
But you would not always have lacked him, herd-boy. 
We would not have kept him. We would have sent him 
back to you, bit by bit.'


The air tightened. Hran swallowed painfully. 
Mor'anh, staring at the Kalnat in a way no Khentor had 
ever before dared, answered scornfully.


'And did you think we would have waited




106




while you did this? Did you think we would not come 
and take him back?'


His voic rose. He felt his people's wild amazement, 
but fury burned his veins. Kariniol tried to intervene, but 
from folly or bravado the same man 'jeered, 'Maybe he 
would not have wanted you to come. Life would not be so 
good to him. We would have taken his eyes first--or his 
manhood--'


There was a stunned silence. Hran gasped, and felt 
himself turn white. Then Mor'anh gave a deep wild cry, 
and striding forward aimed a blow at the speaker, his 
arm swinging straight from his shoulder. His doubled 
fist struck the side of the Golden Man's head, and with a 
faint grunt he fell.


An eager shout rose from the plainsmen. The relief 
helped Mor'anh wrestle down his rage. He looked at the 
other Kalrat, and saw their levelled spears, and the fear 
darting in their pale eyes. He gave them a look of scorn, 
turned his back on them and walked to the tribesmen. 
His eyes gave them all the command they needed, and 
others raised their bows. He turned again.


'Lay down your spears.' They hesitated, and his voice 
grew fiercer. 'Lay them down. Tall man, show them 
wisdom. We are hunters, we do not miss.' After a moment 
Kariniol threw his spear to the ground, and then the 
others followed. 'Derna, gather them up.' The young 
man ran forward eagerly. Mor'anh stared at the tall man. 
'We will not harm you. We will take you to our tents, and 
tend your wounded. When they are enough healed, you 
may take them away.' He still spoke directly to Kariniol, 
and a tremor of anger crept into his voice. 'You will not 
take Hran. We do not need to be taught what price you 
put on your friends; we know how we value our own!'


They might have resisted still, if a leader had rallied 
them, shaken as they were; but authority had passed to 
Kariniol, and when he told them to yield they did so, and 
turned to their wounded comrades. The Young Lord 
stood over the man he had wounded, while they took the




107




spear out of his leg, and kept a stern face, though his 
stomach clenched. Then he went to retrieve his other


spear.


Mor'anh looked at the man he had killed. The helmet 
had rolled off his head, and he could see his face. He was 
not young. There were lines about his eyes and mouth, 
and the hair at his temples was thin. His head was bent 
back, and his chin stuck up oddly. Mor'anh stared at him 
in silence, and wondered what sort of life he had ended. 
It had been such a brief thing, that wrench on his spear, 
but he could never know all it had done.


The spear stood up from the man's chest. There was a 
moist stain on his leather corselet. One hand was curled 
around the spear, the other, fingers splayed around the 
shaft, pressed against his chest. Mor'anh put out a reluctant 
hand to grasp his spear, then pulled his hand back. It 
felt so firm, so--embedded, and the dead man's hand 
seemed to grapple with him for it. A cold sweat pricked 
him; he shook with fear and disgust, then grabbed the 
shaft and pulled fiercely. The body moved horribly, jerking, 
monstrous. Loathing and panic filled him. Then 
with ghastly abruptness the spear came free and the man 
rolled back. Dropping the spear Mor'anh doubled over 
and was sick.


After a while he felt Hran's hand on his back: His 
stomach ached with heaving. He straightened and shook 
his head. 'Did anyone see?' he said hoarsely, wiping his 
eyes.


'No,' said Hran. Mor'anh's colour was returning. He 
took up the spear with only a slight flinching, and 
cleaned it, then turned to Hran with a grimace. Hran 
said, 'What shall we do with the dead?'


He swallowed. 'They must carry them back to the 
camp.' The nausea was passing. He walked back to the 
other men. The Kalnat were gathered, sound men supporting 
the wounded. Diveru was staring down at the 
body of Keratol. He too had lost his helmet; thick, curling 
golden hair was spilt about his head. 'I thought it was a




108




leopard,' remarked Diveru, startling Mor'anh. His dark 
eyes considered the dad man calmly, without remorse. 
Then he stooped, and cut off a thick lock of yellow hair. 
He bound it around the neck of his spear, giving Mor'anh 
a brief hard smile. And Mor'anh, though his gorge rose 
again, smiled back at him with a sudden hot delight.




109




12




t was a strangely quiet gathering about 
the Fire. So many moods were flowing 
through the Tribe that Manui felt almost 
ill with them. Awe at the Golden Ones' 
presence had cast this stillness on them 
all, but within the calm they seethed with




.guilty excitement, and dread, and scared defiance, and a 
bitter triumph. Manui suffered all these at times, but 
mostly a dismayed confusion. It seemed wrong that the 
stars should turn in their accustomed dance above a 
world so shaken.


Manui raised her head and looked at the Lord. Ilna was 
like a carving, staring into the fire, his hands clenched on 
his knees. His face was impassive, but in him was something 
pity dared not approach, and she looked away. 
Across the circle from her sat the Old One. He was smiling 
to himself as he rubbed his beard. Diveru was near 
him, and Manui shivered to see him. The Kalnat spear lay 
unobtrusive at his feet, only the very edge of the blade 
flickering in the firelight, but his hunting spear was stuck 
uptight beside him, and the lock of hair bound there 
swung and shone.


What must the Golden Ones feel, seeing it? She turned 
to look at them. They sat near Ilna and his son, surrounded 
by every comfort the Tribe could offer, fleeces 
and skins and cushions, a screen to keep the wind from




110




their backs, gay blankets and warm pelts to cover them. 
The glowing light enhanced what the Tribe still accepted 
as their beauty. Manui blinked at them, and sought out 
the wounded she had helped tend. The boy, though his 
wound had been easiest to dress, looked the worst. He 
lay with closed eyes, drawn and exhausted. He had lost 
much blood, but most of his weakness was misery. The 
man whose thigh had been speared sat with his leg stiffly 
before him, his face grim with pain. From time to time he 
gave a faint grunt, and his shoulders jerked. Manui 
would have pitied them if she dared, but it seemed too 
great a blasphemy.


Nearest to Mor'anh sat the very tall man, their apparent 
leader, in the eyes of the Alnei the most splendid of them 
all. Manui studied him, trying to guess from his face at 
his natUre. But their features were so strange that their 
expressions were impossible to understand, as im-penetrat)le 
as their words.


Her eyes slipped past him to Mor'anh, his sombre 
Khentor face to her blasphemous eyes more beautiful 
than the whole race of Golden Men. He alone, the heart of 
the storm, sat calm and relaxed, resting his arm on his 
bent knee, aloof and assured. Yet the sense of strange 
incalculable peril hung most thickly about him, so that as 
she looked at him all other emotions receded, leaving her 
with fear only, cruel consuming fear.


The stillness of the Alnei did not displease Mor'anh. 
He had expected it, and was well content that at the end 
of such a day the Kalnat should find themselves amid this 
uneasy quiet, the object of all eyes. Only his father's 
frozen hostility distressed him. He put his hand down to 
touch the spear lying beside him, and smiled a little, 
watching Hran as he knelt talking to Yom, his father. 
Though possession of a Kalnat spear pleased him, he 
would leave it in his tent most of the time, and so he 
guessed would Diveru; but even now Hran was leaning 
on his, the blade flaming above him. He was called the 
Long Spear already, much as Mor'anh was called the 
Young Wolf.




111




Kariniol's eye too was caught by the bronze blade; and 
whenever he looked away from that he saw instead 
Keratol's hair swinging gently in the firelight. While he 
saw them, he could not forget that though they sat here 
like honoured guests, in an empty tent nearby two of 
their number lay sewn tightly in leather shrouds.


The quiet oppressed him. He longed for walls about 
him, logs burning on a hearth, a roof against the night, 
and only one or two others in the room. So great a gathering 
of people unnerved him; he would have expected 
each family to keep to its home. What drew them together? 
How could they bear so many others around 
them?


He was cold. The cloth of his tunic did not keep out the 
wind as leather did, and pride kept him from wrapping 
one of their blankets around himself. He looked up at the 
sky, and shivered. He had never seen a sky so vast. By 
day it was impressive; but at night it was staggering, 
crushing. He had rarely been outside the town by night, 
and then only on the mountain, where a man did not 
stand exposed to the whole sky. Here it was not only 
above them, it rose up like walls from every side. And 
here the crowding stars did not stand still, as they seemed 
to do when seen only in glimpses. They moved as he 
watched, plunging across the darkness, slowly but perceptibly 
changing their pattern. It made them seem 
frighteningly alive, a watching presence.


He felt himself grow dizzy, drowning in the depths of 
heaven. Pulling his gaze away he stared at the ground, 
evading the massed faces of the Tribe, and the dazzling 
activity above and around him. His eyes were daunted; 
but his ears could not be stopped. In the quiet he heard 
noises from beyond the camp, the voices of the Plain. 
Some, near at hand, he recognised as cattle or sheep, but 
the first time horses called to each other it shook him. But 
those that came out of a greater distance he did not,now, 
and his mind worked uneasily on them. He refused to ask 
what they were, but after one especially harsh and savage




112




cry the man beside him stirred uncomfortably and said, 
'They can't all be tigers.'


Karihiol answered only by a short laugh; but Mor'anh 
turned and said, 'You will not hear a tiger; he hunts in the 
Deep Plain, he would not often come here. That was 
dunesh, that last call; he is a small bear, but he makes a 
big noise.'


Kariniol nodded, and searched for something to say; 
but then came a sound he did know, a shivering howl 
which froze him. Yet to his amazement, the stir through 
the Tribe seemed one of pleasure. He turned to Mor'anh 
and said, 'That was a wolf!'


'Yes.' He gave an almost mocking smile. Far off, the 
wolves howled again, many this time. The fierce clamour 
stopped the Golden Men's blood, but the tremor that ran 
through the Alnei was not fear. One of the tribesmen 
flung back his head and answered them. The mimicry 
was perfect, and Kariniols spine turned to ice.


'B. ut--wolves!' To the Kalnat they were the essence of 
fear, the very symbol of peril. 'And yet your people seem 
glad!'


The plainsman smiled again. 'They are our brothers. 
This is the Tribe of the Wolf. It is pleasant when they 
greet us.'


'And you do not fear them?'


Mor'anh shrugged. 'This is not winter. There is food 
for them in plenty. The wolf is nothing to fear.'


'Nothing to fear,' thought Kariniol. To him, wolves 
must be outside a strong wall and locked gate, and then 
the mere sound of them was terror. Yet these people sat 
here defenceless, and listened to their howling with pleasure. 
The sky, the Tribe, both unnerved him; but outside 
the camp and under the stars was the Plain itself, most 
terrifying of all. He had looked at it from the mountain, 
limitless space without boundary or landmark. Yet 
Mor'anh spoke of the Deep Plain as if this were hardly 
the Plain at all. And on this they lived, wandering over 
the emptiness, making no settlement that could keep the




113




desolation out. This where he sat now, this was still the 
Plain; and when they were gone the grass would grow tall 
again and drown the memory of their camp. They left no 
traces behind them, and their frail lives hardly marked 
the land they lived on.


He was overwhelmed with terror and shame. 'What 
fools we are,' he thought, 'what fools. They live amid all 
this: and we thought to scare them with a show of force!'




Kariniol sat alone. His companions wearied him. Save 
for Sunam, whose broken thigh absorbed all his mind, 
they were either shattered by fear, or obsessed by indignant 
rage. Once more he was excluded, but he no longer 
cared much for that. There were few whose contempt he 
did not return in full.


Morning made his surroundings more tolerable.-By 
daylight the camp seemed more solid, the Plain less immanent, 
and the Alnei were less overwhelming going 
about their work than at the Fire of Gathering. The other 
Kalnat would return having learned nothing of the Horse 
People. Indeed, they hardly saw them. But Kariniol 
watched them with interest. It was for some reason surprising 
to find that the Dark Ones led lives of their own 
which went on out of sight of the Kalnat, that they had 
c;ther faces than the one they showed their masters. Even 
the sunlight astonished him. In his imagination the 
plainsmen had always lived in a stormy twilight, enduring 
cold and hunger. To find the truth so different was 
disconcerting.


They treated their captives with deference. The adults 
kept their distance; but during the morning every child 
in the Tribe came to stare. There were children 
everywhere. He had never seen so many. Their daintiness 
charmed him. He had known that plainsmen were 
small, but never thought what their children must be. 
And they had none of their parents' reserve. They clustered 
near him, grinning and giggling, laughing hilariously 
when he tried to speak to them in their own tongue.




114




As they overcame their awe they sat down around him, 
tryin, g to talk to im, and pointing out his oddities to each 
other. His bare legs, to his faint discomfiture, seemed to 
fascinate and appal them. The children of his own people 
kept their distance from adults. These played their games 
around and even through the groups of working women 
or talking men, confident of indulgence and affection 
from them all.


'A stranger is a great wonder to them. There has not 
been a stranger among us since I was nearly as small as 
they are.'


Kariniol looked up, and saw the young man who had 
led the hunters; the man who had killed Darinol, and 
wounded Sunam, and felled Kuniol. The children withdrew 
at once, bowing. Even the Kalnat recognised him 
and fell silent, then moved further away. The young man 
sat iown before Kariniol.


'I am Mor'anh, the son of Ilna, Lord of the Alnei,' he 
said. 'May I know your name?'


There was no need to tell him. Plainsmen called Golden 
Men 'Lord', though this man had not even greeted him 
so. They did not exchange names. Yet something impelled 
him to say 'Kariniol'.


'Kariniol,' repeated Mor'anh. It sounded strange in his 
accent, and Kariniol shivered, feeling suddenly vulnerable. 
The plainsman bowed his head gravely, and said,


'I greet you, Kariniol. You are welcome to the tents of 
the Alnei.'


He spoke with no trace of irony, but even his courtesy, 
as if to an equal, was insolence. Kariniol, meeting 
Mor'anh's eyes, was disconcerted to find himself beginning 
to smile, and quenched it.


'The yo,ung one, he with the beard, is he stronger this 
L morning?


For some reason the ,question astonished Kariniol, 
:maybe because th, e youth s collapse moved him, to scorn 
as much as pity. He grows stronger, I believe, he said 
coolly. Hearing more in the tone than in the words




115




Mor'anh looked at him and laughed. It was a laugh of 
understanding, in which the other man was invited to 
share, and reluctantly Kariniol grinned.


'That is a thing which seems strange to us. He is the 
youngest man among you, and the only one with a beard. 
Why is that?'


'It is because he is the Master's son--the son of our 
Lord. He is a noble--that is, he was a lord when he was 
born.'


'But you do not have a beard, Kariniol.'


'I?' Mor'anh raised his brows at Kariniol's surprise. 'A


beard? I have not the right.'


'But you are the leader.'


He stared, then began to laugh painfully. Their leader? 
So the Dark Ones took his isolation for lordly aloofness! 
He wished there was someone with whom he could share. 
the bitter joke. Their leader!


Mor'anh was watching him enquiringly. He shook his


head. 'No, I am not the leader.'


'You speak for the others.'


Had he done so? Maybe, though even to remember the 
previous day was dangerous. 'Here, maybe. We are all 
strangers here.' It sounded weak, but could he say, 'Most 
of them would not stoop to speak to you?' Certainly not to 
this strangely imposing young man. 'But they will not 
hear me when I speak at home. Mine is the least of voices 
in the Council.'




He was annoyed to find that it cost an effort to disown 
this borrowed dignity. Mor'anh watched his face with 
the unnervingly dose attention of one trying to follow a 
strange language. 'Why is that?' he said.


Kariniol hesitated, but evasion was demanding.


'I am new in the Council. I have no land, but my 
wife my woman--has, and now I speak there for her. I 
have no voice of my own. A man who owns no farm--' he 
saw the frown at the meaningless words, and searched 
for others, 'a man who--who has no land to care for--who 
grows nothing--cannot speak in the Council. And a 
bastard is not allowed to own land.'




116




Mor'anh frowned again. The word on which Kariniol's


tongue fell with such angr, weight was unknown to him. 
'Basthrd? What is that?


'I have no father. He never took my mother for his 
wife.'


'How then was he your father? How did you know 
him?'


He looked intrigued, but explanation was utterly beyond 
Kariniol, who gestured hopelessly and shook his 
head. After a moment Mor'anh dismissed it and said 
curiously,


'And this--bastard: it is a bad thing to be?'


'A hard thing. It is to be a child who is mocked, a man 
who is scorned. It is to be alone; my father was a stranger, 
and my mother's kin would not know me. And no man 
would give me his daughter. Sadanat, my wife, was a 
widow. It is to be poor. I could not farm, nor even choose 
the work I should do. I am a weaver, a maker of cloth.'


Many of the words escaped Mor'anh, but the bitterness 
in Kariniol's voice told him enough. 'Then your people 
lose by their folly. I speak to you as their leader, Kariniol.'


Half the Golden Man's heart was hot with anger at 
being given the approval of a Wanderer as if it were an 
honour, but he bent his head and said, 'I am listening.'


Mor'anh said quietly, 'Your people have done wrong. 
They will suffer for it. You have brought a great evil upon 
yourselves.'


Kariniol looked confounded. 'What--!' Mor'anh gestured 
him to silence. He said,


'Because of you, I and my sister lead a divided life.' 
For a moment Kariniol doubted his ears. And there 
.w. as such majestic condemnation in Mor,'anh's tone, as if 
ms private grief were a crime against heaven.


'Your sister?' he said stupidly, 'Because of us? How?'


Mor'anh's brows arched in haughty surprise. 'You do 
not remember?'


And suddenly, frighteningly, Kariniol did remember, 
and cursed his slowness. Why had he not recognised 
them? He saw again, vividly, the father's grief, the girl's




117




despair. He remembered Mor'anh's look, which his eyes 
could not endure.


'The Dark Witch,' he said. 'Madol's slaveMadol's 
girl. She is your sister?'


Mor'anh watched him carefully, and a bitter smile 
touched his mouth. Kariniol told himself that 'slave' 
could not have been understood.


'She was taken at the last tribute. So you had forgotten? 
I thought you would remember.'


'I had not forgotten. I did not know you again.'


'I remember you. It seemed to me that you told--the 
other man--to let her go. I do not forget that. I thank you.'


Kariniol shrugged uncomfortably, still shaken by the 
astonishing accusation 'Because of you, I and my sister 
live a divided life.'


'And you grieve for her?'


The lift of Mor'anh's head was impatient. 'Hran 
grieves. My father grieves. They only love her.., it is not 
good that we are parted. Our spirits are torn. It brings a 
curse.'


Maybe the strangeness of the language veiled his true 
meaning; Kariniol hoped so. If not, this arrogance lay 
next to madness.


'Because you and your sister are apart?'


Mor'anh considered him thoughtfully. It would be 
hard to explain. To his own people, he had never needed 
to try.


'It is not a small thing. Can you understand? We are of 
the same kind. Nai is Har'enh of the Mother, as I am of 
the God.'


'Of the God? You--are you a priest, Mor'anh?' It was 
what he himself had wanted. He had had no other desire, 
but bastardy disqualified him. And this now must be the 
final humiliation; to look on a Wanderer and to envy him.


'I am the Priest, yes, and Nai Priestess. But to be 
Har'enh... That is another thing. It is to be one who is 
taken--whom the God fills--2


He stopped. More he could not say. But Kariniol was




118




thinking of Ma. dol's complaints of his concubine's 
moods, and feeling chilled.


'It is not our pain, Kariniol, that brings the curses. It is 
the anger of those who chose us.'


The Golden Man was silent. Ideas he would have 
mocked at home seemed possible, reasonable, here. And 
Mor'anh's assurance commanded belief. Dread stirred in 
his heart.


He raised his eyes to the Young Lord. 'What is to be 
done?' he asked quietly.






Give 
Nai back to us.'
Kariniol 
looked at him fixedly. 'Give her back' 
he re,p, eated hesitantly. Mor'anh nodded. 
'
No more is needed. Send her back and all will be 
well.
All will be as it has ever been.' As he spoke he 
really believed it. 'Speak to the man who took her. Speak 
to your 
Council.'
The Kalnat leaned his brow on his hand. It sounded 
so simple. He could see how easy it must seem 
to Mor'anh. But he saw with equal clarity a picture of 
himself proposing to the Council that they should forgo 
vengeance and that Madol should restore the girl, and 
he shuddered. Simple: yes, it was simple. But for it to be 
possible, the world would have needed to be different from 
the 
beginning.
'I will try, Mor'anh,' he said at last. 'Akrol help 
me; I 


Will try.'


119


13




ariniol gazed with dreamy pleasure as 
the young girls whirled silently past his 
eyes. Their faces were calm and rapt. All ù
the dance lay in the intricate graceful 
movements of their arms and the slight 
rippling of their outspun skirts. They




danced without sensuality. One of them even to foreign 
eyes was astonishingly lovely, but Kariniol could admire 
her with unshaken calm. No drums beat to disturb the 
maidens' passionless serenity. They circled the fire for 
the twenty-seventh time, then lowered their arms and 
drifted away into the gathering. The charmed silerfce 
dissolved.


Kariniol glanced at the other Kalnat, and caught 
Sunam's eye. To his surprise the wounded man smiled 
faintly. He was in deeper disfavour than usual, for talking 
to the tribesmen; a fact which made him think with 
deeper hopelessness of the promise which already 
weighed on him.


'Not much like the last one?' grunted Sunam, and 
Kariniol nodded. The previous dance, by the men, had 
been a rhythmic flaunting of agility and strength, and he 
had felt awed and shamed. They were so hard. Their lithe 
muscular bodies carried no useless flesh; their waists 
were as taut and firm as their shoulders. Yet they were 
supple, too, seeming able to ask anything of their limbs.




120




The leaps they made in their dancing confounded him. 
He wa sure that the only man in his town who even 
approached such fitness was the young man who would 
take the chief part in Akrol's yearly feast; and he was set 
apart for a year, serving the shrine and training for his




Perhaps it is eating so much meat, he thought, wryly. 
The Kalnat, who lived mostly on corn-meal, were finding 
so much flesh hard to stomach. They only ate it at feasts. 
That the tribesmen ate little else, like their dressing in fur 
and leather, gave an odd air of luxury to their lives.


The dancing, it seemed, was over; but there was still 
light, and some of the young men began wrestling. It was 
not possible that the Young Wolf could then long keep his 
place at Ilna's side. He sat talking to Hran and his father, 
resistio, g the wrestlers' calls for a while; but at last he 
stood tp and pulled off his coat. A shout of acclaim 
greeted him, and his face flashed briefly with laughter. 
He stripped off all his ornaments but his embroidered 
wrist-bands, then barefoot and with trousers twisted up 
and fastened just below his knee, he stepped forward to 
join the wrestlers.


Manui looked at him poised to meet his first opponent, 
at the ease and power of his beautiful scarred body, and 
shivered with desire. She clasped her hands tightly, tensing 
herself, but her blood sang, and her loins grew molten 
with longing. She bent her head and laughed to 
herself, half ashamed and half delighted. He had asked to 
come to her that night, but still she hardly dared to expect 
him; it had only happened once before, that he had come 
to her three nights in succession. It had been so long. 
Since her rebuff, he had slept away from her every night, 
until the Kalnat came. She recalled how he had sat before 
the Tribe as if doubt never came near him; but he had 
sought her that night for comfort as much as for 
pleasure---because what he had done appalled him, because, 
she knew, he could not spend a night alone with 
the thought of the man he had killed.


Kariniol watched the wrestling with interest. The




121




dances he enjoyed without understanding; but the Kal-nat 
made an art and a mystery of all the skills of fighting, 
and this was something to which he could bring his 
judgement. It was strange to him; spells of poised stillness 
and bursts of acrobatic movement almost too swift 
for him to follow. The wrestling he knew was a contest of 
weight and strength. Even this, the Dark Ones seemed to 
make as. much like a dance as they could. Glancing aside, 
he saw with amusement that most of his companions had 
forgotten their pretence of seeing nothing, and were leaning 
forward with an attention as close and critical as his


own.


Then Mor'anh stood up, and 'Kariniol forgot to be 
critical. There would be no understanding Khentor 
wrestling from watching Mor'anh, who made it a whole too. 
perfect to be broken into parts; but there was the keen 
enjoyment of watching supreme skill. Kariniol kept silence 
until the last bout; but then Mor'anh snatched 
victory with a move so deft and unexpected that he could 
not restrain a shout of approval. Mor'anh laughed, holding 
up his arms; then suddenly turned and stepped up to 
Kariniol, stretching out a hand in invitation.


The Alnei were instantly quiet. Kariniol sat astounded 
and dismayed. He looked from Mor'anh's outstretched 
hand to his face, and saw there only laughter, a challenge 
made half in jest, a gesture of friendship; so why he 
ghould feel misgiving he could not say. To refuse, to draw 
back before the Tribe, was difficult. He looked uncertainly 
at his fellows, and sorr, e of them hissed to him to 
stand, to lower Black Cloak's crest and give him a taste of 
earth. He stared at Mor'anh again, doubting his openness, 
distrusting the sparkle of his eyes; but he could not 
hold back without shame. Slowly, hiding his reluctance, 
he stood up.


Under the shout of delight and fear Ilna groaned, heard 
only by Hran. Kariniol listened to the satisfied voices of 
the Kalnat with angry disgust. Could they not see that 
even in victory he would look a fool? He was head and 
shoulders taller than Mor'anh, and half as heavy again.




122




Iiþ




There was no honour to be gained by defeating him.


Hran rose and went to Mor'anh. 'Are you a fool, my 
brother?' he whispered, but the Young Wolf's eyes only 
flashed with excited laughter. He flexed his shoulders 
and shook his arms, turning to face Kariniol. The watchers 
grew quiet. The wrestlers eyed each other; Kariniol 
stepped forward and lunged at Mor'anh; and the Kalnat 
bayed eagerly.


And then Kariniol knew what he had done. He had 
opposed himself to the master of a skill of which he knew 
nothing. Size and strength were not enough. The weight 
that should have borne Mor'anh down he avoided catlike, 
and only a slight jerk brought the big man to his 
knees. Then as they closed again Kariniol realised with a 
shock that his advantage of strength was less than he had 
thought. His body was unaccustomed to such use. He 
could rot command it as Mor'anh could his, could not 
keep hisreath or his balance. He was big, but not hard; 
weaving was not work to turn flesh to muscle. And he 
was pitted against muscles of leather, against arms and 
shoulders that had mastered bulls, and thighs that had 
learned their strength from stallions.


He understood that now, but he knew that the tribesmen 
would not see it so. They saw one of the godlike 
Golden Ones sprawling at Mor'anh's feet. Divinity could 
not survive such humiliation. He heard their wail of 
amazement as earth, stars, and firelight reeled about 
him, and he came crashing; he could almost feel the glory 
falling from him. He had put the majesty of the Golden 
People in Mor'anh's hands, for him to fling to the dust.


When his defeat was final and beyond doubt the Alnei 
gazed in silence as he rose, not even cheering Mor'anh. 
What blasphemy had long stopped short of imagining, 
they had all seen enacted. Kariniol knew that the awe in 
the silence was no longer for him. He carried it as well as 
he could, smiling unresentfully and turning back to his 
place. But the other Kalnat too had felt worship withdrawn, 
and rage and scorn came out to meet him.




123




A great weariness was on Kariniol. He was sick of things 
that were fierce and strange; he longed for his home, for 
his tall calm wife, for his little step-daughter who never 
laughed but when he was there. He endured such a 
morning with his companions that all his bitterness over 
the wrestling was turned against them, and when 
Mor'anh came he did not get the cold greeting he had 
expected. When he asked how the Golden Man was, 
Kariniol answered with apparent good humour,


'Sore and stiff from that wrestling. Your bones are 
stone and your flesh is bronze, Mor'anh.'


Mor'anh smiled and disclaimed. 'It was your own 
strength turned aside, more than mine, which threw you 
down. It is a skill, Kariniol, that is all. I have been learning 
it most of my life.'


Kariniol looked at him. He was naked to the waist: 
'You are not even bruised, Mor'anh. I am black with 
them.'


The plainsman laughed. 'We are horsemen, do not 
forget; the first thing we learn is how to fall easily. But 
this is not what I came to say. It will please you more to 
hear than it pleases me to say, Kariniol, that my father 
means you to go back to your own people tomorrow.'


Kariniol hardly noticed the courtesy. He thought with 
aching gladness of Sadanat sitting quiet in her chair.


'Back to Mald?' he cried.


'Mald? Who is that?'


'No,' he laughed, 'no, not a person. Mald is the name


of our home.'


'Home?'


The Golden Man blinked at the questioning note. 'My 
house---our town. The place where we live. Mald!'


Mor'anh's eyes were bright with interest. 'But the way 
you say itmMald6 .. it is as if it were the name of a person. 
Not as I would say "the camp", "the tent" but as if I 
said--"Hran", "Yaln".'


'Well--!' he was nonplussed. 'It is our home!'


'It is as if I said, then, "the Alnei", "the Tribe"?'


'Maybe; more like that. But--Mald is the town, the 
place, not only the people in it. We are the people, but




126




Mald is something else. We could all go, but there would 
still be Maid6.' He looked at Mor'anh, and saw he still did 
not understand. 'It is our home!'


Mor'anh laughed, shaking his head. 'Words are 
strange. Well, it is as I said. Tomorrow you will go 
"home" to your own people.'


Kariniol smiled, but a strangely desolate feeling 
touched him. He thought of Mald, of the streets where 
even the weeds were familiar and the dogs had worn 
themselves places to lie. He t.hought of his house, with 
the blessing carved on the lintel, the prayer cut into the 
roof-tree and the little clay gods guarding the hearth. 
Home. To the Kalnat, it was the most sacred word they 
knew; but to the Khentors, it had no meaning at all.




The men easing Sunam onto his litter kept apologising to 
him, but he only smiled vaguely, light-headed from the 
drink Lil'hadai had given him with this journey in mind. 
His leg seemed very far away. Others were making bundles 
of the dead men's clothing and armour. Keratol and 
Darinol on their biers lay out of sight. Kariniol stood 
aside with Mor'anh and Hran. At other times, it would 
not have been tolerated that he should watch while 
others worked; but for the present they seemed prepared 
to allow him the dignity the Khentors gave him, and 
willing that he should be their spokesman. Unless, he 
thought, it was just that they thought talking to the Dark 
Ones the most menial task of all.


Mor'anh said, 'You have not forgotten your promise?'


Kariniol shook his head. He had not forgotten; he 
wished he could forget. 'Are we ready to go?' he said.


'We?' said Mor'anh, after a pause. 'Do you wish us to 
come with you, Kariniol?'


He stared, astonished. 'But... I thought. We cannot go 
alone!' Some time before, they had recognised the grim 
fact that there were barely enough of them to carry home 
Sunam and the dead.


Mor'anh said, 'Could we show you the way? The 
mountains are easy to see.'


The other Kalnat were beginning to turn from their




127




work. Kariniol said, agitated, 'It is not that. But we must 
cross the Plain. And we are burdened.'


Mor'anh looked at him. Kariniol thought, 'He means 
we needed no guidance or protection when we came; it is 
true.' But the Young Lord said only, 'It is not far. You 
should reach--Maid6 soon after noon. There will be no 
danger.'


But there was a clamour of protest from the other men, 
and Kariniol ran a hand through his hair. Turning away 
from the others he said in a lower, urgent voice, 'What is 
it? Do you wish to hear me say "we are afraid"? You 
know it is so. Mor'anh, we know now that we do not 
know your Plain.'


The Young Wolf looked at him steadily. 'You have 
spoken as one who means to be heard, and so will I. We 
have not forgotten why you came. You came to kill Hran;' 
a life for a life. Now you have two more men to avenge. 
Kariniol, you I would be glad to call my friend, but of the 
others of your people, what shall I say? We are not fools, 
to walk into the tiger's jaws.'


He smiled, but Kariniol only gave him a harassed look 
and hurried over to the other Kalnat. They talked hotly 
together, while Mor'anh and Hran watched. Angry 
voices were raised, but in a moment Kariniol came back. 
He said abruptly, 'How if we give our word that no hand 
will be raised against you?'


Mor'anh looked narrowly at his tense face. 'What oath 
will you swear?'


'I will swear by Akrol the Soul of Light.'


'You only?'


'We will all swear.'


Mor'anh looked at the other men, then back to 
Kariniol. 'We swear oaths on a spear,' he said at last. 
'Where is yours? I must trust you for the oath, Kariniol, 
that it will bind them. Let them swear now; then you, on 
my spear and on yours.'


When the others had spoken Kariniol grasped the two 
shafts and took his oath. Mor'anh did not understand all




128




the words, but he watched the man's face and was satisfied. 
When Kariniol. had ended he put his own hand to 
the spears. 'Mor'Inkhlen!' he cried, 'Spear of Truth, 
Avenger! Hear and remember!'




It was hardly past noon when they came in sight of 
Maid& A blue haze hung over the town, and the pale 
thatch sparkled. Mor'anh drew rein and leaned forward, 
looking at it as he had done from the same place when 
they came to this camp; as Nai had done from there, the 
day they took her.


Kariniol stood gazing. Mor'anh said, 'Will they see us? 
shall I blow my horn?' 
'Blow,' said Kariniol, and began walking down the 
slope. Mor'anh sounded his horn a few times, then 


looked back thoughtfully at the tribesmen. They had 
been mch amused that the Kalnat were afraid to cross so 
small a sretch of Plain, and by day at that. But though 
they had enjoyed the joke, the Golden Ones had not.


'Derna!' he called as he dismounted. The young man 
pushed forward eagerly. He had been the wittiest of 
them all on the journey. No likeness to his sister showed 
in his face, nor in his admiration of Mor'anh; but it did in 
his tongue.


'We will go to the boundary, but you, Derna, will stay 
here with the horses,' he smiled a little at the young 
man's crestfallen face, 'and maybe while you wait, think 
of the worth of courtesy.'


He took the halter of one of the litter horses and led the 
downhill. Four Kalnat took the biers, the others 
plunged past Mor'anh. There were women, now, running 
out of the gate and down the hill. Mor'anh kept his 
mind on getting Sunam smoothly down to the ditch.


Four men came at once to carry him away. There was a 
great clamour of voices, glad and angry. Kariniol was 
greeting a woman and the child she carried. Mor'anh 
waited, watching him, but he showed no sign of looking 
round. Then almost in chorus, three women began 

weep


129




ing; a thin woman who crouched sobbing by one shroiad, 
an old one who wailed, and a young girl who cried 
desperately, over and over, 'Keratol! Keratol! Keratol!'


Mor'anh flinched. He nodded to his companions, and 
led away the horse he held. The commotion behind him 
grew, while the girl called on and on, wild and monotonous 
as a bird. At the top of the slope he glanced 
back. Kariniol's wife had gone, and he stood at the ditch 
waving. Mor'anh raised his hand, and ttimed to Racho.


Then Dema, feeling he had been treated like a boy and 
shamed, put heels to his horse and plunged shouting 
down the hill. Mor'anh whirled and yelled after him, but 
he did not heed. He would salve his pride and defy the 
Golden Ones; he would break the first law, as the Young 
Wolf had done, and ride his horse within their boundary.


The horse leapt the ditch near the Kalnat. The Khentors 
watched frozen. Dema made a wide sweep over the 
grass, whooping mockery and defiance, then .rode back 
for the boundary. He had almost reached it when a man 
shouted with rage, and hurled his javelin.


The air was driven from Dema's lungs in a deep cry. He 
fell from his horse, which neighed with fear and fled up 
the hill. The tribesmen groaned and surged forward, but 
Mor'anh shouted, 'Stay here!' threw Racho's reins to the 
nearest man, and ran down the slope.


Dema lay on the grass, trying to rise, the javelin by 
him. Mor'anh knelt and put a supporting arm under his 
shoulders. The young man's eyes, amazed and afraid, 
stared up at him. 'What is wrong?' he whispered, and 
groped for Mor'anh's arm. Mor'anh shook his head. He 
did not know what to say. 'Lie still,' he said gruffly, 
returning the feeble grasp of Dema's hand strongly. His 
face was stem and calm. The earth under his knees was 
soft with blood. 'I fell,' said Dema, astonished. Then his 
face contracted with pain, and he gasped suddenly. 
'Young Wolff--You did not tell usYou did not say--!' 
His eyes strained wider; he cried out through his teeth 
and struggled briefly; then he shook, and gave a moan, 
and the life went out of him.




130




Mor'anh felt the sudden weight on his arm. After a 
moment he 1,aid Derna gently on the grass. He could hear 
voices of the Kalnat again, but they meant nothing. Even 
grief held back. He knew only that Runi's brother lay 
dead before him, and how was he to face her?


Kariniol was in agony. The oath was broken. All hope 
of friendship must be at an end, if such hope had ever 
been. He was a fool to have thought of it. There could be 
no friendship now, no trust, no honour; all that ould be 
defended now was the ancient mastery of their people. 
And there knelt the threat to their rule, there alone on the 
grass. Only the memory of words spoken defended him. 
More words, and Mald was free of the threat, and 
Kariniol of the promise that weighed so heavy on him. 
The oath was broken already. And what did any pledge 
matter,'.set.against the danger from Mor'anh? Could he 
consider his.own honour at such a time? Could Mald be 
left in peril, for the sake of his pride, and a dishonoured 
oath?


'Kahuniol!' he shouted, 'Catch him; hold him; don't let 
him escape!' But he did not move himself. The men 
nearest Mor'anh, more than willingly, rushed forward. 
The Young Wolf sprang to his feet, but made no attempt 
to flee. The men grabbed and pinioned him roughly, but 
he did not struggle, only stared at Kariniol in disbelief. 
Kariniol looked aside from his face. 'The killer of Deram 
does not matter. This one is the head and the heart of the 
trouble,' he said. Mor'anh's eyes blazed with scorn, and 
he could not bear it. 'Kill him,' he groaned, 'kill him, and 
all is well...'


He reached for a spear. He would have struck, if only to 
close those black eyes and stop that look of furious contempt. 
But a man snatched the weapon laughing and said 
'Later!'


Then Mor'anh spoke. 'Now I see what the word of a 
Golden Man, and the name of Akrol, is worth. It is a thing 
worth learning, even too late . . . Give my people our 
dead. We did as much for you.'


One of the men picked up Derna's body and carried it




131




over the boundary. The tribesmen were coming slowly 
down, and Mor'anh called out to them. 'Go back!' he 
shouted. 'Go back! Do not come too close!' Kariniol 
groaned, and clenched his hands. 'What could I do?' he 
cried, and met Mor'anh's unendurable eyes imploringly. 
On the crest Racho whinnied, rearing against the restraint 
of the man who held him. The cloak left flung 
across his saddle slid to the ground. Seeing it, Mor'anh 
laughed bitterly. He was glad he was not wearing that. At 
least none of them would have his bear-skin cloak.


They marched him roughly up the hill towards Maid& 
He would not fight. It was hard to bear himself with 
pride, but his rage helped him. There was a crowd 
gathered already, and he would not lower his head before 
them.


The stink of the town, the crowd, smote him at the 
gate, making his nose flare. He stared back at his mockers, 
and at every jeer grew haughtier. His fierce eyes 
never wavered nor changed; not even when they met 
eyes not blue but black, in a white appalled face. He 
looked at his sister, as she at him, with no sign of recognition.


On the hilltop the Alnei set down Derna's body and 
watched silently. The Young Wolf did not look back. 
They stared until he was through the gate and out of their 
sight, then urned hopelessly away. But Racho, when 
they tried to lead him away, snorted and dragged back, 
and neighed in shrill anger. Even within Mald Mor'anh 
heard him, time after time, pealing his wild dismay.




132




14




or'anh opened his eyes and heard the 
bronze chains rattle as he moved. He had 
not been sleeping. He doubted if he 
would ever sleep again. He did not much 
regret it. Sleep was nothing. The pleasure 
lay in waking refreshed, and it was




the waking he was likely to lack.


It had grown dark again. The small barred window 
showed no light outside; no snatches of sound came in. It 
was night once more, then. His second night as a 
prisoner; and the next day would be the day they buried 
the men he and Diveru had killed. On that day, said the 
man Kuniol, they would begin to make him die.


He tried to swallow, and sat up slowly, leaning against 
the rough wall. The weals on his back burned as they 
touched the logs; they had whipped him before they 
chained him. He moved his arms as gently as he could, 
for the heavy bands galled his torn and swollen wrists. 
Every part of his body hurt him. They had delayed the 
pleasure of killing him, but not of beating him. On the 
day they took him, and all through the day just past, they 
had come at intervals to do so. It was as bad as the time 
the bear had hit him, only the bear had been fighting for 
his own life, not hurting him for sport. One eye he could 
hardly open, three of his ribs he knew were broken, and




133




his cuts and bruises were without number. Kariniol 
would not be envious now. Then he shook his head 
weakly, because he feared that if he thought of Kariniol 
he would weep.


His mouth was dry and stiff; he had had neither food 
nor water since they took him. The room stank, and he 
shook with cold; he hoped it was cold. In the faint light he 
stared all round him again, then closed his eyes that he 
might not see the smallness of his prison, and thus might 
prevent the horror that shook him. Never before had he 
been inside any place for so long. He felt foul. He had 
always been vain of his body, fastidious as all plainsmen 
were, but now he was sticky with sweat and blood and 
ordure.


He sat perfectly still, sinking back through the darkness 
in his head, trying to slip free of his body. But he had 
never found in stillness the ecstasy that released him 
from his flesh, and now it was less possible, with pain 
clutching at him. Memories, clear but brief, skimmed his 
mind like darting birds: a tent taking shape, his father 
laughing, fledging arrows, Hran and Ralki dancing, a 
horse's arched neck in the sun; all things he had lost for 
ever. I am going to die, he thought; I shall die here. But 
life beat obstinate in his body, and he could not accept it.


How long would it be until dawn? And how would 
they kill him? He had heard one man say that they should 
bury him living in the grave of the man he had killed, but 
no one else had taken up the idea. Only Kuniol had 
hinted; they would 'begin' to 'make him die'. He shivered 
uncontrollably, remembering what the same man 
had said about Hran. 'We would have taken his eyes from 
him first--or his manhood--.'


His eyes, or his manhood. Was this their intent? They 
were right, lacking either he would have no desire to live. 
He felt sick with dread. His manhood, his eyes. He 
clenched his teeth, trying not to shake. He was ashamed. 
Did courage depend so much on daylight and a sound 
body? His eyes. And he could not even defend himself,




134




he could only stand h.elpless and wait. His manhood. 
'Manui!' he. croaked, startling himself, suddenly craving 
in despair her pliant warmth.


At times throughout the first afternoon he had heard 
Racho calling from the hillside, and once in the morning. 
He had not seen Nai again, nor heard her voice. He felt 
alone as he had never felt in his life, not even in the time 
of his manhood ordeal.


'Kem'nanh!' he cried hoarsely, and flinched as his 
voice came back from the walls. 'My god, my Lord, where 
are you? Have you forgotten me?' But he knew where 
Kem'nanh was. He was out in the Plain, his own realm, 
far from this place of walls where his chosen lay chained, 
even his prayers imprisoned.


A beam of moonlight edged through the window, falling 
near his head. For a moment he thought it was moonrise, 
and still early in the night; then he realised that here 
it might only mean that Vani had begun to move past a 
roof. He lay so that the beam fell cool on his battered face, 
and saw a bright curve swelling from behind a gable. 
Strangely, gazing at the silver goddess he did not think of 
Runi; he thought only, with desperate longing, of the 
Plain all silvered, shimmering as the grasses tossed.




Voices outside the door roused him. He strained his ears, 
but the walls were of split logs and he could understand 
nothing. They went on for some time; then there was 
silence. A little later the door shook, and someone 
bumped against it.


He grew tense. 'No!' he thought. 'Not now! Great God, 
not now--not in the dark!' There was a scraping noise, of 
someone inexpert taking the bars from the door; then it 
opened a crack. A dark figure slipped in, closing the door 
and standing still beside it. His heart drummed violently. 
'For Nai . . . I came for Nai . . .'


Mor'anh stirred, astonished. A girl's voice, and she 
spoke in his language. He sat up slowly, gazing where 
she was, listening to her quick breath. No light fell on




135




her, and she seemed only a deeper blackness; but for her 
trembling voice, a demon of Hargad. Why had she come? 
For Nai... what did that mean? The women who had 
come to see a captive barbarian had come in groups, 
giggling, and by day. Why did she not move?


'Who are you?' he murmured softly. His eyes ached too 
much, and he closed them, drooping his head. He heard 
a few hesitant steps, and some rattling, then a short 
silence. He felt rather than heard her kneel by him. Then 
there was only swift uncertain breathing.


He looked up suddenly, and she started. There was a 
radiance about her head, the moon making a silver halo 
of her hair. He could see no more, save that for a Golden 
Woman she did not seem very big. On the floor by her 
were two pitchers. Several times she put out her hand, 
then drew it back. 'She is afraid of me,' he thought, 
'bound as I am.' He almost laughed, but pain tore him, 
and the sound became before he could stop it a soft moan. 
He caught his lip. 'who are you?' he said again.


'My name is Marat,' she whispered. 'I am Madol's 
sister. Nai asked me to come...


She moved, and the moonlight caught the metal that 
she held: and he grew rigid, stating at it. 'It is a knife,' he 
thought. 'She has brought it so that I can die before they 
torment me.' It would be easy; to pierce his throat, or his 
heart, or to open his veins. It would cheat them. He 
shuddered with horror. I will not do it! No, nor shall she! 
Not even to save the pain. Nai cannot have sent her--Nai 
would not think I would--Nai would know better!


He looked at her. 'Have you come to kill me?' he asked 
with forced calmness. 'Because if you have, even if it is in 
mercy, I will not let you. I will suffer any torment they 
have for me, but I will not let go of my life one heart-bet 
before I must.'


'Kill you?' she cried softly. 'No! Ah, no! Nai sent me I 
have food and drink. Quickly.' She picked up one of the 
jugs. He took it, wincing as it touched his split and 
swollen lips; it was water. He drank it gratefully, his stiff 
cracked mouth softening. When he had finished, she




136




gave him the broth. He paused, and said, 'Where is the 
man who .was watchirig?'


'Still there. I gave him a drink Nai had made. I said 
it was from Madol... he had the watch before. Nai said I 
must tell you she would have come, but Madol knows she 
is your sister, and will not let her out . . . Have you 
finished? This is a file . . . it is for cutting your 
chains . . .'


He drew in his breath sharply and twisted to his knees, 
forgetting the pain. He gazed at her in wonder. 'You can 
set me free?' he breathed.


'Yes... It is Nai's doing. I only said.., since Madol 
would not let her leave him... She is my friend. I never 
had one before. I know you are all sorry she is here, but 
oh! I am so glad!' Her soft voice fluttered on, barely 
audibie, as she bent over the chain, rasping at a link. The 
pain of the hackle moving, grating on his raw wrist, was 
excruciating. He wished he could see her more clearly. 
When the light fell on her face it made only a meaningless 
jumble of light and shade, leaving him only her hair,


netting the moonlight.


'Will it take long?'


'Not too long. Kahuniol's watch lasts until dawn, and 
we never go out of doors at night.' She paused. 'I had 
nearly forgotten. Nai said I must give you these.' She 
gave him his brow-band with the wolf-tail, and his 
bear-necklace. 'They gave those to Kariniol, and he gave


them to Nai. He did not wish to keep them.' 
'Shall I work at that?' 
'You do not know how.'


'How do you speak our language?'


'My mother was a Horse Woman. She was---like Nai--' 
'Ah. Tribute.'


'Yes . . . but my father loved her. She was not unhappy; 
and he loved me, because I was her child, better 
than Madol, his wife's son. I suppose that is why Madol 
dislikes me. Mor'anh, this will take too long!'


Her voice shook. He murmured, 'How much have you 
done?'




137




'One ring--almost. I thought it would be quicker--the 
smith takes no time. I am not strong enough to make it 
bite deep.'


'Let me see.'


She drew back. He could not see, but he could feel how 
thin the metal was worn. He needed the chains before 
him. He drew a breath, then stretched out on his back, 
rolled over, and twisted to his knees again. His battered 
body stabbed with protest, but he could just reach the 
weak link.


'Give me thethat thing.' He pushed it through the 
chain and.,twisted it, shivering with pain and effort. The 
bronze snapped suddenly: so suddenly that his straining 
arm shot out to the farthest limit of the chain.


His body leapt with the shock of agony. He would have 
screamed, had he not stifled his mouth in time. Tears 
flooded his eyes. Every muscle tingled with anguish, and 
new blood gushed over his hand. But one arm was free.


Marat gasped with relief. 'But the other? We have no 
time for the file!'


He stood up unsteadily and leaned on the wall, feeling 
sick with pain. He would not yield now. Two women had 
freed him of hunger, thirst, bars, a guard; and one chain. 
If he could not do the rest, he did not deserve to be a man.


'I am Mor'anh of the Alnei,' he muttered fiercely. 'The 
Spear of Heaven, the White Wolf, the bear-slayer. I am 
the Har'enh of Kem'nanh. I will not be bound. I am the 
son of the storm...' He felt along the chain. The links 
were of bronze thick as his little finger, fixed by a staple 
even thicker. But the staple was driven into wood.


He grasped the chain in both hands and braced himself. 
'I am named for the lightning,' he told the darkness. 
'I sleep under tiger-skin, I ride upon the wolf-skin, I 
fought a leopard and won before I was a man. Do not 
think you can hold me!'


Marat drew back, scared and baffled. Mor'anh drew 
deep ragged breaths, summoning all the power he had, 
his eyes blindly intense. He could feel his strength 
gathering, rising till it shook him. He bunched his 

mus


138




cles, and pulled until fresh blood broke from all his 
wounds. A wild rage rose through him 'Kem'nanh!' he 
muttered, ggthering himself; then cried aloud, with imperious 
trust, 'Kem'nanh !' And it was as if he called in an 
open place; there was no echo.


Then he felt a cold wind roar through the walls and fill 
him, and put forth his utmost strength. The air around 
him shook with power; and the oak cracked, and yielded 
the staple.




He staggered backwards, laughing breathlessly. The 
chain swung from his wrist, the staple at the end holding 
a chunk of pale wood. There were splinters at the foot of 
the torn wall. Mor'anh laughed again, 'Kem'nanh! 
Kem'nanh!' he crowed softly. 'My father, you came!'


He stooped, and picked up the ornaments Nai had 
sent, arid the file. 'Marat.' She stood stating dazed at the 
wall. 'Marat!' She looked at him. 'May I take this?'


She nodded, pulling herself together, and picked up 
the jugs. They slipped through the door; the guard 
sprawled motionless beside it. Mor'anh paused to replace 
the bars, and gave Marat the cup the man had drunk 
from. 'Maybe they will think it was all magic.' He 
laughed, but Marat looked at him fearfully and said nothing. 
She led him quickly through the dark twisting 
streets, and at last to the gapped palisade. Sudden doubt 
shook her. 'Can you get through?'


'Marat, the Plain is outside; I will get through if I must 
eat wood like a beaver.' For the first time he could see her. 
She was nearly as tall as he was, and her face was not so 
pretty as her voice. But in the moonlight she looked 
smooth and pale, a girl carved of ivory. He paused, 
looking at her. 'Marat, what if they discover you? Do you 
want to come with me?'


She stared and shook her head without thought. 'I? No, 
no. Go quickly now.'


By turning sideways he could with much twisting and 
pain struggle through the widest gap. Once outside he 
turned. 'Marat, I cannot thank you enough.' Her face 
looking through the stakes was shadowed, but light




139




shimmered in the hollows of her big troubled eyes. 'The 
Good Goddess bless you. Farewell.'


He loped down the grassy slope. The ditch he had 
hardly noticed before was now a painful obstacle, but he 
crossed it. He paused and saluted her again, then went 
on up the long low hillside. The God-given strength and 
ease was passing, and once more he ached and shivered 
and throbbed. At the crest he looked back again. She was 
still standing, a dark shape between the stakes, gazing 
after him. She stood so, even after he had vanished over 
the hill.




142




15




hen dawn broke, Mor'anh was lying in a 
hollow sunk in exhausted sleep. Even the 
light did not wake him; but when the sun 
fell on him, warming his cold flesh, he 
stirred. His body was wet with dew. His 
bruised eye was so swollen, he could not




raise the lid. After a few moments he began to rise.


The drained feeling that always followed the God's 
possession had this time persisted even after sleep. He 
was thirsty again, and though he felt no hunger he was 
weak with lack of food. As he stood up he staggered, and 
his legs trembled. He had never been ill, and this present 
feebleness was worse to him than pain.


A flight of birds skimmed byhim. They were the birds 
of summer, the first he had seen that year. He made the 
gesture of salute to Ir'nanh, Lord of Life; but at that 
moment he did not feel that the Dancing Boy could help 
him. He moved forward, walking unsteadily up the 
slope.


Even in his perfect strength walking would have 
seemed very slow to him, who had never walked far; now 
he felt he hardly moved at all. 'Kem'nanh! Kem'nanh!' he 
cried silently, but the God did not reply; as if he said, 'I


zour bonds and gave you strength to flee; you must 
yourself now.'




143




He did not know how long he had been walking, when 
he stopped and looked about. Surely the camp was not so 
far? The sun was nearly three handspans up the sky. In an 
unlucky moment he tried to decide on his direction. 
While he did not question, only followed his instinct, all 
had been well; but as soon as he began to reason, his 
confidence crumbled. He stared around, but all ways 
were the same, and he had no recollection of the way he 
had gone when he first left Maid&


He was a horseman. Dismounted, distance and even 
direction confused him. It was the mastery of horses that 
had made his people free of the Plain. Not lightly were 
they called the Horse People. The Davlenei made their 
lives possible, and lacking them they lacked all. Mor'anh 
felt he had never known before how great was 
Kem'nanh's gift, or understood so well why the sign of 
manhood was to ride a davlani.


'Racho!' he cried out despairingly. 'Racho, Racho!' 
Then he shook his head, and plunged on.


But Racho, who had refused to follow the other men 
back to the Tribe, who had refused to go even with Hran 
and Ranap when they sought him, who had lingered for 
nearly a day outside Mald, had not yet given up hope. 
Sometimes nervousness and loneliness drove him from 
his vigil, and he would gallop back towards the camp, 
until he came within sight and smell of the herds; then he 
would pause, and graze a little, and stand fidgeting a 
while, disturbed and doubtful; until he turned to race 
back to the place where he had parted from his rider, to 
stand watchful and eager above the town again. He was 
drinking at a stream not far from IVald, when the wind 
drifted a fragment of sound to him, and a faint scent. He 
flung up his head, and after a moment began to trot 
upwind.


Mor'anh knew he had reached the end of his strength. 
He had crawled up the last slope; now he rolled on to his 
lacerated back, not caring for the pain, if only he could 
rest. At least he would not die in the place of walls; the




144




God's mercy had released him to the Plain. He closed his 
open eye, and sighed.


He diet not notice the soft hoof-falls until they were 
almost at his ear. Then Racho lowered his head and blew 
his warm sweet breath over his friend's face. Mor'anh 
opened his good eye and stared, then sat up with a weak 
cry of gladness. 'Racho! Racho, my heart, my brother!' 
The davlani whinnied joyously, and the Young Wolf 
struggled to his feet. 'Son of Kem'nanh, re-davel, true 
friend! O Racho!' He embraced the horse, weeping with 
-relief. Racho nudged him, and crouched back; Mor'anh 
got himself on to the saddle. Cautiously, the horse moved 
forward.


Racho had not allowed Hran's attempts to unsaddle 
him; the.Long Spear had only taken the reins from his 
bridte, lest he fall because of them. So Mor'anh had the 
stirrups,rand the decorated throat-strap to cling to. But it 
was hard 'to keep his seat. He lay on Racho's neck, not 
attempting to guide him, rolling with the motion. Racho 
went as smoothly as he could; but at last Mor'anh drifted 
away into darkness and soon after slithered down 
Racho's shoulder to the ground. He made no attempt to 
rise. Racho pushed at his shoulder, but he only groaned, 
and lay still.


Racho raised his head. He could smell the camp, he 
could see the horse-herd, but his rider lay unmoving at 
his feet. In despair the re-davel stretched his neck and 
screamed in anguish, then screamed again. To a Khentor 
there was no sound so appalling; it brought Mor'anh to 
his senses. 'Racho! Racho!' The great horse stooped his 
head again; Mor'anh crawled to his knees, but could not 
stand. Moving painfully he took his brow-band and 
slowly fastened it around Racho's horn. 'Go to Hran,' he 
whispered. 'Hran. Go to Hran.' The horse moved forward 
hesitantly, then tossed his head and cantered away.


After a while Mor'anh felt a horse's gusty breath again, 
and saw white-feathered hooves. He turned his head, 
and saw dimly a fall of white mane. 'Heu, my brother; I




145




will try again.' He could hardly open even his good eye. 
He got to his feet at last and clutched handfuls of mane, 
but could not make a spring. 'Down, my friend. Down,' 
he croaked, pressing on the horse's back. After a moment's 
hesitation the davlani moved, not crouching his 
quarters as Mor'anh expected, but sinking right to the 
ground. It was certainly easier to mount so, and the 
Young Wolf straddled the warm back. He leaned forward 
to grasp the throat-strap, but his hands found nothing, 
and he clasped the horse's neck instead; then he realised 
that there was no saddle, either. He shook his clouded 
head, and opened his eye. The leg he saw was grey, but 
not Racho's storm-colour; it was silver, like the starlit 
clouds.


Carefully the Dha'lev rose to his feet, shivering a little 
at the unfamiliar weight on his back. He smelled blood,. 
and chains dangled against his legs. But some power 
curbed his wildness, and he walked slowly forward, so 
smoothly that Mor'anh was not even shaken.


In the camp, the token had been understood. Hran was 
running for his horse, and Ilna was leaping like a young 
man to Hulakhen's back: while the horse no man had 
ever ridden came bearing his rider with gentle skill.


Hran saw them first and called out in wonder and 
disbelief, leaping to the ground. Ilna followed. The King 
Horse stopped before them, and Mor'anh slid from the 
back that only the God might mount, to lie at his father's 
feet.




The day after the return he woke to see Runi kneeling in 
the middle of the tent. She looked at him, but did not 
move or speak.


'Runi,' he said softly, astonished, then looked away 
from her to gaze at the roof. After a while he said, 'Derna 
is dead.'


Her mouth quivered. 'I know,' she said. There was 
nothing else, and after a moment he turned to look at her 
again. Her face was flooded with tears, her body 

shud


146




dered with silent sobs. Her grief, that he could do nothing 
to lessen or sobthe, crushed his heart. 'Forgive me,' 
he whispered; but she only hurried from the tent.


But it was not Runi's grief that weighed on him as his 
strength returned, though it was a suffering not his, the 
burden of which he must share. Three days after his 
return it began, and for four days it invaded his dreams 
and underlay his waking thoughts, threading his blood 
with anguish and casting on him the shadow of a desolation 
whose cause he did not know. He thought he 
understood. It was Nai's grief he felt; some anguish too 
great for her to contain alone was crossing from her heart 
to his. And what it was, he dreaded to discover.


The healers set six days as the time he must rest, and 
Ilna enforced this. As well as time to recover his strength 
those .days gave him time to think; to think above all of 
the favo. ur Kem'nanh had shown him, bringing him out 
of Mald and back to the Tribe, commanding the Dha'lev 
to bear him on his consecrated back. Within his grateful 
pride, he was afraid; the God was coming closer and 
closer to him. Since the attaining of his manhood, when 
alone in the Plain he had first known the God's possession, 
and understood that he was the Har'enh, the signs 
had come ever more often; and in the months since the 
loss of Nai, Kem'nanh had claimed him more clearly than 
ever.


Once he had thought this was a favour the God showed 
him, a gift, a sign of special love, and he had been awed, 
proud, and grateful. Now the awe had overwhelmed the 
pride, and gratitude seemed presumption. As he felt 
Kem'nanh's nearer approach, he remembered uneasily 
the patient days in his new manhood spent working 
Racho on the long rein, teaching him to understand and 
obey. What had the God put on him? A garland, or a 
halter? He was ready as he had always been, to give 
whatever was asked of him, his love, his loyally, his trust 
and utter obedience; but not till now had it occurred to 
him that maybe the God wanted more. What if the chief




147




Carefully the Dba'lev rose to 
his feet, shivering a little at the 
unfamiliar weight on his back.


He smelled blood, and chains dangled 
against his legs. But some power 
curbed his wildness...




part of his life were not enough, but Kem'nanh demanded 
it all, so that there was none left for living to 
please himself? Maybe Kem'nanh wanted not simply his 
worship and obedience, but all his will, all his self: 
wanted him.




150




16




or'anh stood before his tent in the dawn, 
watching the young boys and girls 
gathering. Most of his hurts were healed, 
though his ribs were still bound. But the 
marks on his wrists would not fade 
quickly, while the perfect beauty of his




face was marred forever by a scar which puckered one 
eyelid and brow. His left wrist was still weighted with a 
shackle, for the file had broken before its work was done. 
Fortunately they had been able to move it enough to 
dress his wrist, and the metal was bound with fleece so 
that it no longer galled him; but they were troubled that 
he wore it still, and might do so all his life. Mor'anh 
accepted it with calm. No matter, he said: it would help 
him to remember.


It was the first day of the Moon of the Dancer, also 
called the Moon of the Young Lord, and the day to honour 
Ir'nanh. Summer had come. The young people Mor'anh 
watched were wreathed and garlanded, carrying other 
garlands and rods decorated with flowers and feathers. 
This was the one feast where they, the young and unproved, 
took the chief part, honouring the God with his 
own gift, their brief and careless youth.


The place where they went to worship was doubly 
sacred to Ir'nanh, for not only did a tree grow there--indeed 
three trees--but a stream ran among them. 

Lead


151




ing the way, dancing in double file, went the banyei who 
would go to the Goddess at the next feast, and the boys 
who in this very month would be sent out to seek their 
manhood. After them walked Ilna, Mor'anh 'in his 
Priest's robe, and Hran with the other young dancers; 
and behind them Vanh led the singing children.


This was a well-loved feast. There was no terror in it, 
and it marked the beginning ofthe year's best days. Vanh 
strolled by the singers, waving his hand to keep them in 
time, nodding or frowning as notes pleased or offended 
him. Hran, moving aside, clapped his hands to give the 
dancers the beat, occasionally gesturing to guide them. 
They came to the Tree itself, the one which grew alone 
with space to dance around it. The others were beyond 
the stream, their trunks tangled with bushes. The young 
dancers wreathed around the tree, the singers too encircled 
it, and behind the Lord and the Priest the flower-crowned 
worshippers whispered and laughed.


But the Dancing Boy was not only god of youth and 
flowers; he was also the Doomed One, the Lord of Destiny, 
the Destroyer. Standing before him, Mor'anh felt no 
less awe than in Kem'nanh's presence; and more fear, for 
he did not understand Ir'nanh so well. Gaiety and terror 
were so strangely mingled in him, who remembered and 
foresaw all things, yet still was Lord of Laughter. When 
he went through the circles into the shadow of the tree 
and raised his eyes, he felt how apt an emblem of Ir'nanh 
was a tree. The leaves and blossoms tossed merrily in the 
sun; but behind them was shadow, and their bright 
beauty was borne up by strong many-branching limbs, 
the unbending firmness of the trunk, and the earth-fast 
roots.


When he spoke, there was a movement among the 
bushes beyond the stream: but Mor'anh did not notice, 
and the young worshippers behind him did not waver. 
But others had seen. When all was over and the offering 
made, when the lower branches of the Tree were gay with 
garlands and the rods all stood about the trunk, then 
some of the men leapt the stream and moved carefully up




152




to the bushes. Puzzled, Mor'anh stood by Hran at the 
edge of the stream. 'What are they doing?' he asked, and 
at that monent there was a hoarse wild scream from the 
thicket.


Mor'anh and Hran sprung to the far bank. The men 
were calling to each other, and from the undergrowth the 
tearing screams went on. Three of the men were stooping 
among the bushes, and Hran and Mor'anh plunged 
through to them.


In the small clearing a girl crouched, waving her 
scratched bruised arms and rigidly spread hands before 
her, turning her head aside oddly as she screamed. She 
was dirty, and sick, and ragged; but her tipped dress was 
of wool dyed blue, a Kalnat dress. Her tangled brown 
hair half covered her face, and her eyes were fixed on 
nothing.


'Quiet!' ,commanded Mor'anh, and the men fell silent. 
The girl's screams gave way to weaker cries of fear, and 
she moved her head confusedly, not turning to look at the 
newcomers. Mor'anh said more quietly, 'Now, what is 
this?'


The girl moved. She sat up and turned her face up, but 
her eyes strained sightlessly. Her hands groped; feeling 
the air, or trying to push back the darkness. She stopped 
crying out. 'Mor'anh?' she said huskily. 'Is that you? 
Is--is Mor'anh there?'


He knew her then, though his eyes would never have 
recognised her. He stared appalled. 'Marat!'




All the way back to the camp she chattered like an excited 
child, talking without object or pause, hysterical with 
relief. When Mor'anh set her down and sent for Lal'hadai 
and Manui, she laughed gaily. 'I know about Manui, she 
is Nai's friend. I know Lal'hadai too, she is the healing-woman. 
Am I not right? Mor'anh, why do you call 
Lal'hadai? Mor'anh! Are you there?'


'Yes, I am here. You have cuts that need tending. No 
bad ones,' he said, as she felt anxiously along her arms. 
This was true, there were only scratches and grazes on




153




her limbs, though many were red and puffy. 'But some of 
them look sore, and Lal'hadai's ointments are soothing.' 
He did not mention the swellings on her head and arms, 
nor the great broken bruise on her temple. She said 
nothing for a moment, then sighed.


Marat had never had much beauty; now she had been 
robbed of the little she did possess, leaving her gaunt and 
sallow. Her hard-featured face, high-cheeked and bony, 
needed good health and high spirits to make it attractive, 
and now it had neither. Her hair was darker than he had 
imagined it, brown, and at the moment listless; and it 
was a surprise to see that her eyes were tawny-brown. 
They at least had always been pretty, large and wide-set; 
but now they were .painful to look at. His heart ached 
with pity; and with shame, for surely he was the cause of 
this.


'You are quite healed now?' she asked in a calmer 
voice.


'Well, bones are slower to mend than flesh, so my ribs 
are still sore; but I am strong again. You see, Lal'hadai is 
wise and skilful. It will not take her long to make you 
well. '


'I hope so . . . there is not much, only bruises, and I 
ache so.' She tried to smile, then whispered, 'But my 
eyes--my eyes!'


In her voice he heard the echo of himself, and shivered. 
'They are not injured, Marat. There is nothing that I can 
see. Maybe they will heal of themselves.' The door darkened, 
and he looked up with relief. 'Marat, here is 
Manui.'


'Manui?' The sick girl put out her hand, and Manui 
took it. 'Nai has told me of you; she said you were her 
dearest friend.' She paused, then added irrelevantly, 
'You have lovely eyes, she says.'


Manui looked startled, and Mor'aoh laughed. 'So she 
has; very lovely. Marat, there is much to talk about, but I 
will return later. Manui will take care of you.'


When he came back, Lal'hadai was leaving the tent. 
She looked at him and shook her head. Away from the




154




door she said softly, 'I have done all I can. But she will 
die.'


He was shocked. 'Why? She has no great hurt. Why?' 
'I am a healer, Young Wolf, not a seer. I know only what 
I can heal, and what I cannot... I know when life has 
begun to go. I cannot say why. But I think she has never 
been strong. That wound on her head--my mother told 
me she knew a man who went blind when a horse kicked 
him there.' She looked at him bleakly. 'I am sorry. I will 
fight for her as for my own child; but there is death in 
her.' She moved a little away, then said, 'Look at the 
scratch inside her fight arm, and the one on her neck--there 
are others like them--'


Marat was washed, and Manui was combing her hair. 
He could see no cause for her to die. Surely Lal'hadai was 
wrong. But when he spoke and she put out her hand, he 
saw the scratch Lal'hadai had meant. It looked angry and 
swollen nder its poultice, and thin red streaks threaded 
away from it.


'Where have you been?' she asked.


I


'To see a man named Yaln. His wife has given him a 
daughter, born this morning; when else could Ralki the 
: Dancer bear her child? And because this is a feast day of 
the Lord of Summer, they wish me to go with them to 
take the child to the Dancer's Tree. That is where we 
found you.'


'What were you doing? I heard the children sing.' 
'Offering to Ir'nanh... Marat, Manui will tell you all 
you wish to know, but now tell us: how did you come to 
be at the Tree?'


She began slowly, 'In the morning, when they found 
you gone, most people said Nai had done it, but Madol 
said that was not possible. Then Kahuniol--the man 
Joutside, you remember--said it was witchcraft, and


F many people thought it was true; and some said it was 
the little gods who guard Mald, who did not want you 
there. Then someone accused Kariniol, and he did not 
deny it. So they put him where you were, and Kahuniol


But the funeral for Darinol and Keratol began then,


155




so they left their punishment. Oh, and on the second day 
of the funeral, Nai's baby was born--' Her voice faltered. 
Mor'anh thought, 'It is that, then,' and said aloud, 'That 
should be told when Hran is here. Go on.'


'Well, Kariniol would say nothing at all, and of course 
no one believed Sadanat when she said he had been 
sleeping. But by the time the funeral was over, no one 
thought it was his fault. So they said the greatest fault had 
been Kahuniol's and at last he said it was not witchcraft, 
but he had taken the drink Madol had sent, and Madol 
said he sent none. So on the next day--it had been my 
turn in the hut--they decided what to do to me. It was 
Kariniol who persuaded them not to kill me, but to throw 
me out of the town to find you if I could. And he tried to 
tell me which way your camp lay.'


'What will they do to Nai?' interrupted Manui fearfully.


'Nothing. She belongs to Madol. Only he can punish 
her. So they drove me out. But Madol came and some 
others--it was the women, mostly--and they got stones 
and threw at me; and some of the boys followed me over 
the bouridary and stoned me. Then one of the big stones 
hit me on the head. When I woke again, they were ali 
gone, and I could not see.'


Her voice shook. After a moment she went on.


'So I could not even go as Kariniol told me. I wandered 
a long time, I don't know how long--I think there were 
three nights. I could not find anything to eat, but just 
before the second night I came to the stream. I was 
terribly thirsty. Then I dared not leave it, so I went along 
beside it until I came to those bushes, and I hid among 
them. I stayed there till you found me.'


She stopped. Mor'anh bent his head. 'V, Marat, I am 
ashamed that you should suffer this for helping me. You 
should have come back with me as I said.' He looked up 
as his spear-brother came in. 'Here is the Long Spear. Let 
us hear it all. Tell us of Nai.' Hran stepped forward 
eagerly; Mor'anh looked away from his face.




'She had her baby the second day after Mor'anh went.' 
She heard Hran's. delighted exclamation and turned her


face uhcertainly towards him. 'A little girl. Is that Hran?' 
'Yes, I am Hran. Tell me how she is.' 
'Nai is well. The child is dead.'


The br/ghtness was shocked from Hran's face. Manui 
gave a cry. Mor'anh, who thought himself prepared, 
found he was not. Grief and anger overwhelmed him.


'Nai is Har'enh of the Mother!' he cried. 'She could not 
bear a dead child, nor one that died of its birth! The 
Goddess would not allow it!'


Marat said, 'It is true. The child was born strong. She 
was small, but well made and lively. Nai 'was very proud 
of her.'


'But how came she to die?' cried Hran. 'If she was so 
strong, how could she die?'


'
Marat swallowed, reluctant. 'Tell us,' said Mor'anh. 
'Nai' was pleased with her butmbut Madol was not. He


said a boy would have been some use, but who wanted a 
girl? And---and she did not look like him. She had much 
black hair. If she had been fair he might have softened 
ù . . but he said he would not rear a child who was not his. 
So when the funeral was over he took her away from Nai 
and left her on the mountain.'


They were stunned into silence. After some while 
Mor'anh spoke. 'He did what?' His face felt stiff with


shock and rage. 'He killed her? He killed the child?' 
'He did not kill her--he left her to die '


'He killed her! To kill a child!' The blasphemous horror 
of it choked him. 'Did he know what he did?'


'Of course. He had--had the right--' She trembled, 
confused, imprisoned in her blindness, unable to see 
their faces. 'It often happens, especially with girls. There 
are too many born...'


'The Golden Ones kill their children?' Marat put a hand 
to her head. She understood the grief, but not the disbe'-lief, 
in Manui's voice. She could only repeat, 'It happens 
sometimes. He had the right.'




157




'He had no right!' cried Hran. 'The child was not his, 
she was Nai's. And no one has a right to kill--and a 
child!'


Then Mor'anh rose to his feet burning with wrath, and 
his deep outraged voice silenced them. 'No, he had no 
right. Who could talk of such a thing? Any man not 
wholly accursed would spend his last strength to defend 
a child. Buthe did not know all he did. This child was the 
daughter, the first-born, of the Har'enh of Mother Nadiv! 
He will be cursed! May the Great Goddess strike him, 
may she rot his bones and wither his loins! He will be 
cursed!'




158




17




i,,, ven in one day, Marat had grown more


I


haggard. Looking at her, Mor'anh began


to believe Lal'hadai. The Golden Girl


shook continually, and the swellings at 
her joints gathered; she said she ached, 
that her arms and legs hurt her. 'I must 
have grown too cold, those nights, and now I have a little 
fever,' she said. 'I feel better, though. I do feel better. 
Lal'hadai says the best thing is to rest, and keep warm 
and eat well. And everyone is kind. I do not think they 
ever leave me by myself by day. Manui is always here. I 
wish I could see Manui. Is she pretty?'


He was startled to realise that he did not know. There 
was no face or body he knew better, but whether she was 
pretty, he could not say.


'Your father--the lord--has been here too. He talked to 
me for a long time; about Nai, and the time when you 
were children.' She laughed. 'I never heard a man talk 
about his children before.' He could believe it. He could 
believe anything of a people who put babies out on a 
mountain to die. Coming of a race to whom the Tribe was 
everything, and children, the life of the Tribe, the best 
gift of the Gods, he could not imagine that people living


different lives might see them differently.


'Are all tribes like the Alnei?'


'We have our own customs in some things, our own




159




dances; but in most things we are the same. In the big 
things; the laws, and the worship of the Gods. Why?'


'I wonder if my mother's tribe was like this. She was a 
woman of the Shenerei. She was not taken like Nai, she 
was tribute asked for. If my people if the Golden Ones 
asked for a woman, how would you choose her?'


'I have never seen it done. But the custom is to choose 
only from women without children; and we would keep 
aside the Priestess, and any whom the Gods had marked. 
We would ask Kem'nanh to make the choice... But you 
must rest, Marat, and I have work to do.'


She heard him move, and put out a hand to detain him. 
All her gestures and movements were those of a small 
woman, though she was almost as tall as Mor'anh; it gave 
her a clumsy pathos.


'May I ask one more thing? It is easy to answer.' 
He laughed. 'Ask, then.'


'Your father said, and Nai said, that you killed a 
leopard while only a boy. Is that true?'


'Yes: but you must not think I was a little boy. It was 
not long before I became a man. But it is remembered, 
because a leopard is one of the skins of honour.'


'I know that. Nai told me; and the others are the tiger, 
Lin'hai the White Wolf, and Kha'voi the black bear: and a 
man may only wear their skins if he has killed them with 
his spear.'


'V! You are a plainswoman!'


She laughed. 'I have seen your bear-skin; you wore it 
when Hran killed Deram, and you came to save him. 
They call you Black Cloak in Mald, did you know? What 
happened to your leopard-skin?'


'You mean Nai has not told you?' She smiled, flushing. 
'Ah, that was the beginning of my quarrel with the 
Golden Ones. It was my glory, and I wore it for a cloak. A 
leopard-skin is the most beautiful of furs; long and soft, 
pale gold, and the black spots have white around them. 
We went to give tribute--not at Mald,--and I wore it, 
though I was told not to... The Golden Men too thought 
my cloak splendid; they took it. They said it would cover




160




their Lord's footstool.' He smiled at her expression. 'No, 
do not grieve. It was long ago, and my wilfulness deserved 
it. I have lost things I loved more to them since 
then.'


They tied back two sections of the tent wall, so the 
sweet summer air came to her, and the noises of the 
Tribe. She ate, and rested, and claimed every day that she 
felt stronger; but very soon it was plain that Lal'hadai's 
eye had not deceived her. Only Marat did not know. It 
was true she had begun to despair of her eyes, but saved 
so.unexpectedly from the terrors of the Plain, even blindness 
was a grief she could bear. Safe and cared for now, 
she knew no reason why she should die. The aching of 
her sweating flesh, the pain in all her stiff limbs, these 
were only the signs of a slight fever caught when she 
grew chilled, which left her strong enough to eat and talk; 
it would soon pass. She never dreamed that death could 
reach out to her from the past, nor that it lay coiled in her 
like a sleeping serpent. So while her poisoned blood 
throbbed through her body, she looked forward happily 
to the time when she would be strong again, a woman of 
the Alnei; and all those who came near her took care not 
to shake that precarious happiness. There would never 
b'e need for her to know that she was far more her father's 
daughter than her mother's, that she would be a Golden 
Woman always. While she lived, she was the spoiled pet 
of all the Tribe. All save Runi.


The worst of Runi's grief for her brother was over, but 
she was filled with bitterness. She felt his death had been 
little cared for, hardly noticed beside the fact that the 
Golden Ones had taken Mor'anh when they killed Derna. 
Even her tender-hearted father, though he wept for his 
eldest son, had seemed to think the loss of the Young 
Wolf the greater evil. But Mor'anh had come back. The 
God had taken care to rescue and restore him, while for 
Derna there was no return. The wind had taken her 
brother's ashes, and in the rejoicing over Mor'anh's return 
it seemed that the same wind had blown away all 
memory of him.




161




She would have vented her misery on Mor'anh, when 
he was healed; but then the Golden Woman came. Runi 
did not share in the gratitude with which the Alnei 
welcomed her. To her Marat was a Golden Woman, a 
woman of the people who had killed her brother for 
nothing, for a harmless boyish jest. Yet Ilna sat for hours 
talking to her, the women devised endless ways to make 
her food palatable to her. Vanh sang and played to her, 
the children brought her their toys, everything that could 
give pleasure to her blindness, anything good to feel, or 
hear, or smell, was brought to her tent; even the kittens of 
the Goddess's cat. Hran and Mor'anh gave all their time 
to the sick ugly stranger, the Kalnat woman. Only she 
herself held aloof; and when no one seemed to notice or 
care that she did so, her fury grew.


It was early on the sixth day of the Moon of the Young 
Lord. The milking was not yet finished, and Mor'anh was 
still among the herds when a small boy on a pony galloped 
up crying shrilly 'Young Wolf! Young Wolf! 
Mother says go quickly--it is the Golden Girl!'


He feared to find her dead; but the woman at the tent 
door said 'We cannot make her speak. We found her so 
this morning. Come and speak to her. Maybe you can 
comfort her.'


Dismayed, he went in. Marat lay with her face hidden, 
shuddering with spasms of sobbing, not heeding the 
women trying to soothe her. She would not turn her 
head; her fingers were clenched on her hair, pulling it 
across her face, and they could not loosen her grasp. Her 
weeping racked her; she snatched her breath in low 
moans. Mor'anh looked at Manui, who shook her head.


'This is not good for her. She is exhausted, she cries


because she cannot stop. It is woman's frenzy.'


He touched her shoulder. 'Marat!'


As soon as he spoke, she broke into frantic screams, 
muffled by the fleeces of her bed. She beat away his 
hand. He recoiled and looked around at the women. 
'What has happened!'




162




Most of them shook their heads; but one said fiercely, 
'This is Runi's work!"


The others gave a faint shudder, looking at Mor'anh; 
but he only stared at the speaker, bewildered. 'What?'


'I saw that little viper come away from here. The Gods 
only know what she has said, but there is no mercy in 
her, and she has poison enough in her tongue to do this 
without putting forth her strength!' She stopped on a 
gasp, facing Mor'anh half in fear: but he only said uncertainly, 
'Little viper?'


ù The woman who had first spoken swallowed and was 
silent. He looked to Manui, but she shook her head 
anguished, 'Do not ask me!' Then another said, 'She is all 
spite and jealousy. May the Good Goddess cause her to 
cut herself with the edge she has to her tongue, and may 
she bleed to death of the wound!'


He lid'not reply. He looked down at Marat, and his 
heart shool. He felt crowded and stifled. 'Leave me with 
her; I will see what I can do,' he said hoarsely. 'Manui, 
you stay; no one else.'


They went. He grasped Marat's shoulders and raised 
her. Her face, desperate with misery and terror, shocked 
him. She wailed and thrashed, flinging her head about, 
her fingers still knotted in her hair, blind eyes clenched 
shut. Her breath jerked and crowed. Panic gripped him; 
he did not know what to do.


Manui pushed him aside. 'Hold her up,' she said, and 
he obeyed. Manui grasped Marat's hair, holding her 
head still; she hit the Golden Girl's cheek four times, so 
hard Mor'anh protested. Marat's cries stopped abruptly: 
she gave several odd indrawn whoops, then snorted and 
was quiet. Her head fell back and her arms fell loose.


He laid her down and looked at Manui, reproaching 
her roughness. She did not heed him, only began pressing 
fleece soaked with cold water to the girl's face, wiping 
her brow, her eyes and cheeks, talking gently to her all 
the while. Mor'anh gazed. A terrible grief was waiting to 
be faced; he clung to the moment, and watched Manui.




163




After a while Marat stirred; she whimpered and tried 
to sit up. At Manui's nod the Young Wolf raised her and 
drew her to lean against him. 'Mor'anh?' She whispered, 
'Manui.?'


'Yes, we are here. There is no one else. Marat, what 
happened to distress you so?'


She did not reply at once. At last she said, her pretty 
voice choked and roughened, 'The girl called Runi: is she 
as beautiful as she says she is?'


His heart died. He could not speak; but Manui answered 
steadily, 'She is very beautiful.'


'And--she says you love her, Mor'anh. Is it true?' He 
could not answer. Her wavering voice grew insistent. 'Is 
it? Is it true? Manui!'


He met Manui's eyes, seeing in them only the reflection 
of his own pain. She nodded mutely to Marat, then 
remembered. 'Yes,' she whispered, 'yes. Yes, it is true.' 
All at once she began weeping helplessly, without a 
sound, turning her face away for shame. Marat said,


'It is no wonder, if she is as beautiful as she says. But, 
Mor'anh, it is not true that I ever thought you--loved me. 
How could I be so foolish? I did not think it. I know you 
are kind because you are sorry--because I helped --so it 
is not fair to call me a fool for thinking--a thing I never 
thought.' She stopped on a gasp. Mor'anh began to speak 
but she said 'Wait', and steadied her breath.


'I know I was never beautiful. But there was no 
need--why should she taunt me with being ugly? Why 
must I know? If she is so lovely, what can it matter to her? 
Does my being ugly make her more beautiful? What have 
I done to make her so angry? I never spoke to her before. I 
never wished her harm.' She hardly raised her voice, but 
the dead misery of it was hard to bear. 'Mor'anh, I am 
sorry, but I think she is cruel. And she said--such things. 
I know you say things Kalnat would not; often Nai 
shocked me. But Runi . . . she made me afraid. It was 
night when she came at least, I did not know, I---she 
would not tell me if it was night or day. She laughed at 
me. She never let me know where she was--sometimes




164




she spoke right in my ear--I could not see. She was trying 
to frighten me, Mor'anh; that was worst. She wanted me 
to be afraid.'-He felt her trembling. 'I was afraid. She 
mocked me for being blind. Is it my fault? Is it? Mor'anh, 
she hates me, she does, she does. Why should she? What 
have I done?'


He looked in agony at Manui, but she was striving to 
master her tears. He said, 'I do not know. Marat, this is all 
untrue. You are ill and you are scarred, but that will pass. 
You are not ugly. Do not believe anything she said. She 
is---she is jealous. Because all the Tribe honours you. 
Because she has always boasted of her courage, and you 
really are brave, she envies you.' He felt she did not hear, 
that she was only waiting for him to stop. When he 
paused she said quietly,


'Why did you not tell me I am dying?'


Her voice trembled. Manui raised stunned eyes. Feeling 
Marat begin to shake again he said roughly, 'Life and 
death are with the Gods. I am not a god, we are not gods, 
to have knowledge to say "You will die".'


'Runi told me I am dying. She said everyone knew 
it--everyone, everyone that they all speak of it. She did 
not believe that I did not know. She said'---tears of terror 
spilled over her cheeks---'she said that you would not be 
sorry. That you are waiting--She said that you think 
while I live you cannot ask her to come to your tent, but 
when I die--you can take her--'


He shook with rage. 'She lied worse than she knew. 
Marat, hear me. I call on Kem'nanh to witness, and the 
Goddess, and by all my spears I swear, may I die if ever 
she puts foot into my tent! Mor'Inkhalen, hear me!'


Manui stared at him, but Marat was not to be comforted. 
She had begun to sob again, from fear alone. 'It is 
true, then, it is true. I am dying. Why, why? What is the 
matter? I am getting better! Please. No, please. Don't let 
me!' She clung to him desperately, and he held her, 
powerless even to comfort her. 'Akrol! Akrol!' she cried 
out in her own tongue, 'Give me the light!' She wept 
hopelessly, 'But I am getting well, I am, I am.' That she






165




repeated over and over. He knelt beside her, holding her, 
for a long time, while she whispered insistently; until her 
voice faded and grew quiet, and she seemed to sleep. 
Then he laid her gently down, and went to the back of the 
tent. Manui attended Marat in silence, but when she 
looked where he sat, his head bowed against his arms, 
she was riven with grief. She would have given him back 
his image of Runi, if she could.


Mor'anh watched the dying girl, and thought 'This is 
my doing.' And he thought of Derna, and the dead 
Golden Men. The world was suddenly full of death, violent 
and inexplicable, death at the hands of men. And it 
came from him: the lightning-bolt, the destroyer. He 
grew chill with horror. How had he become a cause of 
death to so many? His heart was heavy with guilt, and 
when he thought of Runi, grief and shame overwhelmed 
him. For hours he sat there, until Manui called his name 
quietly.


Fever raged in Marat. Her body burned and shook, her 
eyes glittered. When he touched her arm she cried out 
faintly, and her skin scorched his hand. They spoke to 
her, but she did not hear, or found the effort of replying 
too great. She was too weak even to move her head. He 
crouched by her, watching how swiftly, at the last, her 
fire burned away.


Towards sunset she spoke. 'Is Mor'anh here?' Her 
voice hardly stirred the air. He had to stoop low to hear 
her speak. The words rustled faintly in her throat.


'Bury me,' she whispered. 'In the sun. Do not burn me; 
not like a plainswoman. Bury me in the earth . . .'




166






he was talking and laughing with a group


of banyei when he found her. He


watched a moment in silence, as he had


paused before laying Derna's body on


the ground, though he knew he was


dead. Then he said 'Runi'.


She looked round, her green eyes sparkling. 'I greet 
you, Young Wolf. What do you want?'


'To speak to you, Runi. Come away.'


She failed to notice the strangeness in his voice. She 
shrugged her shoulders and tossed her lovely head. 'You 
are speaking to me. Why should I leave my friends?' She 
laughed provokingly, and the girls giggled.


'Runi!' he roared. Lunging forward he seized her wrist 
and dragged her to her feet, and she screamed. The girls 
squealed and scattered. He shook her furiously, then 
turned and dragged her away. Sick with fear, she stumbled 
behind him, in terror of his anger; not even for what 
he might do in it, but just of the force of his anger itself.


It was to Nai's tent he took her; and once in he flung her 
hard away from him, so that she staggered to her knees. 
She scrambled up and crouched in terror, appalled. He 
stood beyond the king-pole, unmoving; in the dim light 
he loomed large, and Runi trembled.


Mor'anh said, 'At last I understand. Now I see you as 
you are: little viper. I long believed that you did have a




167




pride that was more than another woman's. I thought it 
made you more worth winning. Now I know better.'


There was more than fury in his voice; there was contempt. 
She gasped shudderingly, and put her hand to her 
mouth. His voice rose, rich with anger.


'It was never more than pride--was it, Runi? Conceit, a 
lust to see yourself above other women. You are beautiful, 
so you wished to flaunt it. I loved you; and because 
the Tribe honours me you gloried in my love for no 
other reason. You wished to triumph, so you wore my 
love like a trophy, as I wear this bear-skin--See who I 
have cast down! But to be my woman would not be 
honour enough. They might understand that, those other 
women you despised. Besides, others can claim to have 
lain with the White Wolf, and you wish to lead, not 
follow. So you chose to reject me. You would mock me 
and scorn me, and they would stare and wonder, and you 
would be covered in glory. And so you fled me; but never 
too fast or too far, lest I abandoned the chase. And as for 
my pride, or my pain, they were balls for you to toss.


'And you are cruel. I could have seen that long ago, but 
I would not admit it; more shame to me. I know how you 
have taunted Manui. How has she deserved your scorn? 
To love and ask nothing, to give with both hands--does 
that make her fit for your mockery? Are all who love fools, 
then, Runi? Is that what you thought of me?' For an 
instant his voice cracked, then steadied. 'Great Mother! 
You, to scorn Manui!'




His words beat on her head like hailstones, and she hid 
her face behind her arms; while her brain beat with 
terror, he does not love me, he does not love me.


'But Manui is too strong for you. She has a patience and 
a dignity you cannot touch. So that victim was not 
enough. Then came Marat.'


There was a moment's silence. Runi trembled. 
'Why, Runi? Why did you do it? Were you truly jealous? 
Did she get too much honour? Or was it only that 
she was weak, and you strong; she helpless and you 
pitiless; you willing and she easy to hurt? Ah, you 

scor


168




pion! Outcast, friendless, blinded, dying; what was there 
to make you hate her? Hov had she wounded you? Why 
did you envy ler? She had so little, so little: why did you 
destroy what she had?'


He came towards her, and she wailed with terror, 
beating her hands on the ground. 'I will beg her pardon! I 
will go to her now and beg her pardon!'


He looked down on her. 'Will you?' he said softly. 
'Marat is dead.'


She crouched silent, her long hair trailing on the floor 
by her hands. She thought of the Golden Man he had


killed, and her teeth chattered.


'Get up,' he said.


She began to fumble to her feet. He thought, 'Where is 
her pride nov, and the courage I never doubted?' Her 
fear made-.him angrier, and he put out a hand to jerk her 
to her feet. Sh.swayed and clutched his arm, looking at 
him in terror and appeal.


There was sweetness in humbling her. Anger had not 
killed his body's longing; her beauty shook him as never 
before. Her fear was a goad, stinging him with thoughts 
of holding and hurting her, of punishing her with his 
desire. He longed furiously to force her, enjoy her submission, 
possess her at last. This hating lust, that sought 
pleasure in pain, was new and dreadful to him, but it rose 
as fast as his anger. He clenched his hands and remembered 
they were in his sister's tent. Runi stood shivering, 
abject with dread. She put out a beseeching hand to 
touch him. 'Mor'anh . . .'


The back of his arm struck her and flung her to the 
matting again. He clenched both hands around the 
king-pole and stared at her. She lay crumpled, her face 
hidden, shrieking faintly, 'Forgive me--forgive me '


His throat worked. 'Get out,' he whispered. He was a 
man, he would master himself and stop short of his 
desire. 'Get out.' He stood rigid until her scrambling feet 
had gone, before loosening his grip. Then he slid to the 
floor, leaning against the king-pole. He sat slumped there 
a long while, and at last the tears came. He had not wept


169




for longer than he could remember. Outside the sunset 
burned away, the Fire was lit, and the Tribe gathered; 
but he stayed where he was, alone where the darkness 
thickened.




The Alnei buried Marat as she had asked, in her blue 
Kalnat dress, on the top of a hill where no shadows would 
fall, her face turned to the mountains. It made them 
uneasy. It was hard to cover her with earth, hard not to 
feel when they passed her grave that she lay there listening 
to their footfalls. Maybe even the spirits of the Kalnat 
had their own customs. But the Khentors burned the 
flesh to free the soul and it was difficult not to believe that 
since her flesh was unconsumed her spirit lingered. Runi 
above all feared her ghost, and crawled every night into 
the tent where her young brothers and sisters slept, lest 
she be alone in Hargad, when ghosts are strong.


Four days after Marat's death, an embassy came from 
Malde:


They sent in a herald first, a young boy with a blue staff 
bearing two bird wings. Ilna did not know the sign, but 
he understood the meaning, and sent some Alnei boys 
back with the Kalnat child to bring in the messengers.


There were five of them, all older men. Mor'anh saw 
only one familiar face. Ilna received them in his tent. 
They greeted him very courteously, and began civil unhurried 
conversation as they made themselves comfortable 
on the rugs spread for them. Ilna sat in his chair, and 
Mor'anh like a dutiful son on the floor beside his father. 
The Golden Men tried not to see Mor'anh.


When all the greetings were over the spokesman, 
whom Mor'anh recognised as the man who had taken 
their tribute, said, 'We have been sent by the Council of 
Malde', to seek an end to the trouble that has come between 
us.'


Ilna looked astonished, but said only, 'I would welcome 
such an end.' 
'There has always,' said Haniol, 'been peace between




170




your people and ours.' He ignored Mor'anh's ironic look. 
'We did not wish this peace ever to be broken. We of 
Mald have never been harsh masters. When a tribe has 
pitched its tents near us, we have not asked too great a 
tribute, and we have not, as some towns have, added to 
the laws which our forefathers made and yours obeyed.'


Ilna inclined his head, assenting. He did not hear their 
speech with the same ear as did his son: for him, the spell 
the Kalnat had laid on his people for generations still 
held. And Mor'anh kept silence, with lowered eyes.


'And over this last month,' went on Haniol, relieved 
that young Black Cloak had not spoken, 'all this has 
changed. How has this happened? We look back and ask 
ourselves, and it is hard to say how it began.' ('Ai, ai,' 
sighed Ilna.) 'Let us say it is some of our young men, and 
some o.f your young men. We know what young men are; 
their blood is hot, their hands are swifter than their 
minds. They find it easy to quarrel, but we who have to 
mend what they have broken, find it hard.


'Our young men have fought. Where lay the first 
wrong, who can say? Surely there has been folly on both 
sides. But this is the end of it, that three men of Malde hre 
dead, and one man of your people. The young men have 
done enough. It is time to take the matter away from 
them.'


He paused, looking earnestly at Ilna. The old Lord's 
face was grave and attentive. 'Do I speak truly, Lord Ilna?' 
'You speak truly. Go on, I will listen.'


Haniol gave a quick glance at the young man, but he sat 
quiet, fingering a band of fleece on his wrist. He went on, 
'Three men of ours are dead, and only one of yours. We 
might wish to go no further, and let silence cover it; but 
we have a town to rule, and our people are not pleased. 
They ask for revenge.' He saw Ilna's eyelids droop and 
his jaw harden, and the lord's son raise his eyes with a 
brief flash. He' chose his way carefully.


'But what is revenge? Can it bring back the dead? We 
want this ended, we do not want more blood shed. Yet




171




we must give our people some sign. We Kalnat have a 
custom to end these troubles, which we call the blood-price.'


He waited, but before llna spoke Mor'anh said, 'Forgive 
me, my father, Lords. Lord, you say that you are sent by 
the Council of Mald, and that the Council did not wish 
the fighting that has been between our people, but it was 
all the young men?'


'That is right,' said Haniol, encouraged by his tone of 
deference; then Mor'anh raised his head.


'Then the party that the man Keratol led, who came 
with your Lord's son among them--they were not sent by 
the Council of Mald? And the man Darinol, who died on 
my spear--how old was he?'


Their smiles stiffened, and their blue eyes grew blank. 
Mor'anh curled his mouth, but his father said, 'Young 
Wolf, this is over and forgotten. Lord, what is this custom 
you speak of?'


Haniol cleared his throat, his balance shaken. 'The 
the blood-price? It is better than asking blood for blood. 
When a man is killed or wounded, there is a price paid to 
his kin. We come asking for this.'


To a Khentor it seemed a strange custom; but Ilna said, 
'What is this price?'


'The penalty set by our laws is this; ten head of cattle, 
and ten sheep, for every dead man.' Mor'anh looked at 
him sharply. 'And for the man who was lamed, five head 
of cattle, and five sheep; he cannot work, his family will 
be hungry. When this blood-price is paid, we shall have 
peace again.'


'What of our dead man?' said Mor'anh.


They froze again. After a time Haniol said carefully, 
'Maybe some of the blood-price should be remitted. 
What do you say?'


q? I spoke idly. All this is for my father. I ask no 
"blood-price". I could not put a value on Derna's life and 
say, that is his worth.' He smiled at them savagely, and 
they sat rigid. Ilna said as if he had not heard, 'This seems


172.




good to me. I agree to this, to end the trouble, so no more 
blood is shed.'


'That i good to hear!' cried Haniol. 'The Lord of the 
Alnei is wise! And I have words from the Master of 
Mald. He says, if you are willing to make this bargain, 
then on the fourth day after the full moon bring the cattle 
to Mald, and come with them yourself.' Mor'anh kept 
his head bent, but all his face tensed and narrowed. 
'Come, and bring with you as many of your people as you 
wish; and the Master will make a feast for you. And he 
-will give you gifts, things that you lack, of wood, and of 
bronze, to make the peace firm.' He rose smiling to his 
feet.


Ilna and his son rose also. Mor'anh said to his father 
very swiftly in their own tongue, a smile on his face, 'Do 
you believe anything they have said?' Ilna stared and 
answered, 'Why should they lie?'


He did riot reply, but turned again to the Golden Men, 
still smiling. 'Where is my friend Kariniol? Why did you 
not bring him, who is so wise and knows us so well?' 
Then he answered himself, 'Ah, but there are no oaths to 
be sworn.'


When Ilna had taken leave of them he returned into his 
tent. His son still stood there.


'You mean to do as they ask?'


'It seems best to me. These sheep and cattle are little to 
give, to have this trouble ended.'


'Little! It is much when we should not be asked it. 
When did we seek their lives or their harm? Why should 
we give it?'


'Maybe you are right. Does it matter? They have come 
seeking to end the quarrel now.'


'There is an easy way to end a quarrel---never to begin 
it again. They need never have come to us, if they wished 
to end it--they could let silence and time cover all that has 
passed. They do not wish to end this quarrel. They want 
to win it, in any way they can.'


'And what do you want?'




173




'I want it ended. I want peace, but not as they say it. W 
have always lived in peace, they say; so might the falcon 
say to the hare, which he eats at will. It is sure they did 
not wish the peace broken. We give them much, and take 
nothing, and have never been a trouble to them. They 
despise us, my father; always they despise us. They think 
we are fools, that they can cheat at their will. Do you truly 
think they give each other what they have asked of us, for


blood? Why, they have not enough cattle!'


'Maybe they do not. Does it matter?'


'It matters that they mock us. It matters that they lie to 
us, and think we do not know. They keep us like 
herdsall of us. Not the Alnei only, all, all the Horse 
People. They keep us like cattle to milk at will, and they 
think we have not even horns.'


'What would you have us do? They are the Golden 
People!'


'And we are the Horse People! So they are bigger men 
than us, but what of that? We have seen them die like 
other men. What if they are taller than us? Face them on 
Hulakhen, my father, and you will not find them stand so


high! Who made them our masters?'


'The Gods!'


'So you say, and I know you believe it. So have we all 
said, for how long who knows? Who first said it, I wonder? 
Was it a Golden Man? I think it was their spears, and 
not the Gods. But we did not know Kem'nanh then. We 
have a mighty God, now, the father of a great people. 
Father: Terani: Lord: you ask me what do I want--what 
do you want?'


'I want my tribe safe, my people safe,' whispered Ilna. 
'I want the world as I have always known it.'


Mor'anh was silent. In a moment he said, %Veil, we will 
give what they ask. You have given your word, and even 
when we do not swear by our Gods, we are not Kalnat to 
break our promises. And this feast he spoke of--what of 
that?'


'We will go. What else? Why?'


'Father, I do not trust them. I fear their treachery. 'they




174




have broken such a pledge once; and that man Haniol, 
who seemed so honest, he lied without pause all the time


he talked.' Ilna did not speak. 'Will you still go?'


'I will.'


'With many men, in friendship?'


'Yes. Mor'anh, in courtesy I can do no less.'


'In prudence you could. They will try to trick us--they


think us worthy of nothing else. You should not--' 
'Mor'anh!'


He fell silent. The old Lord looked at him with burning 
eyes,, then sat down heavily.


'Mor'anh,' he said. 'Who is Lord of the Alnei?'


But he did not say it as a man might say, Is this my 
hand?; he asked it as a question for which he sought an 
answer. His son looked at him with love and pride.


'You are, my father,' he said gently. 'Kem'nanh grant 
' you long remain so; for we will never have so good a lord


again.'




175




19




he Moon of the Dancer grew to the full, 
and began to wane; and on the fourth day 
of its waning the Alnei gathered the 
beasts of the blood-price, to take to 
Maid&


Mor'anh had persuaded Hran, and






Yaln, and Diveru, and all the other men he could sway, to 
go as if for a great hunt, with spears at their knee, and 
their bows ready. He had decked Hulakhen as befitted a 
lord's horse, and now stood by Hran in the place of 
gathering before his father's tent, combing Racho's 
mane.


Hran, leaning against Ranap, said, 'You fear treachery 
from them?'


'Why should I not?'


'The Lord cioes not distrust them.'


'My father is a man so honourable, he can see no 
dishonour in other men. I am less noble. Where I have 
been betrayed once, I will not trust twice.'


Ilna came out then, and the young men straightened, 
Hran bowing a greeting. The Lord looked at his horse's 
festive trappings, at Racho, fringed and tasselled, and at 
the collared spears. He smiled slowly, loosing Hulakhen. 
With a gesture taking in the horses and the weapons, he 
said, 'What is this for?'


'To honour them, father,' said Mor'anh blandly.




176




He grunted sceptically, then catching his son's eye 
smiled again, as if he were not displeased. He said, 'We


know we ae old, when our sons begin to protect us.' 
Mor'anh grinned a little. 'Are we ready?'


'You are,' said his father, grimly amused, 'but it has 
been for nothing. I do not mean you to come.' He stopped 
Mor'anh's protest. 'Neither you nor Hran; they know you 
both. If I took you, it would look like insult. Do not look 
like that, Mor'anh. I do not distrust them as you do, but I


will not go waving your black cloak in their faces. My 
ù son! Am I too old and foolish to go alone?'


'It is not that. You know it is not. But I think there is 
danger, and I would be with you.'


Ilna did not answer at once. He looked up at the sun, so 
that every crease and furrow of his face was drawn by a 
clear line of shadow, and then round at the camp. His 
eyes were' full of love and regret. He drew his reins 
through his'fingers and said.


'You may be fight. There may be danger. But I do not 
know where it might fall, and that is another reason for 
you to stay here. You fear a trap at this meeting, but I 
keep thinking of us tiding away and leaving the tents, 
with the women, and little ones . . . if they wished to 
punish us, there is the quickest way. We cannot both 
leave the tents. You must stay here.'


For a moment Mor'anh thought of asking which was 
the real reason; but in his heart he knew his father 
thought them both true, and together irresistible. So he 
only said 'What of Diveru? Shall he stay or go?'


'He shall come, if it makes your mind easier.' He 
turned to the Young Wolf. 'I am too old to become 
another man, Mor'anh. I must choose my way as I have 
always chosen it.'


Mor'anh bent his head. Ilna turned to mount; then 
with his hands on the saddle he paused. He looked at 
Hulakhen, then mounted slowly. Mor'anh stood at his 
stirrup. There was comfort in looking up into his father's 
face. It restored the world, even though that face was no 
longer strong and handsome between black braids.




177




The Lord looked down on him, the same look of yearning 
in his eyes as when he had looked over the camp. He 
said to Mor'anh, 'Do not try to live so many lives. I am 
Lord of the Alnei, and sometimes Kem'nanh speaks to 
me also.' He leaned down and put a hand on his son's 
shoulder. 'Guard our people well, White Wolf.'


Then he gathered his horse, and moved away, and the 
other men followed him. They rode out, driving the herd 
of animals across the Plain to Malde: And at the town, the 
Golden Ones were preparing already to receive their 
guests, with the gifts of wood and sharp bronze they had 
promised Ilna; for they had decided it was no longer 
disgraceful to use their swords against the Khentorei.




Mor'anh set sentries, but himself remained at the centre 
of the Tribe, working before the door of his tent. He had 
not stripped Racho; he stood weaponed and caparisoned, 
held only by the lightest of picket-knots. If they 
did raid the camp, he would be ready, but he did not fear 
it. He sat all morning outwardly absorbed in smoothing a 
spear-shaft; but his mind was following his father, riding 
proudly to the Kalnat feast, and dread hollowed his belly.


When the horns blew, he knew he had been right. 
�hey would never have come back so soon if he had not. 
He pulled Racho loose, and swung to his back.


He kept to a trot until he was clear of the tents, then 
launched Racho into a gallop. He had not far to go. If any 
doubt remained, it vanished at sight of them. They were 
not returning in eager haste; this was flight. As soon as he 
saw them his eyes went searching for a dark brown 
horse, straining across the distance. When he could see 
Hulakhen galloping before them, and his father upright 
in the saddle, he gave a great shout of joy.


But then they met, and he saw Ilna's terrible pallor, and 
the vivid blood that splashed and glistened on the saddle 
and horse-cloth. He seemed unhurt, from the front; the 
wound was in his back, spilling blood over Hulakhen's 
quarters. He was hardly conscious, though his hands 
gripped the reins and his body rode his horse with the




178




instinct of more than forty years. Mor'anh knew at once, 
with utter despair, that Lal'hadai would be helpless.


His eyes were closed when they laid him on his bed 
and left Mor'anh beside him. The sword had thrust upward, 
piercing his lungs; he lay drowning in his own 
blood. Wild with grief Mor'anh grasped his shoulders, 
crying 'Father! Father!'; not 'Teras' like a man, but 'Teri! 
Teri!' as if he were a small boy.


Ilna's eyelids quivered. He looked at his son, then his 
head rolled to the side.


'Well, Mor'anh,' he said with difficulty, 'it was as you 
warned me... they were treacherous. I remember, before 
the spring, you said to me, Only let what is coming, 
come; and now it is here.'


Mor'anh could not speak. He shook his head in agony 
and sank to his knees by his father, taking the square 
brown hand which had been so strong and leaning his 
brow agaihst it, groaning softly.


'You would not have wished this? I hope not.., but 
my son, if you had known, it could have made no difference, 
if the God guides you.' He kept pausing, to muster 
breath to continue. If he tried to breathe deeply, an odd 
sound came from the wound itself. 'I am one of the first. 
There will be many, many others... Ve my poor son; do 
not break your heart when all this comes; it is 
Kem'nanh's doing, not yours ...' He stopped, and 
struggled again.


'It was too hard for me, Mor'anh. I could not will what 
He willed. I was too afraid. But Kem'nanh loves you, my 
son. You will be strong enough--'


He gasped, and stretched his head about. Mor'anh 
wept, making no attempt to stop.


'A horn--I hear a horn. Is it one of the boys?'


'No one, father. No one is blowing a horn.'


Ilna moved, and sighed, then closed his eyes. 'You are 
a good son,' he muttered; his voice gurgled a little. 
'Proud, and wilful; but such a son as no other man ever 
had.' He stirred a little. 'Nai...' His head moved fretfully. 
'There is a horn; I hear it deafly.' Mor'anh shivered




179




with grief and awe. Ah!--It is his; the Horn-blower. 
Come away, come . . . the hunt is over.' Suddenly he 
opened his eyes and looked at his son, and said clearly, 
'Mor'anh, I always thought the Feast and the Gathering 
were for us. Now--I wonder. Who does he call from the 
hunt, and what was the quarry?'


He clenched his mouth shut against the blood. For a 
moment his eyes looked into Mor'anh's clear and compelling; 
then their grip loosened. And though the eyes 
looked still, Ilna had gone from them.




When he stepped out, he emerged into a silence so deep, 
it seemed even the birds were hushed. A crowd had 
gathered, and he straightened to meet the anxious appeal 
of all their eyes. He said nothing, but his face told them 
the truth, and a low wail broke from them. Some of the 
women sank to their knees, beating their fists on the 
ground, raising the mourning cry 'Rahai! Rahai!' 
Hulakhen tossed up his head with a soft worried snort. 
Mor'anh looked at his father's horse, and grief took him 
by the throat. He bent for a picket rope and knotted it to 
Hulakhen's headstall. 'I will groom you soon,' he said, as 
if offering comfort; but the davlani pulled his head up, 
ears moving uneasily, and gazed past him to the tent 
entrance.


Mor'anh turned and saw his friend. 'Hran,' he said, 
walking towards him, 'Hran.' He grasped his shoulders. 
'My brother, take care of yourself. I am losing everyone I 
love.'


'Diveru is waiting,' said Hran. 'Do you want to talk to 
him?'


Diveru's face rarely softened into emotion; now it 
showed some regret, but much more grim anger. 'Shall I 
tell you how it happened, Lord?' he said.


The title shocked Mor'anh like a frosty morning. In 
truth Diveru was using it too early, before the Tribe chose 
him; but there was no doubt they would do so. 'Come 
into my tent, then. You too, Hran.'




180




He went to his bed, to stretch out on his tiger-skin, 
then sat instead in his chair. Diveru sat before him.


'There were many of them waiting for us,' he said. 
'Two or three for every one of us. And we were deceived 
at first, because few of them were carrying spears. Lord 
Ilna thought he had been proved right, they meant no 
harm. Some of them came down to us. Lord Ilna knew 
one of them. This man smiled, and counted the animals, 
and they drove them away. But the other men did not 
come to meet us; they stood on the hill, and your father 
stared at them. We had not got off our horses... Then 
the man who did the talking said, now we should go to 
the feast. Some were ready to dismount, but Lord Ilna did 
not move. He was looking across the ditch, at the way the 
men were standing; in neat groups, all looking one way. 
He said to the Golden Man, "Where is your Lord, who 
called us here?" I saw his face as he spoke, and I think he






knew thn that something was wrong. The man said he 
was waiting in the town for us; that we were to go up 
there to the feast.' He looked briefly disgusted. 'He talked 
much, and smiled all the time. The other men were beginning 
to come down to us. Your father said, "We have 
come here s you told us, and brought what you asked; 
and you said there would be an end to the trouble." The 
man said, "So there will be." But then another man came 
up to your father and said without greeting him, very 
loudly, "Where is your son?" He was trying to smile but 
he could not, and his eyes were hot. He said to the other 
man, "Black Cloak is not here." Then I think your father 
had no more doubt. He said to the first man, "Thank your 
lord for us, but we will not go to his feast. We cannot go 
into the place of walls." He was backing Hulakhen while 
the Golden One was still talking. I could see he was 
angry, and I thi,nk he was afraid. Then the second man 
shouted, and-- Diveru paused, shamefaced. 'We had 
not feared them much, because they had no spears. But 
B they wore a kind of quiver at their belt; and at the sh, out




each man put a hand to it and pulled out a long knife. He




181




swallowed. 'There was a lot of noise--shouting, and the 
horses, and someone screamed;--and I heard the smiling 
man shouting angrily, "Not yet! Not Yet!" Your father 
called to us to ride; they had already wounded Yorenu, 
and someone else. Hulakhen had run forward, but Lord 
Ilna would not go until we were all away: and while he 
held back, the second man ran up and stabbed him. Then 
Hulakhen bolted.'


After a time Mor'anh said, 'Would you know the man 
again?'


'Yes. So would you, White Wolf. It was the man you 
knocked down, when he said how Hran would have 
died.'


Mor'anh flinched. Kuniol had begun to hate him then; 
and his rage, denied revenge, had festered, until unable 
to reach Mor'anh he had struck where he could. Had his 
own arm in some way driven the blow that had killed his 
father?


After Hran and Diveru had left him, when he emerged 
from his tent, he found an old woman waiting. She said 
timidly, 'The women are ready. May we go into him, 
Young Wol-- Young L--' She stopped, confused.


'Yes. Go in,' he said. Women were there to receive you 
at the end, as they had been at the beginning. In between 
a man ruled his body as he chose, but they had it first and 
last.


The drums had begun already. Thin smoke still rose 
before the Goddess's tent, but every other fire in the 
camp was smothered now. He could hear the wailing


'Rahai! Rahai!' The mourning had begun.


His father was dead.


His loss hurt him physically, a hard clenching pain in 
his chest that made him gasp. The hand that had checked 
and guided him was gone, the mould that had formed 
him broken. He had forgotten the parting of their minds, 
forgotten Ilna's reproaches and his own impatience, their 
battles of wills, only remembering the love that had never 
changed.


He thought of the old woman stumbling over his




182




name. How could he be called Young Lord, when there 
was no longer an Old Lord? He was not the Young Lord 
now, nor the Young Wolf, nor even one of the young 
men. He was no man's son.


The banner of the Alnei had passed to him. They were 
his people now: he was Terani, the father of many. An era 
in the life of the Tribe was over; as always at the death of a 
Lord. But Mor'anh knew that more had died with/Ina 
than with any Lord before him; and no man had ever 
picked up the burden he shouldered now. An age had 
passed, not only for the Tribe of the Wolf, but for all the 
Horse People.




183




tent; by every 
food 
nights the Fire 
where it shoul


pyre.




burned except 
pened 
been carried 
hills, before thc 
of the father 
found.


There was a 
they found it; tl 
the Destroyer. 
ness, and 
men, a little of l 
was built of it.


Through the 
bod




20




or three days the Alnei mourned their 
fallen lord. There was no hunting, nor 
any work beyond the necessary tending 
of the herds. All day the slow drums beat, 
and the women wailed. A blanket dyed 
blue covered the door of the dead lord's 
tent door stood a blue-shafted spear. No 
d, for no fires were re-kindled. For three 
of Gathering went unlit, and in the place 
d have burned they raised Ilna's funeral


re on the Plain, and precious. It was never 
for this sacred purpose, and it had hap-lies 
of those who had died in summer had 
r several moons, even back to the winter 
ir souls could be freed. But for the funeral 
f a Tribe, enough fuel would always be




tree whose wood they gathered wherever 
ae dancing tree, irvelhin, sacred to Ir'nanh 
Green or dry, it burned with raging fierce
great heat. For the death fires of most 
!his must suffice; but for Ilna, half the pyre


days of mourning, the women kept Ilna's 
:le of tents behind the Tent of the Goddess;


187




but on the third night they re-opened the back of his tent 
and carried him in. For the last time the Lord of the Alnei 
lay on his bed, awaiting the dawn and his pyre. At dawn 
Mor'anh came, with Ilna's only living brother, a sister's 
son, and Hran.


Ilna lay clothed as for a feast, with all his ornaments, his 
cheeks freshly shaved. A strange tangy smell hung about 
him, from the women's anointing. Gazing on his father's 
face, Mor'anh felt desolate. The features were familiar, 
but the face was empty. Ilna's body was an abandoned 
tent; his spirit had parted from his flesh, and waited only 
for the flames to free him for his journey. Mor'anh 
stooped lower; but the smell of oil and herbs and treegum 
did not belong to the man he knew, and seemed to forbid 
a nearer approach, or any intrusion into that utter privacy.


The bier was formed of blue spears laid across tent-poles 
and covered with the dead man's saddle-blanket. 
On this they laid him, pillowing his head and shoulders 
with a grey wolf-skin, and spreading under his feet his 
saddle, its fresh-washed fleece still showing faintly the 
stain of his blood. Amid the wailing and the drums they 
bore the Lord of the Alnei through his people and up to 
his pyre. They laid him on the matting which covered the 
platform and drew the spears from under him, standing 
them at the corners of the pyre. They hung a grey wolf-mask 
from each spear and stood the banner of the Alnei at 
his head. By his side lay the three spears given him by his 
father at his manhood feast, by his spear-brother, and by 
his wife's father.


Then Mor'anh fetched Hulakhen, and led him to the 
pyre. A trace of some familiar scent, the horse-cloth 
maybe, excited the old horse; he snorted eagerly and 
pulled forward. But the couch bore only a corpse, not the 
rider he sought, and his pleasure vanished. He stood 
patiently while Mor'anh cropped his mane; and when 
the young man turned away to lay the springy pile of hair 
under Ilna's right hand Hulakhen stretched forward and 
nosed the saddle and horse-cloth again, sad and puzzled,




188




then hung his head and gave a low whinny. Mor'anh 
took his head-stall again and caressed him. 'It will not be 
long,' he wlispered. The Khentorei did not send a horse 
to follow his rider--davlenei were sacrificed to the God, 
not to men; but the token Ilna took into the Great Plain 
would soon draw his old companion after him. Meanwhile 
Hulakhen lingered, the very symbol of loss, a horse 
left riderless.


Later that day Mor'anh came alone to the pyre, coming 
with a son's grief to lay offerings on the bier of his father. 
He brought a small leather casket from Ilna's tent, containing 
the old Lord's treasures. It held a great swathe of 


his wife's hair, kept for this day so that she, who had died 
in the sickness when there had been too many dead to 
give anyone more than token burning on a common fire, 
might share in the dignity of his funeral. There were 
relics of his' children's childhood; a brow-band the small 
Nai had made for him; and a leather pouch holding a few 
things, ordinary or even broken, that he had valued as a 
child. Looking at them the White Wolf felt again how 
little a man knows even of those he loves best, and how 
much of his father's life he had had no share in. There


a knife-handle in the bag, broken and discoloured, 
child-sized, of bone carved into the shape of a fat little 
wolf with nose on paws; it was strange to think of his 
father the Grey Wolf as having been once Linalnu, the 
Wolf Cub.


He closed the bag and put it back in the casket. There 
was nothing but a pair of ear-rings, valued not for any 
memory but for their beauty and strangeness; these 
Mor'anh did not mean to burn. They were delicately 
worked, of metal once yellow but now rather brown and 
discoloured, and two lovely white stones, smooth and 
softly sheened, like the moon through thin cloud. They 
had been a gift to Ilna from the stranger from far away, 
the man neither plainsman nor Kalnat. Mor'anh had not 
thought of the man for a long time, but as he looked at the 
jewels, an idea quickened.


The casket he placed under Ilna's left hand, by his




189




favourite spear and his horn. On his father's breast he 
laid his own best-loved ornament, a pendant of sweet-smelling 
resin, and with it his brow-band with the white 
wolf-tail. He put at Ilna's side the spear he had taken from 
Hran, but there was no other memento of his sister he 
could send. It hurt him bitterly, that Nai was not there to 
honour her father's pyre.


There was a flower growing plentifully near the camp 
which bore its blossoms in long orange tassels. By sunset, 
so many children had pushed bunches of this flower 
between the logs that it looked as if the fire were kindled 
already. Among them was a paler gleam; Keratol's hair, 
bound there by Diveru. When they gathered for the 
burning, the sun was balancing on the mountain peaks. 
The flower-decked pyre glowed in the sunset, and the 
blue spears began to look black. Mor'anh stood apart 
from the other men, waiting to set the torch.


The drums stopped. Silence fell on the ears like a blow. 
Into the quiet the Old Man's voice rose, speaking for the 
Alnei.


'Ilna, why have you lain down so early? Get up, young 
man, that is my bed you lie on; rise and give me my place. 
Ai, Ilna, why did Horn-blower call you and not me? You 
were a strong river refreshing many, and I am a dry 
stream-bed. You died in your strength, Lord; you were 
not sick, you were not feeble, it was a man's hand ended 
your life. Ai, we lack you, Grey Wolf! You were a wise 
leader, a strong lord, a kind father to us. Why did you 
leave us? We had need of you! The tent is empty, the 
saddle is empty; Terani, why have you left us? You were 
honourable, Ilna; you kept your promise, and trusting 
your slayers you rode to your death. You put out the hand 
of friendship, and the long knife pierced you. Ai, a curse 
on the men that slew you! Al, ai, a curse on their roofs 
and walls! Terani, it is bitter to lose you!'


The lamentation rose. Women sank to their knees, 
beating their breasts and the ground, shaking their 
loosened hair as they wailed 'Rahai! Rahai! Rahai!' Men 
took away the banner from the pyre, and the blue spears.




190




The woman who kept the Goddess's Tent in Nai's place 
came forward carrying a pot 6f fire. She offered it to 
Mor'anh, and he set his torch to it.


The torch was of irvelhin, and burst with fire. The 
flames were deep blue, streaked a little with orange. 
H, olding it high Mor'anh stepped up to the pyre, and 
ca!led on Ilna's lingering spirit.


Goodbye, my father! Great grief takes leave of you, but 
great joy waits to greet you, and we weep for ourselves 
and our loss, not for you. You have forgotten grief, and 
Kem'nanh's Great Plain is before you. A swift journey, 
my father! Goodbye!'


He thrust the torch into a layer of brushwood, which 
caught crackling; the wood around began to burn, then 
with a roar the irvelhin took fire, and in an instant the 
pyre. was raging with flame.


The heat drove lge circle wider. Thick curls of flame 
leapt up the. walls of the pyre, dark blue and orange 
coiling together. The men raised their horns and began to 
wind them, in a long salute. Mor'anh took his, but had to 
let it fall. His grief suddenly overwhelmed him, and he 
wept without restraint. At first he covered his face, but 
that hid the fire from him, and lowering his arm he gazed 
into the flames, letting his tears fall unashamed. The 
small things burnt first, with little golden puffs of fire; 
then the hair and fleeces began to wither, and the spears 
to smoulder. There was scarcely any smoke, but the 
dusky air shuddered with heat. The fire danced high, 
almost hiding the lord; and amid all Ilna lay calm on his 
couch of flame, as a man must who seeks immortality.


Most people hid their faces when the body took fire, 
but Mor'anh stared on, though his vision was blurred 
with tears and the heat-warped air. Ilna's flesh, loaded 
with oil and spice and resin, burnt with its own flame. 
For an instant he saw his father, still looking like himself, 
sheathed altogether in blue fire; and then the centre of the 
pyre, built mainly of brush for this purpose, fell in. The


old lord's 

bod
y uroppeo trom sight, and the blazing walls


toppled in on him. With an ecstatic roar the holy blue fire




191




of the Lord of Life coiled skyward, only flecked now with 
orange, tossing sparks up into the blue darkness; and the 
White Wolf hid his face in his arm as he wept.




Gathered about the re-kindled fire, the Alnei could see 
how the gap at their heart grew wider. Beside the Priest's 
stool where Mor'anh sat there was a great space, with the 
Lord's empty chair, and the Priestess's stool. The Old 
One, speaking for the Council, stood before them. The 
people were very quiet, lest the old unsteady voice be 
lost.


'The Alnei are a lordless people. Ilna has gone to the 
Great Plain, and his place is empty. We must choose a 
man to fill it. A man to guide us, and keep our laws 
unbroken, and to speak for us. A man who is wise and 
strong, who sees far off and whom danger does not find 
sleeping; a man who will not bow his back nor cover his 
head before winter, or drought, or sickness, or fire. A 
man we may love as a father and follow gladly; who 
knows the ways of beasts and the secrets of the Plain. Do I 
speak the truth?'


They answered 'Yes', but without clamour. They knew 
the end, and were waiting.


'The Council has talked long together. Now we come to 
you. There are many worthy men in the Alnei, cunning 
hunters and wise counsellors, but we have one among us 
who surpasses us all.' He paused to gather breath; 
Mor'anh gripped his stool, his blood leaping unevenly.


'Alnei! We offer you Mor'anh the son of Ilna to be your 
Lord and Father. Will you have him?'


The eagerness of their assent brought colour rushing to


Mor'anh's face. The Old One raised his arm.


'Does any speak against him?'


There was an almost imperceptible Pause; then they 
cried 'No! No! Mor'anh! White Wolf!'


The Council leaned towards each other laughing. The 
Old Man turned to beckon Mor'anh, tears in his faded 
smiling eyes. Mor'anh rose, pale and very earnest, and 
moved forward to face the Tribe. Beside the bent frail




194




figure his youthful manhood blazed gloriously. Har'enh 
of Kem'nanh, strong and beautiful and proud, he was 
theirs. Their joyous acclaim changed and sank, became 
almost adoring, while he stood shaken and moved.


The Old Man spoke again, turning to him. 'Mor'anh, 
Spear of Heaven, you have long been our Priest and our 
Hunter; now we ask you to be our Lord. Will you lead the 
Alnei?'


Into the sudden quiet Mor'anh said slowly, 'If it is your 
wish to do me such honour, I will be your lord.' They 
answered eagerly; but he held up his hand. Now, when 
they were pliant as river-clay, was the time to speak. 'If I 
am the Lord you want, I ask no better thing of life,' he 
said. 'But are you certain you wish for me? I am not the 
man my father was, and I will not be the Lord he was. Do 
you wish to' follow where I may lead you?


'If I am your Lord, I will live my life for you. Beside you 
I will care for heither horse nor friend, woman nor child. I 
will plead for you with the God, I will rule you as justly 
and as well as I can. But I am the Har'enh of the God, and 
must obey him. If he lays a command on me, I will lay it 
on you. If you put yourself in my hand, I must put you in 
his, for that is where I am. Are you willing that I should 
do so?'


He listened calmly to their reply, having expected no 
less. Then he raised his voice again.


'But there is one way he leads me, where you may not 
wish to follow; my father would not do so. Do you wish to 
stay in the shadow of the Golden People, or to leave it?'


A sigh rippled through them. The words had been 
spoken at last. But none spoke, only gazed at him expectantly.


'If you will be ruled by me and by Kem'nanh, then you 
cannot be ruled by them. If their harness is pleasant to 
you, choose any lord but me, for I cannot bear it. We have 
never raised a hand against them, nor desired anything 
of theirs, nor sought their harm at all; and when I think of 
the hurt they have done us only in this last year, my heart 
is sick. We are not men to them, we are beasts they keep




195




to use at wi---no, we are not even beasts, for we care for 
our herds and defend them, and we would scorn to kill 
the beasts we hunt by a trick, as they killed my father. 
They care only for what they can take from us, and they 
do not hesitate to reach into our heart. They took from us 
our Lady, the Luck of the Alnei, the chosen of Nadiv, as if 
she were a fine heifer, and when we cried out against it, 
they laughed! They mock us, and lie to us, and trick us, 
and they think we deserve no better!' They watched him 
spellbound; he flamed with the passion of his anger. 
'We! We are the Children of Kem'nanh, the Sons of the 
Wind, the Horse People! Shall we bear it longer? Who are 
they, to use us so? Who made them our masters?'


They shuddered at his dating, but there was not one 
who had not asked it of himself in his heart. One of the 
young men scrambled to his feet: 'They are only men, 
that is all! We all saw; the greatest of them could not stand 
when Mor'anh wrestled with him. He ate dirt at the 
Young Wolf's feet like one of us!'


The tribesmen laughed, and another man cried, 'And 
they die like men, too! We have seen them; go to the 
women who shrouded their bodies, and ask if they are 
made of flesh like us!'


Already the idea long hidden in their hearts was taking 
colour from the light. Mor'anh felt the excitement flowing 
through them. His heart rose; he knew he spoke for 
them, and not to them, when he cried,


'I am not likely to forget what their rule means; they 
have set the mark of it on me!' He raised his left arm, and 
the unbound bronze shackle flashed. 'I have been 
wounded by tiger and bear, by leopard and wolf, beside 
lesser animals; and those scars I bear with pride, for they 
fought me and knew what I was. But the scars the Kalnat 
set on me, this, and this, and the stripes on my back--there 
is no pride in them, for they bound me when they 
beat me, and they whipped me like a law-breaker put to 
shame, and it was sport and laughter to them! Each scar 
burns my soul. Feeling this, shall I bow my head to them? 
Kem'nanh humbled Kariniol before me, and he brought




196




me out of the place of walls; were not these clear signs? 
Shall I ignore them?'


They shouted eagerly, but an older man rose and said, 
'White Wolf, we feel the bitterness you feel, and our 
hearts too are sore. But if we say we will serve them no 
longer, what shall we do? Shall we never come near 
them?'


'If we never came near them, that would be well, but 
that is not for us to choose. What shall we do? We shall 
refuse them tribute, we shall refuse them obedience; they 
cannot rule us if we will not be ruled. It is hard to ride an 
unwilling horse; and they are not Horse People!'


They laughed, but someone said, 'And if they come to 
force us? What then?'


'Twice they have tried to do so. Who among us would 
ever trust their words again? And when we faced them 
openly, 'it was not we who died.'


'What is thtis?' said Diveru loudly. 'Is death a stranger 
to us? We meet him on every hunt. Is a Golden Man 
fiercer than the white wolf? Is he stronger than the bear, 
that we should fear him? They have a thirst for blood, but 
is it greater than the leopard's thirst?'


All round the fire men were on their feet. Mor'anh 
cried, 'Diveru speaks truly. We have no need to fear 
them, we who are used to facing enemies much fiercer. 
When they hear the wolf-pack call, they shake and grow 
pale. What should we fear? Cn a man die unless Horn-blower 
calls his name?'


The Alnei were chattering and shifting like a flock of 
birds preparing for their long journey, both eager and 
hesitant. Never had there been such commotion at a Fire 
of Gathering. Even the women had forgotten to keep 
their voices low and were talking and arguing energetically. 
Manui's eyes darted about as she tried to judge how 
their resolve was tilting. She shook with excitement, 
agonised at being unable even to speak to help him. She 
could only cry out for quiet, when the Old Man lifted a 
hand-and shuffled forward.


'It is time for me to speaJc,' he said, when there was




197




silence. 'Listen to me, Alnei. It must be for something 
that I have lived to be so old. When I was young, I heard 
what Mor'anh hears; but no god was with me. I could not 
make other men hear it, and I have lived all my life with 
their harness on me, knowing how it galled. No man 
knows the bitterness as I do. So hear me now. To let a 
time like this pass is a sin against all gods. If a tree refused 
to blossom in the spring, it would live a barren wasted 
life. So shall we. This time of choosing may not come 
again. Let it go by, and it may well be that the Horse 
People will pass their days in grief and dishonour. The 
God has sent us signs, he has sent us his Har'enh; dare 
we turn our back on Kem'nanh? If we do, may he not cast 
us from his hand? I thank the gods that they have spared 
me to see this day; maybe I shall see their shadow pass 
before I die!'


Then the Alnei felt their hearts beat as one heart, and 
their choice was made, and voicing their thoughts a man 
stood up and said,


'We will have Mor'anh for our Lord. Terani, lead us. 
We will be guided by you, and we shall obey the Golden 
Ones no more!'




198




e tent of the Lord was spacious, suited 
to the digni, ty of its occupant. It oppressed 
Mor anh; when he woke in the 
.night, he found his high mood gone. He 
was unused to lying alone in a tent, and




this was far larger than the Priest's tent, 
four times as large as Manui's. His bed was twice as 
broad as any he was used to sleeping in; neither his 
tiger-skin nor his cloak covered it.


'It is not so wide as the Plain, and that has been my 
bed; and the stars are a higher roof than this,' he told 
himself. But still he felt lonely. There was an empty tent 
either side of him, and beyond them the tents of the God. 
and the Goddess. He wondered if anyone slept within 
hearing. He was too tense to sleep again, and lay stating 
into the darkness, waiting uneasily for the drum of 
dawn.


When it came, it brought no relief. It was a cool clear 
morning, yet he breathed as if stifled. His heart beat 
heavily, and his body cramped with tension.


He sat most of the morning in the porch of his tent, 
trying to master his body. The muscles of his neck were 
taut, his scalp pressed on his head; his hair had risen. The 
sickness swelled in him, and the dizzy shaking. He knew 
now what this was, but it had never before grown so




199




slowly or so strongly. His careful breath hissed through 
his teeth. The tribespeople passed him on tiptoe. They 
set food near him, but he did not notice it.


At noon thunder crashed, though there were no 
clouds. Mor'anh stood up. Voices called, amazed and 
fearful, as it boomed again. The young Lord gasped. The 
air shook again, and he turned and marched swiftly into 
the Tent of the God. Jerking the curtains together he 
stood in the secret place. 'Come, then,' he whispered. 'I 
am here. Why do you not come?'


His blood seared his bursting veins, his bones ached as 
hard as his flesh. There was no one there. He was sick, 
and blind, and alone. He fell to his knees, then on his 
face, his hands clutching the earth. The world turned 
about him. With all his will and terror he clung to his 
mind. The strain grew worse; he would have screamed, 
but his throat was locked; and still no word came out of 
the darkness.


The walls of the tent shook. His body stabbed with 
sudden agony, and he leapt to his feet with a hoarse cry. 
The darkness beat at him, driving him out; he bent his 
head and ran staggering from it. His head was roaring, 
and his feet could not feel the earth. He flung the door-curtain 
back, and met the wind.


It lashed his hair about his head, and battered his 
body. He thought he yelled, but could not hear. Spreading 
his arms he leaned on the air, opening his mouth; he 
swallowed it thirstily, filling his lungs. The men and 
women crowding at a little distance watched him fearfully.


As suddenly as it had risen, the wind ceased. Mor'anh 
stumbled forward, crying out in loss and reproach. Pain 
and sickness had gone, but he had lost the world with 
them. The raging darkness still possessed him, and he 
could not see; and the vanished wind drew him after it, 
an intolerable yearning.


He cried out in fear, stretching out his hands, calling on 
his friends; then he snatched them away from the hands 
that came quick to grasp and comfort him. They stood in




200




one world, and he on the threshold of another; if they 
touched him they might hold him with them. He must be 
free. The longing that possessed him was terror too, a 
despair and surrender that he could only feel as death. 
But if this was death, then death was what he most 
desired. He spun on his heel, stamping his foot fiercely, 
crying out again, enraged. They were everywhere about 
him, pressing up and calling in words he did not understand. 
He felt their fear and it maddened him. They were 
tangling him in a net of their own feelings. They maddened 
him. They smothered him. He must be alone. He 
must have air to fill his bursting enormous lungs, space to 
contain the stretch of his colossal limbs. They must let 
him go. They crowded and contained him. He must 
break out. He must flee their terror and his, or frenzy 
would turn to madness, and power to destruction. His 
spirit, vast as the sky, battered at its cage of bones. If his 
tingling heels drummed the ground, the earth would 
crack. Out! Out! They must let him go! Only the Plain 
was vast enough and silent enough, an emptiness to be 
filled; and out of that breadth the summons came, which 
his longing answered. There in the loneliness he was 
awaited.


He arched his throat and called out again, with the 
voice of a stallion, a monarch's bellow: and Racho answered 
him. Mor'anh moved forward, stiff, heavy with 
power. The Alnei fell back from him. He called again, and 
Racho replied, coming with tail flying and standing 
mane, surging to a standstill before his rider. With a 
twisting leap Mor'anh bestrode the re-davel's back, and 
his frenzy possessed Racho also. Head reared back, 
haunches crouching under him at every bound the stallion 
fled with his rider at a bolting gallop. Mor'anh rode 
him as not even a plainsman had ever ridden before, 
leaning back as though trailing in the wind of their 
speed, his hands barely touching Racho's hide, but his 
thighs clove to the horse's side as though they were one 
flesh.




201




The same terror drove them both, a true panic, the madness 
of the God, though they were not fleeing before that 
gale of power but rushing headlong into it. Mor'anh felt 
the grasses lash at him, the still air wail past his ears with 
their speed; and with every stride the power grew. But he 
had yielded to it now so utterly that it surged through 
him without resistance and found no more to batter 
down. Having nothing left to lose, he had no more to 
fear.


Racho reared back, neighing, and went on more 
slowly. Heat rolled from his body, but though his chest 
heaved deeply he showed no sign of weariness. Mor'anh 
felt the great muscles surging under him, springing and 
eager. Blinking his cleating eyes he saw the stallion's 
head held high, crest standing; he was no longer driven 
by Mor'anh's longing, but drawn himself. The air 
throbbed. Ahead of them it grew not bright but intensely 
clear. They stepped into it, and the first breath seared 
their mortal bodies; but after that it was delight to 
breathe. There was a salty tang to it, and its clarity made 
every blade of grass distinct and vivid.


And there before them stood He who had called. 
Racho stopped. With a snort and shudder he stopped, 
he bent his knees, he knelt; he bowed his head and 
touched his horn to the ground.


Mor'anh slid from his back. He was on his feet by the 
horse. He stepped forward. Awe and dread were breaking 
his heart, but he had no strength to resist, and went 
forward as he was bidden. Then his body too had no 
more strength, and he fell to his knees, stretching out his 
hands imploringly; and they were caught, and held.


He knelt surrendered, leaning on that great strength. 
Here at the source of the storm was safety, was refuge and 
stillness. And the grip of the hands that held him was 
firm and warm.


After a while he spoke, huskily, his head bowed 
against his arms.


'Why did you hurt me so?'


'Why did you fight me?'




202








Mor'anh trembled. He could not say he heard the 
voice; it entered him through every sense, filling him. 
The depth, th richness, the splendour of it overwhelmed 
him. And the warmth, like the grip of the hands that 
sustained him. The One whom he had always felt most 
near in the cold roar of the wind, the bleak storm: there 
was warmth in him.


Again the voice, deep and wild, beautiful with creation's 
mightiest music. 'You struggled so hard, how 
could I not hurt you? Like a timid girl at her first 
Feast!--Mor'anh; my son. Look up.'


He raised his head. Before him was One who wore the 
form of a plainsman, a lordly black-haired man, neither 
young nor old, in the pride and summer of his strength. 
But he was on a mightier scale than mortal men, and the


ù magnificence of his beauty was hard to bear. The splen-dour 
of h'is shoulders, the powerful grace of his limbs, the 
majesty of hi head. His face Mor'anh could hardly bear 
to look on, nor to meet the brilliance of his green dark 
eyes. He was vibrant with masculine potency over which 
Time had no power. His presence overwhelmed the man. 
And Mor'anh was confounded over again by the simplicity 
of his glory. In him pride was mere humility, for it was 
no more than perfect knowledge of himself. He had no 
need to prove himself, or show himself as other than he


was.


He spoke again, a smile in his voice. 'Answer me, my 
son. Why did you fight me?'


Mor'anh whispered, 'I was afraid. You wanted so 
much. I wanted to keep something of myself.' He shivered 
with shame at the memory. How could a man say the 
God asked too much? If he found a man worthy of his use, 
it was honour past imagining or deserving.


'You have been like a bird afraid to use its wings lest it 
lose the bush it perched in; like a foal afraid to take its 
mother's teat. You are mine. How could you be yourself


apart from me? Stand up, my son, and face me.' 
He rose unsteadily, and faced the God. 
'Do you know me now?'




2o3




'You are Kem'nanh, my only Lord.'


'I am Kem'nanh, and your Lord; and I am your father, 
who quickened the life in you. In the same form you see 
me wear now, I got you on your mother Ranuvai.'


Mor'anh gazed and could not speak. He thought of 
Ilna. He thought of his priestess-mother, keeper of so 
many secrets. Had they known? He shook his head, 
dazed. Surely Kem'nanh meant to speak to him in symbols.


'How can that be?' he stammered. 'Your spirit has 
touched me, but I am a man. How can I be the son 
of-of--' He could not say it: of a God.


'When I take the form of a man I am a man, a true body 
with living seed, and thus I fathered you. Your mother 
was a woman of great wisdom and power, favoured of 
Nadiv before I honoured her. Ilna was chosen to be your 
father under the law given to your people. Most of your 
spirit comes from Ranuvai; your body is mortal, as all 
born of flesh must be, and could not bear too much 
divinity. Yet you are truly my son. You are six parts man; 
but the seventh part is divine.


'Listen well, Mor'anh, and know the reason for your 
birth. For you were not born of desire but will, and by 
design, and the design was not mine.


'This you all know; the world Kuvorei made has been 
spoiled. To our grief, the spoiler was one of us; for even 
the Gods can sin. Only Kuvorei is perfect. What He 
Whose Name Is Taken Away sought to do was not done, 
for against the Maker his will may not prevail. The balance 
is marred. But though some stumble, the Dance 
goes on. Ai, alas, my brother! He was cast down; but 
harm he did do, and the worst he did to man.


'Man has gone awry and given his will to wrong. The 
world was made to be whole: we, Gods whose natures 
can be known, to link you to Kuvorei; you, with thinking 
souls in mortal bodies, to be a bond between us and the 
animals. But man has forgotten this, and that which 
should have joined now divides. Man, made Lord of the 
mortal earth, has abused his trust and tried to make




206




himself its master. Such was the sin of the Nameless.


'Yet man himself is not'wl'iat the Nameless would have 
him be. You'have fallen, Mor'anh, but you have not 
submitted. After all the time that has passed, despite 
man's ignorance, his pride, his fear, still his heart turns 
towards the Gods. Still he remembers what he was, and 
his longing is towards what he has lost. And be assured, 
He who made you will not let you go.


'Each man feels in his heart the break in creation, and 
tries many ways to close it. Not all is forgotten. Some men 
remember their duty to the earth they tread. You remember 
that man was given care of the beasts. And He 
who made is not ashamed to mend.


'How that may be done only Kuvorei knows. But man 
has a part in the long labour, and may help restore what 
he helpe-d to mar. Yet he has forgotten the knowledge he 
had, and forsaken the power given him, and they cannot 
be regained. S'o we put some of our power in your hands. 
We give you the Magics. First and to all, the Earth Magic; 
but the others to their chosen holders in the right season. 
Such a season is now.


'This is why I begot you: because the Alnei and the 
Khentorei need a lord at this time who is more than just a 
man. The Khentorei are my people and have long known 
it; but out of the Khentorei I have chosen the Alnei. You 
first Mor'anh, and after you all the children of your body, 
shall wield the power I give you, and bear it, and keep it 
from doing harm. It is the Wild Magic I put into your 
hands: power over winds, and over beasts, and the 
spirits of men, and much besides. It is a terrible strength; 
yours to use, but yours to guard, and you shall answer for 
the use you make of it. You alone, if you do your part, will 
not be safe from it. The Wild Magicians will need strong 
spirits. Peace will never be theirs. That is why I put my 
blood into the Alnei, whom I have chosen to bear this 
burden. You will be first among the Tribes, Lords of the 
Plain; and every man of the Alnei, so long as the Tribe 
endures, shall call himself the Son of Mor'anh.


'So I lay commands on you. The first you know. You




2O7




may serve the Golden People no longer. But remember, 
when you have thrown them off, treat them with friendship 
as far as you may, and never use them as they have 
used you.


'When you are a great people to whom lords of lands 
you do not know send gifts, remember this. You shall 
have no bond-slaves, and you shall not take tribute by 
force.


'The Lord-ship of the Alnei shall henceforth pass from 
father to son, and your line shall never be broken. I will 
favour your children, and theirs, and all the Alnei down 
the years, with beauty' and strength and understanding 
beyond other men's. Let it never be forgotten, that I am 
your father.


'I would have you obey this; let no woman of the Alnei 
be given to a man of another tribe, so that she leaves the 
tents of her people. If a man wishes to leave his own tribe 
that is well, receive him among you. But see that all your 
children remain Alnei.


'I charge you never to change the laws and customsyou 
have now. Other tribes will do so, but let the old ways be 
remembered among you.


'Never forget that I am Lord of the Wind and that you 
are a wandering people. Follow my Dha'lev, and cling to 
nothing that pickets your hearts. If you build yourself 
walls I shall not follow you within them. When you put 
your faith in them, your trust in me is gone.'


Mor'anh stood enraptured, gazing at Kem'nanh, 
hardly conscious of heating his words, though not one 
did he lose or forget. He wished to fix the aspect and 
presence of the God in his memory, but it was impossible. 
He could no more have held the fiver in a drinking-horn 
than Kem'nanh in his mind. Adoration swamped 
him. He sank in it. He had never guessed that it was 
possible to feel such happiness. All the things he had 
accounted pleasures, the company of friends, riding his 
horse, the hunt, victory at wrestling, the love of women, 
all these were nothing, were childish toys, beside the joy




208




that now possessed him, the ecstasy that is Kem'nanh's 
gift.


'I have talen a visible body to appear to you, Mor'anh, 
my son, that you might find it easier to hear me. Henceforth 
I will come to you as I have always come, but you 
will find it easier to bear. Go now, Spear of Heaven, 
Mor'anh of the Alnei. Rule my people well. Keep a strong 
heart. Trust in me always. Always remember that I will 
never leave you.'


The great voice sank into silence. Mor'anh went down 
on his knees. He felt what might have been a hand, 
briefly touching his head. A wind sighed coldly about 
him, and for an instant the world rocked: he bowed 
lower. Then Racho neighed wild and desolate; and when 
he raised his eyes he knelt alone on the ordinary Plain, 
and the. Wild Rider had gone.




209




22




heir fourth camp lay deep in the Plain.








The grass grew long, thick with blue and 
crimson flowers, and the heavy heat. 
clung between the stems. It was the 
Moon of Storms, the beginning of the 
rut, and the air was fierce with the cries 
of stallions and bulls and rams. Two moons, Sheep Shearing 
and Long Days, had passed since the Alnei had made 
Mor'anh their Lord. Some were beginning to dare to 
speak to him again as if he were the Mor'anh they had 
always known, the Young Wolf, not the Son of 
Kem'nanh. What he told them of the destiny of the Alnei 
was less daunting than the knowledge that Mor'anh had 
stood before the face of Kem'nanh, had spoken to him, 
put his hands in the hands of the God; the fact that their 
God had chosen them less awesome than the fact that he 
claimed their Lord as his son.


It had been a hunting morning. Hran and Mor'anh lay 
beside the river after bathing, watching their horses 
enjoy the water. 'I do not know why you made Diveru the 
Hunter,' Hran was saying.


'To be Lord and Priest both is enough.' Mor'anh answered 
lazily. 'While I was Hunter too I felt I was talking 
to myself all the time. V, it is hot. If there is no wind soon 
there will be another storm.'




210




'It is too hot to sleep these nights. I spend most of the 
time walking about trying to find a breeze.'


'Can you find no better way to tire yourself?' Mor'anh 
chuckled, but Hran was silent. The Lord opened his eyes, 
then sat up and said more gently, 'Hran, are there no 
women in the Tribe to please you? Since my sister was 
taken you have tied your breech-lace with a double knot. 
It is not good. I would not have you forget Nai; but you 
need not love a woman to find pleasure with her.'


Hran frowned, and continued to skim reed-heads at 
ù the water. After a while he said, 'No. I know you think so. 
But perhaps there is need not to love another woman.' He 
turned to his friend. 'What are you saying? That I must 
learn to want other women? That Nai is with the Golden 
Man for ever?'


'No! She must return to us. Kem'nanh will give her 
backto us. You'will have Nai in your tent, do not doubt 
it. Did yon think I would forget the Golden Ones?'


'Who could think it? You have kept us learning our 
weapons afresh all summer.., no, I did not think you 
had forgotten.'


Mor'anh said nothing, but the laziness had gone from 
him. Then he said, 'Hran, look here'. He slipped a pouch 
from his neck and out of it tipped two jewels. 'Do you 
know what they are?'


The Long Spear exclaimed over them. Much rubbing 
had restored some of their gleam. The gold was worked 
with marvellous delicacy into a mesh of plant-tendrils, 
two or three of which wound about the pearl so that it 
was safely held, but hardly concealed. Hran traced the 
liquid curve of one golden strand. 'They are beautiful! 
Well, I see they are ear-rings. Where did you find them?'


'In my father's tent. They brought to my mind the man 
who gave them to him. Do you remember--oh, many 
years ago, before the Sickness--a stranger came, one 
winter. Do you remember?'


Hran turned his mind back. 'Faintly,' he said at last. 
'He was tall and pale; he said he would die of the cold.'




2




'This was his gift to my father. Ilna never wore them--they 
are not ornaments for a man. They are from that 
stranger's land, from The Cities.'


Hran looked confused. 'Yes?' he said questioningly. 
Mor'anh leaned forward.


'What do we need, before we meet the Kalnat again? 
Think, Hran! If they choose to fight us, we have our 
spears, but after that, hunting knives. While they have 
their long spears, their knives, the long knives I have not 
seen, which killed Ilna--all of metal. I will not let the 
Alnei follow me to their deaths. We need weapons, 
Hran.' He saw that his spear-brother still did not follow 
his thoughts, and laughed. 'Look, my brother, look at 
this ear-ring. They were skilled men with metal who 
made that.' He looked at his friend's appalled face, and 
grinned.


'What do you mean?'


'I shall go to The Cities.'


Hran was struck dumb. He stood up, and sat again. He 
pulled his hair loose and ran his hands through it, and 
cried out.


'The Cities! Mor'anh, you are mad! No one knows 
where that is! You would never find it! Mor'anh, forget 
this. Do not go. You would never return, the Tribe would 
never see you again. You would be lost to us!'


'I must go. Weapons we must have; shall we get them 
from the Golden People? Shall I go to them and say, 
"Make us long knives that we may kill you"? Or would 
you have us face them with what we have?'


Hran could only shake his head. 'But The Cities! It is so 
far. O Mor'anh, we will never see you more!'


The anguish in his voice moved Mor'anh. 'Hran, my 
brother, do you forget Kem'nanh? He is with me, and


nothing shall keep me from returning, I promise you.' 
'But how will you find the way?'


'The stranger told me. I have remembered much, Hran. 
That is another thing that makes me sure the God means 
me to go. I remember that I used to follow the pale man, 
and ask him questions all day. And I asked him how he




212




would find The Cities again, and he showed me,' he 
hesitated, ,'I forget whht he called it, it does not matter, I 
did not understand it. He said it was a picture of the land, 
but it did not look like it to me. But he traced his way on 
it, and told me how to follow it. Mostly I shall be following 
rivers. That night I told my mother about it.' He 
paused. 'She told me I must never forget it. She looked so 
seriously at me, and spoke so solemnly--it was about two 
moons before the Great Sickness. I suppose her death so 
soon following made it even more important to me to 
Obey her. I told myself the whole way every day until it 
sank into my mind. I never did forget. I had not thought 
of it for a long time, until I saw those ear-rings. But I still 
know it.'


Hran groaned. 'How can you be sure?'


'Hran! That man, the stranger, who was so pale and 
could not ]ear the cold and wore ornaments fit for a 
woman--he found us! He had heard of a people living on 
the Plain, and came to find if it was true. He had no one to 
tell him the way. I, I have been told the way, and I know 
The Cities can be found. Shall I, the Son of Kem'nanh, be


so much less bold than him?'


'Let me come with you!'


'I do not think so. It Will be hard without you, my 
brother, but I would wish you to be here. You know my 
heart better than any other.'


'When will you tell the Tribe!'


'Not yet. I shall not go until after the Feasts.'


Hran stood up. He knew Mor'anh's decision was 
made, and argument was useless; and the Tribe would 
not oppose it, as they would not oppose anything their 
Lord willed. Beyond doubt Mor'anh would do this terrible 
thing--go alone out of the Tribe. And dear as he was 
to Kem'nanh, could Kem'nanh still protect him, so far 
from the Plain?




The summer ended. It was in the Moon of Flocking Birds, 
when they passed in great masses following the sun 
south, that Mor'anh told the Alnei of his intention to go




213




the way the birds went. They wailed with fear and grief, 
and implored him not to do so, but as Hran had foreseen, 
they yielded before his confidence. In time, the idea grew 
acceptable to them--even to the Long Spear. Only Manui 
watched the time draw on with unabated dread.


They turned south, and the Deep Plain was behind 
them. Mor'anh remembered his wish to stay all winter on 
the Plain, and see how the snow lay when the Old 
Woman pitched her tent among the grasses. It was less 
than a year past, but he remembered it like another life, 
when he had been another man, young and unburdened, 
Ilna's son. And he smiled, like a man ten years older 
remembering the schemes of boyhood, not knowing how 
youthful still was even this amusement.


The Moon of Burning Trees passed; and in the fourth 
day of the Moon of Great Feasts they pitched their tents in 
the valley where they would pass the winter. The Dha'lev 
led them to a good valley, deep and well-watered, sheltered 
with thick woods. It was the last camp he would 
choose for them. He had been their King for seven years, 
and his prime was passing. Before a younger horse could 
put him to shame they would send him to the Great Plain, 
where he would live in eternal honour.


That feast, the Feast of Kem'nanh, was the first at 
which Mor'anh took his place as Lord as well as Priest. 
The welcoming of the new men came first, and when 
their plaits were gone and their men's spears in their 
hands, he led each round before the Alnei, crying his 
name and his horse's name, bidding the Tribe know 
them. Then they sent the women and girls away, and the 
true Feast of Kem'nanh began. All the men went bare-chested 
and barefoot, their heads plumed with horsehair, 
and the dancers wore horse-tails too. But Mor'anh, 
leading the dance, wore trousers made of the hide of a 
stallion, with feathering at his wrists and ankles, and a 
mask of horse-hide over his head. The mane danced 
above him, and the black hide of the horse's neck covered 
his shoulders; the horn rose from his brow. In this dance 
he always lost himself. He became a stallion, prancing




214




and stamping, swinging his horn, smelling the wind; all 
his movements and attitudes those of a horse. He was the 
Great Horse, th herd leader, King of a Tribe, honoured 
by plainsmen above all living things. He tore the ground 
and arched his neck, bellowing his challenge to rivals. 
When no answer came he shook his shoulders and 
neighed with scorn. Above the drums the deep horns 
sounded the rich music which pleases Kem'nanh more 
than any other, and behind their Lord flaunting in his 
pride the three lines of horsemen stamped the ground 
and pawed the air, tossing their plumes together.


The dance over, Mor'anh went into the Tent, while the 
men outside sang to the God. When Mor'anh came out, 
he was carrying the great cleaver of flaked stone.


He had only been a man five years, so this was the first 
' lxorse-sacrifice he had made. When they led the Dha'lev 
up to him he looked at the animal's majesty, his superb 
unconquered pride. He remembered how terderly that 
great back had borne him. He thought, 'He fought for the 
right to stand where he stands now; it was his choice.' 
But not since his first hunt had he prayed so earnestly for 
a steady hand and a strong arm.


The Dha'lev died, and the tribesmen wailed with grief 
as he spilled his silver mane on the bloody earth. 
Mor'anh marked each tribesman, from the Old Man to 
those made men that day, with the horse-sign on their 
breast in the Dha'lev's blood. Then they raised the King 
to his waiting pyre, and sent him to the God.


Other feasts passed, and last came the oldest of them 
all, the Feast of the Mother. Dawn on the first day of it 
broke over tribes without women: even those too sick to 
walk had been carried away. None of the men knew 
where the women went, or what they did; few dared to 
guess.


The sun set. The children were put to bed; the older 
boys rode off the keep the Watches in place of the men. 
Vani drifted in and out of cloud, not the cold crescent of 
the banyei, but full and golden.


A drum boomed. Its heavy single beat rolled down the




hill, and Mor'anh and Hran grinned briefly at each 
other, as always more than half afraid. They walked with 
the others out of the camp and up the blazed path into the 
trees: for the only time in the year, the men obeying the 
women. Ahead of them the summons quickened, an 
urgent double beat.


The path ended in a broad clearing. The fitful moonlight 
was brightened by a circle of huge fire-bowls tended 
by old women, who fed them with twigs and leaves from 
which rolled sweet smoke. Further up the hill, the drum 
beat on. The men spread in a circle around the clearing, 
not speaking, or even looking at each other now. They 
began to stamp, in time with the drums. Then the faint 
sound of singing drifted down to them.


The singing wound nearer, a chant so ancient that it 
was sounds rather than words; and the women came 
dancing slowly down the hill. They came in a long twining 
file among the trees, swaying as they sang, sounding 
their own instruments; rattles with tongues of bone shivering 
together, or little longhandled drums. They wore 
robes of soft deer-skin, belted at their waists but unsewn, 
which glowed yellow in the soft light. Their faces were 
masked, only their mouths uncovered, and the masks 
painted. It would be hard for a man to know his own 
sister or wife among them.


They passed through the circle of men and closed their 
own circle within it. The dance quickened. The drumbeats 
crowded closer until the heavy air shuddered with 
them. The women stepped around the fire; the moving 
robes bared pale sides, and legs naked from hip to ankle. 
Their eyes, hazed with the galya they had eaten, glowed 
through the masks. They wove their line in and out, now 
dancing close to the men, swaying their bodies towards 
them until they reached out, now skimming away. 
Mor'anh watched the twining arms, the swinging hips 
and rippling shoulders; he heard himself call out to the 
women, who laughed and cried out wildly. Their blood 
was running hot with the galya and the drums. They 
drummed the earth with their heels; the smoke rolled




216




between them to the men, who gasped in its dizzying 
sweetness. The song still-rose and fell, but the words with 
no meaning but mystery began to melt in other sounds. 
The music quickened, and the Goddess's drug flamed 
through their bodies; the night, the fire, the moon swung 
dizzily around them; they beat their bare tingling feet on 
the earth and cried out longingly. The night was thick 
with unfocused desire, men and women delirious with 
the Goddess. In front of Mor'anh a tall slender woman 
swung her body in a rippling curve that dragged a groan 
from him. Then one woman gave a shrill frenzied cry; 
they all joined it, flinging up their arms, and the circle 
broke. The slim woman straightened like a cracked whip 
and sprang forward, darting past Mor'anh. He heard the 
gasp of her laugh, saw a flash of green eyes, and whirled 
after her.


She sprari nimbly through the trees. He let her keep a 
bound ahead until they had gone beyond the other worshippers, 
then caught up with her and seized her waist. 
She turned at once, her arms clasping him as fiercely as 
he held her. They fell to the leafy ground and coupled 
without a word. Her wild laughter shivered on until he 
stifled it with kissing; after that only the rustling leaves 
broke the silence.


After a while they moved to a deeper hollow under one 
of the bushes, and sank deep in the worship of the 
Goddess. She was a fierce and eager lover, as full of 
laughter as desire; when she laughed he almost knew 
her. He thought at first that the night would never be 
long enough for them; but they slept at last, Nadiv's 
frenzy spent.


He woke when the night grew colder. The woman 
slumbered exhausted, nestled deep into the leaves. The 
moonlight fell mottled through the bush, gleaming on 
the pale abandon of her limbs. Her black hair lay tossed 
all about.


He moved closer. At the Feast the holy herb had raged 
in her veins; now they were only themselves, and he 
wished to know what wildness he could wake in.her. Her




217




lips parted, shaping her sigh of pleasure; she woke and 
began to draw back, fending him away with smothered 
laughter; but when he grew insistent she yielded with 
the faintest of protesting sighs.


When he woke again she was gone. He walked down 
into the still womanless camp and found Hran. It was 
unlucky for a man to speak of the Feast, as unlucky as for 
him to name even to himself the woman who had lain 
with him; so only Hran's grin mocked his friend for his 
late return, and when the Long Spear's vivid green eyes 
gleamed with laughter, the Lord refused to trace the 
resemblance or put a name to his memory, and only 
grinned back.


The Feasts were over. Winter had begun. And before 
Vani could wane far, Mor'anh meant to ride to The Cities.




220




23




he drum had not sounded when Manui 
looked out of her tentù She shivered. 'It is 
thick frost.'


'That is good. Winters are easier when 
the frosts begin early.' Mor'anh reached 
for his boots. 'Come back from the door




then. You will take cold.'


That was true. But she stood unmoving, gripping the 
door-flap, gazing at a world ghostly and dim under the 
starlight. The pale silence offered her bleak fellowship. 
There were times when the only refuge lay in stillness. 
She was colder than the frost already.


Mor'anh stood up, stamping his feet into his boots, 
and glanced across to her. She had begun to shake with 
cold. He shook his head ruefully, and went to her. 'Manui 
ù . . !' he said, gently chiding; he drew her away from the 
door. She turned without speaking and leaned against 
him, and he held her firmly, feeling her trembling. Cold 
soaked from her flesh. She looked pinched, pale and 
haggard; and he could no longer pretend not to understand.


Her body ached with her violent shivering. She felt 
weak and ashamed. She had striven for so long not to 
burden him with knowledge of her love; but now all 
pretence was ended, and her strength spent beyond 
pride. Often she had resolved to take his love-making




221




more lightly, and always at his first touch her passion had 
betrayed her, but never before so utterly.


He felt her shiver again, and rubbed her arms briskly. 
'Now see what becomes of disobedience. I told you to 
come back.'


She managed to smile. He must not carry away such a 
cold farewell. But despair was crushing her. She could 
have borne it as easily had he said he was riding to seek 
the Great Plain--more easily, for the Great Plain belonged 
at least to their own world.


'I am rebuked, Terani.' They looked at each other, 
searching for words, but Khentors take leave of one 
another so rarely they did not know what to say, and had 
to fall back on kisses.


Mor'anh never found as much pleasure with any other 
woman as with Manui; that night had banished even the 
memory of the Feast. While it lasted, he had known 
nothing beyond themselves and the moment that 
drowned them. Now the cold morning was come, and a 
long solitude lay before him. His desire was touched 
with fear, and loneliness breathed on his neck. He could 
have begun the night again; but the first blow of the 
Dawn Drum parted them at last. He would be looked for 
at his own tent, and must go.




The sun was well up when he took formal leave of the 
Tribe, and the whole world was sparkling. On tent roofs 
and other places where the frost was thin it had melted 
already, leaving drops of water lit with rainbows. Where 
it was thicker it shone; every leaf and grass-blade glittered, 
and the world was a glory of light.


Again they sought some way of leave-taking. There 
was no form of words to use. No man left his tribe unless 
cast out for a great crime, and no leave was taken of an 
outcast. The only parting they knew how to make was 
from the dead. It would be ill-omened, to say to Mor'anh, 
'A swift journey'.


The Old One moved to Racho's head. 'Mor'anh, Lord 
of the Alnei,' he said, 'once before you rode away from the




222




tents, though then you did not go alone. Then we said, 
"Go forth a boy and rtum a man", and you came back to 
us riding'Racho. Now, you set out with your re-davel; 
you go forth a man, and who knows what you will have 
become, when yofi return? But we pray as we prayed 
then: Kem'nanh have you in his keeping, and bring you 
back to us safely.'


The swarm of attendant children soon fell away, then 
after a while the boys who had appointed themselves 
outriders. Only the ten pack-ponies trotted behind him, 
and Hran beside him. His spear-brother kept him company 
for many miles; but at last they drew rein. The day 
was more than half gone, and Hran must be back in camp 
by dark. Their parting could be delayed no longer.


Hran turned Ranap, and they faced each other. After a 
moment Mor'anh said, 'You know my horn-call. I do not 
think I chn. be gone for less than three moons, and it may 
be longer. But after the third moon, begin to listen for my 
horn,'


'We have ridden stirrup to stirrup for many years,' said 
Hran. 'Even for one season only, my side will feel strange 
without you, my brother.'


'And mine without you. Watch over my people, Long 
Spear. May the winter not be hard. Do not let the Old One 
die while ! am gone. Guard yourself well, my brother; 
better than any.' He looked north. 'Say my name every 
day to the Plain lest it forget me.' Then his tone changed. 
'And do not let anyone neglect his weapon practice. Be as 
strict as with your dancers.'


Hran smiled and said, 'I know I do not need to say it, 
Son of Kem'nanh, but: the God go with you. When 
winter leans towards spring, we shall look for you.'


They rode their horses close and embraced; and then, 
for the first time either could remember, they gathered 
their reins and rode away in opposite directions.




After two days, Mor'anh came to a forest. It was the first 
land-mark he had to find, but he was almost astonished 
to see it there where the City-man had seen it, as if eleven




223




years could have undone the work of hundreds. He gazed 
at it with some awe. From the hillcrest whence he first 
saw it, he could see how far it stretched; east and northeast 
to the horizon, and south away round the curve of 
the mountains, as close as a lamb's fleece. This was the 
end of the Plain. The hills of winter, and the Kalnat 
mountains, he had always known; but this was strange, a 
new kind of country entirely.


For three days he rode around the forest's edge, almost 
in its shadow at times, watching the trees curiously. He 
could have moved more swiftly, but he was held to the 
pace of the ponies. They were strong and enduring, and 
swift for their size; but they could not have matched 
Racho's earth-devouring stride.


On the fifth day, near sunset, he came to the fiver he 
had been waiting to find. It was broad, but not too broad 
to swim, and he made camp on its farther ,bank. He lay 
awake long after dark, staring at the embers, listening to 
Racho and the ponies tearing at the grass. A strange 
stillness was invading his heart. No plainsman would call 
himself alone while his horse was with him: but he had 
only once before been so long without human company, 
at the time of his manhood test. Then he had known what 
he was doing, and why, and that all his fore-fathers and 
fellow-tribesmen had done the same before him. Even 
so, it was always a time of dreams and strange visions, 
from which all boys emerged changed; Kem'nanh had 
first claimed him then. But now he was doing something 
no plainsman had willingly done before, and so putting 
himself altogether in Kem'nanh's hand. It was in solitude 
that the God's madness fell on men; his terror waited in 
lonely places. But he could spare those who trusted him 
enough; and who should trust him, Mor'anh thought, if 
not I?


The next day he rode no longer east but south, following 
the river downstream through the forest.


Once under the trees, he saw that they did not grow 
very close together, though at the river's edge they 
crowded more, leaning out over the water like sleepy




224




thirsty cattle. There were often wide stretches of grass, 
and low bus,hes; the groind was splashed with sun. But 
he was nearly overcome with awe. Any place where a tree 
grew was holy, to him; here where they grew in numbers 
past counting, it was almost too holy to bear. By day he 
saw few animals, none he knew, only one or two leaping 
in the trees, but the forest was full of birds. It was 
Ir'nanh's country past doubt. Even now when the trees 
were spreading their leaves beneath them the birds were 
active, calling and singing constantly. But their bright 
sounds and the rare animal noises were but the embroidered 
border; the garment was silence.


Often he felt that he was not alone, that he was watched 
and even followed, but he laughed at himself. Once on 
the first night under the trees he woke with a shock and 
sprang rfp sure that for an instant he had seen a girl's face; 
but there wa nothing, and he lay down again. Maybe 
some animal, bolder and more curious than the rest, had 
come to stare, and if his fancy made dark-eyed girls of 
shadows and leaves, that was no wonder.


The next day brought no sun, but lashing rain. The 
fiver blended with its banks, and the dull dripping trees 
on the far shore were half hidden in mist. Mor'anh's cloak 
grew heavy with water; he huddled into it and laughed 
wryly. 'Lord of Summer, if this is your place, where are 
you?' he called. But there was no one to understand and 
answer.


Next day they they came to a place where the river 
divided about a large island, and against the island on 
either bank was a wide gap in the trees. When he rode out 
into the gap and looked east he saw that it continued, a 
broad path through the forest.


'Like a river in the earth,' he said. He talked aloud 
often; the longing to hear another voice grew daily. Twice 
he had thought he had heard someone: a clear young 
voice saying, 'Who are you?', another time a lower voice, 
'Where are you going?' Each time, after the first shock, he 
knew that the silence had not been broken, that the 
voices had sounded only in his head. Racho had heard




225




nothing. So he gathered his mind firmly, and prayed to 


Kem'nanh to preserve him from the solitude that can take 
away a man's knowledge of himself. He still sometimes 
felt the eyes of the forest on him, but no longer tried to 
catch a glimpse of the watchers, sure there was not even a 
beast, that it was only the oppression of the stillness. And 
now he had grown more accustomed to that, they did not 
seem so close.


For while he stayed on the road they could not approach 
him, not dating to leave their trees. They watched 
him from among the branches, too quick and quiet for 
even a Khentor to glimpse. Quite soon the trees thinned, 
and the true forest gave way to broad empty spaces with 
scattered clumps of trees. They could not follow him 
there, and would not if they could; only to smell the air of 
it brought back their thousand-year-old grief as fresh as' 
dew, the fallen trees and the lost comrades.


For six days Mor'anh followed the road. It had been 
falling into decay; the stones that had once surfaced it 
were broken and buried, the ditches beside it choked, 
but its course was still clear. Often they passed areas of 
broken ground, with lumps of stone visible through the 
grass and weeds. Once he saw a field of stones. When he 
rode round them they seemed to have been flung down at 
random, except that they were all much the same size and 
shape; but when he climbed onto the large stone at the 
centre and looked over the field he saw that they made a 
pattern of lines all following the same curve and flowing 
from the centre stone: or to it. The sweep of the curve 
made him think of the golden tendrils on the ear-tings; 
but why men had made the stone pattern he could not 
think, and he did not like the way the lines all came 
swirling in to his feet.


That was the fourth day along the road. Vani was dark 
that night while Hega was full: the patterned stones came 
weaving into his dreams, all coiling towards the malignant 
moon, until it seemed that the stars had learned a 
new and sinister dance, and he woke sweating with 
horror not daring to sleep again lest the dream was 

wait


226




ing for him. Certainly, he thought, he had been alone too 
long.


After six dys they crossed another river; the road ran 
through it, so that the ponies did not need to swim, and 
Racho did not wet his belly. At the edges, by the deep 
water, many of the stones were loosened, but there was 
still a smooth firm path along the centre. On the third day 
after that they passed some great fingers of stone, like 
tree-trunks of rock, round slabs piled high. They stood 
either side of the road, in pairs, with other chunks of rock 
about them. One of the hugest lay across their path, half 
embedded in the smashed road. He puzzled over them, 
staring back after them long after he had passed. The 
vanished people of this country had it seemed treated 
stones like toys. What sort of men had they been, to pile 
them upor make patterns with them like children at play, 
for no apparent purpose? Had they been giants, to use 
them so carelessly?


He pondered on it until he slept, but next morning it 
was soon put out of his mind. For at the very beginning of 
that day's journey, soon after sunrise, they came to the 
Great River.




227




24




havoi, his people came to call it in after








years, the One Who Divides; the great 
river which flows almost the width of 
Lelarik, richest realm of Vandarei, drawing 
its waters from mountains far in the 
north and from wild southern hills, as 
well as from the tall peaks where it rises. Vandarei was a 
name as yet unknown, her history just beginning as this 
plainsman stood on the bank of the river; many generations 
would pass before Lelarik's rise and fall, but Shavoi 
was there already, bearing her great burden across the 
unborn land.


Mor'anh gazed astounded. On such a breadth, had it 
been land, a whole tribe could have pitched its tents and 
loosed its cattle. He could hardly see the trees on the far 
bank. Small waves lapped gently on the shores, but all 
that might of water moved with hardly a sound, with less 
noise than the rivers of the Plain. The low sunbeams 
glinted and sparkled on its surface, and but for the changing 
pattern of their glitter, he would scarcely have known 
that it moved.


'Racho,' he said, 'I hope our journey does not end here. 
Only a bird could cross this.' But at that moment he 
would hardly have been disappointed if he could go no 
farther; he had seen a marvel.


The road ended in a broad flat place at the river's brink,




228




with narrow upright stones spaced along its edge. 
Mor'anh's,way turned northward. He was to ride upstream 
until he found a way to cross the river. They 
travelled beside it for two days, and Mor'anh never tired 
of it. It was there that he first noticed how mild the 
weather had become, like a warm spring although winter 
was well advanced. There were even flowers in bloom.


Several times he saw craft out on the fiver. The first 
time it startled him; but then he thought he should have 
guessed that people who knew this great water well 
Would have found some way of riding on it. Once, one of 
them was close enough for him to see a man moving on it. 
The plainsman waved his arms and shouted; the fiver-man 
looked across and raised his arm before going on 
with his work. The small encounter excited Mor'anh 
greatly. II. is journey had not been for nothing. He had 
found a land where men lived, men who were neither 
Horse People nor Golden People: The Cities was SUrely a 
reality, and could be found. His relief equalled his exhilaration. 
The world grew firm again. It was a place where 
men lived, not where he wandered alone among relics of 
dead giants.


On the evening of the second day after leaving the road 
he saw where another fiver, flowing from the south, 
joined the great one. His heart leapt; that must be his last 
guide, the river he must follow to its beginning. He 
camped over against it that night, and went on in the 
morning with nervous eagerness. His next objective was 
surely near; and about noon he found it.


It was another wonder. Men had stretched a path 
across the water. Shells of wood were linked by ropes as 
thick as his leg, and across them was laid a path of huge 
planks of wood. There were gaps in the line of shells 
through which low craft could pass. When they stood at 
the beginning of the path, he saw it rising and failing in 
gentle waves; and when they moved on to it, it boomed 
strangely under the hooves.


Crossing that fiver was the most terrifying thing he


had ever done . Neither he, nor Racho, nor the ponies,


229




had ever known anything but the steady earth beneath 
them. The ponies neighed with fear, scared by the noise 
their feet made, and the more they milled the greater 
grew the noise and their fright. Mor'anh had to dismount 
to calm them; and then he felt for himself the slow heave 
under his feet.


He gripped Racho's saddle for an instant; sweat broke 
cold on his skin, and he felt dizzy. But his voice was 
steady as he soothed the frightened animals, and Racho 
did not fail him. When Mor'anh remounted the re-davel 
moved forward unhesitating, and the ponies followed 
close.


Over land, the distance would have been a short 
canter. Here it seemed endless, as they went slowly along 
the path that swelled and boomed. Mor'anh looked down 
at the water beneath them, and the wrinkling skin of the 
river, and his heart beat in his throat. When the ponies 
smelled the shore ahead, they jostled eagerly, but speed 
might make them slip, and he made them keep to a 
steady walk until they trod firm earth again. A little way 
from the bank he stopped and made much of them, 
finding his own legs shaking with strain.


But they were over the Great Rive, and elation filled 
him. That night he lit his fire in the land between two 
rivers, and next day, turned his face to the south.




He rode beside this last fiver for nineteen days.


In this land, the very colour and texture of the earth was 
strange. It was hard to the touch, and crumbled drily 
between his fingers, unlike the soft coolness of the black 
soil of the Plain. This was almost red, and often yellow 
rock thrust through it; the land showed its bones here. 
Yet it was beautiful. The season being late, the memory 
he carried away was of a golden land; the short'grass was 
dusty gold, and where that could not grow the tawny 
rocks glowed in the sun. The trees were at first the kind of 
tree he knew, with bare dun branches and their pale 
leaves drifted between them, though they were much 
smaller than the forest trees; but the further south he rode




230




the commoner became trees which had kept their leaves. 
Some were tall and straight, with rough russet trunks and 
deep green leaves so thin and small he could hardly,call 
them leaves. They lay deep under the trees, looking soft 
until he felt them, though they made a springy scented 
bed. Others were low, slim trees with narrow glossy 
leaves. Nowhere did they grow close, and they became 
more scattered daily.


The land was not flat, but a series of ridges and valleys. 
The river swiftened often, and clamoured over rocks in its 
bed: It had grown shallow, and was so clear it seemed 
shallower, and it was cold enough to take his breath. The 
little rivers and brooks that fed it were yet clearer; when 
Mor'anh and the horses crossed one, their shadows fell 
not on the water but on its bed, and the small stones 
ù under the streams sparkled in the sun. There was no lack 
of water for the animals, though now the grazing was 
poor, except aong the fiver bank.


Each day it grew hotter. Mor'anh was amazed and 
perplexed, for midwinter was only a moon away, yet it 
was hotter than any summer he had known. They travelled 
now into the night, resting in the hottest time after 
noon, Racho and Se ponies browsing, or drowsing in 
any shade they could find, while Mor'anh stripped and 
lay on the short pricking grass, soaking in the sun. The 
earth was warm nder him, and the rocks often too hot to 
touch.


Vani reached her full and waned. She too had changed: 
he saw the shadows on her face nore clearly, and though 
she shone brighter she seemed more frail. In this bright 
air the red moon too seemed fairer. He only knew Hega 
dull and lowering; here, though still unfriendly to his 
eyes, she glowed.


He felt his loneliness worsen; the wish for human 
companionship had become a hunger. He had wearied of 
the sound of his own voice, to which no other voice 
replied. He missed the Tribe bitterly, and the knowledge 
of the distance that parted them was a pain which grew 
heavier daily. He conjured their faces at night, Hran, the




231




Men had stretched a path across 
the water. Shells of wood were linked 
by ropes as thick as his leg.




Old One, Manui, Diveru, and Runi: and Nai and his 
father. For loneliness had one trick left to play on him. 
One separation seemed like another, and he often forgot 
that they were no longer in their tents.


He rode stripped to the waist, yet though it grew ever 
hotter, there was no heaviness in the air. Its clarity was as 
pure as the water in the brooks. The river had branched 
again, and was truly narrow now. It sounded constantly, 
rushing with gayer speed over a steepening bed. Often it 
lay below them in a little gorge, or they rode beside it 
between walls of golden rock. Trees were rare now, but 
there were many shrubs with slender whippy branches 
and slim tough leaves. The air was hot and tangy with 
strange scents.


One evening he saw the lights of a village, far away 
across a hillside. His desire to be with men urged him to 
go to it, but he felt a strange reluctance, an awkwardness 
and shame, and after hesitating a while he rode on his 
way. By his solitary fire he told himself it would have 
been only pointless delay. Mor'anh had never felt shy 
before.


Vani waned, and as she drew towards the dark the land 
grew strange ahead of him. In the distance it rose up; but 
not into a mountain, for there were no peaks. Not even a 
mass of hills; as they drew closer the upper height still 
seemed flat, a smooth hard line, and the slope was a 
single cliff the length of the horizon. The river wound 
towards it, and each day it rose higher.


When the silver moon had twvo nights to live, he made 
camp at the foot of the slope. The height above cut the sky 
in half. When he lay down to sleep the darkness was full 
of the river roaring along its narrow bed. He watched it 
curving white over the rocks which hindered it, and 
remembered how it looked where it met the Great River, 
and they made a smooth plain of water. 'Other things I 
have seen young, and growing old; but I have watched 
this river from age to youth. Yet its age is still there; and 
when I looked at it then, at the same time it was young, 
leaping over these stones.' He thought: 'This is how the




Gods must see Time, and the lives of men; not as something 
which passes and' is gone, but which is all there, 
always. While we, moving with the water, see the trees 
on the bank pass and think they are gone for ever.'




The ascent was hard and slow. Racho and the ponies 
were Plain animals, unskilled in choosing their footing; 
the strange terrain made them nervous. Mor'anh led 
Racho, looking for soft ground, fearing to lame one of 
them on the stones. They rested often; at least the grazing 
was better than it had been for many days. Mor'anh 
dared not lose the fiver, but when they had to make a 
long cast away from it, the sound would guide them 
back. Here it was yet louder and swifter, often leaping 
from shelves of rock as much as Mor'anh's height, with a 
gleeful roar. Once the White Wolf slipped into it, and the 
force of t made him stagger, though it scarcely reached 
his knees.


When they came to a level place broad enough to rest 
on, with a slope below it not so steep as to endanger the 
animals in the dark, he was glad to stop, though there 
was still plenty of daylight left. He had time to look at 
something he had never seen before, the land spread out 
below him. This northern slope soon fell into shadow, 
and twilight came early, though sun still shone into the 
land below. It had not darkened beyond evening when 
he lay down, but he slept at once, exhausted.


They had hardly begun their journey next day when 
their way was barred by a sheer cliff more than four times 
Mor'anh's height. Yet Mor'anh, gazing dazzled and delighted, 
did not regret the delay, for over the cliff the fiver 
poured in a glory of flashing whiteness. The water battered 
into the pool at its feet, foaming and creaming; the 
haze of spray chilled his face and danced in a rainbow 
above him. He left the horses and clambered up to a little 
ledge of rock beside the cascade, holding to a dripping 
bush, drenched by the glittering spray. There he stood as 
in a trance, overcome by the beauty and tumultuous joy 
of the waterfall. On the Plain, in the domain of a wilder,




235




fiercer, power, Ir'nanh the Boy, wielder of the darting 
lightning, Lord of the transient summer, was a God of 
life's fleeting brightnesses; like a singing bird swooping 
over the grasses. Here he showed in his splendour, in the 
power of his gladness, like a great swan who sits back on 
the river and beats his wings, exulting. The cataract 
soared over the cliff and plunged shouting in the pool 
below, the drops that struck him bruised like stones; but 
before him the torrent seemed still, so unchanging was 
its ribbed wall. Mor'anh felt a solemn gladness, and a 
stirring, as if he were on the brink of a mystery.


Late that afternoon they reached the crest. Ahead and 
to either side the new land stretched out, a vast platform 
of earth and rock. The air was cooler, and yet more 
limpidly clear than in the sparkling land below. When he 
looked back, their climb seemed impossible; the ground 
fell away, folded and tumbled, reaching the gentler earth 
in a distance seeming little more than its own height.


They could have travelled some way before nightfall, 
but as soon as they were well away from the brink 
Mor'anh turned his tired beasts loose to rest and graze. 
He examined them well, but found no signs of lameness, 
then he made his fire, and ate. Stars began to flitter in the 
green of the western sky: when full dark came, with the 
swiftness to which he was growing accustomed, he saw 
stars in the south that he had never seen before. He sat up 
watching them, feeling at last that his journey was almost 
done.




236




25




i..
t was a land of bright pale colours, light




green, pale yellow, blue, as if the sun had


bleached it. Even the earth was a softer


colour than in the land he had just left, a


pale fawn. It was Ir'nanh's country no


longer; a calmer god ruled here.


The river wandered over the level land, but the trees


and bushes growing beside it marked its course, and he


could ride across its wider curves without fear of losing


his only guide. It was time to begin looking for the place


that would be his journey's end; and he felt at a loss. The


stranger had told him that 'The Cities' meant a great


place, or many places; and that one such place was called


'a city', and that it was where his people lived, a place


fixed and walled. There had been other names he used,


but Mor'anh had forgotten them, as he had forgotten the


descriptions which had linked to no reality he knew.


Now he searched the land ahead for something he could


call 'a city' but could see nothing yet.


At one place the river had cut itself a little valley with


sides higher than he could look over from Racho's back.


He was riding along this, enjoying the shade and the


breeze, when from ahead of him he heard thin piping,


and caught the smell of goat. He felt that strange 

reluc
tance again, a wary desire to see before he was seen, and




237




went forward quietly. He turned the-point of a corner, 
and gaped.


Not four spear-lengths away a girl sat on a shadowed 
rock, piping, with goats grazing round her. Her curling 
brown hair, rather tangled, fell behind her shoulders; she 
was very young, to judge by her sun-dappled breasts, 
and as she sat with her side turned to him she seemed to 
be completely naked. He did not know which shocked 
him more, her nakedness, or that a girl should be given 
charge of a herd: both sights made him blush with 
shame. Then the goats began bleating and staring, which 
made her turn her head; he averted his eyes and began to 
greet her, but she leapt to her feet with a shriek and 
bounded away. He saw then that she was clothed, 
though only in two strips of red cloth tied about her 
waist.


He stared at her terror-stricken flight, her red garment 
flapping, the goats galloping behind her; then rode on, 
astonished and rather hurt. No other woman had ever 
shown such horror at sight of him. He felt his face carefully, 
and laughed; his hair and moustache were unkempt, 
and his beard had grown, covering his face 
almost to the cheek-bones. Maybe a man astride a strange 
horned animal, naked above the waist and strangely clad 
below, wild with black hair and uttering strange noises, 
might be alarming. He bathed and groomed himself with 
care that night, shaving his cheeks with much grimacing, 
though he could not take off all his beard, combing and 
trimming his hair and moustache. He thought long about 
the girl, wondering most that she tended a herd; that one 
fact seemed to imply so much about her people.


Almost as soon as he set out next day, the river met 
with a road--one in good repair, this time. Far ahead, at 
the end of the road, he could see a solitary mountain, low 
and truncated, like a smaller version of the land itself. It 
was soon after dawn, and the shape was dark against the 
sunrise. When the sun rose higher he could see it more 
clearly, and scanned its slopes for a sight of the dwellings 
of men, hoping they would not have another steep climb.




2-38




The morning wore on. Before him the flat-topped 
mountain grew steadily larger; indeed, it seemed to approach 
very swiftly. There was something strange about 
it; it looked too distant, or not distant enough; he could 
not get the scale of what he saw. As the sun swung 
southwards, shadows moved across its slopes; the great 
outcrops of rock from its face seemed very regular. He 
studied it doubtfully, feeling a quailing in his belly. Then 
suddenly his eyes adjusted, and he knew what it was he 
saw; and it was not a mountain far off, but a city close at 
hand. ù


The shock stopped his breath. He had imagined it like 
the Golden Men's stockaded towns. He could have 
dreamed of nothing like this. He felt drenched in shame, 
appalled at his ignorance. His impulse was to turn and 
flee. He actually turned Racho's head. Then he came to 
his senses, and summoned his pride, and went on.


Soon he could ee men moving on the walls, and on the 
flatsided towers, broadening from top to base, that 
strengthened every angle of their many sides. Then the 
huge sloping walls of tawny stone loomed above him, 
and the massive gate-towers. Mor'anh dared not let himself 
pause, or he knew he would retreat. Racho's head 
was high and attentive; he was curious, and doubtful, 
but not alarmed so long as his rider did not hesitate. The 
gates were guarded by armed men. Over short orange. 
tunics they wore others of polished metal scales; their 
arms and sandalled legs were bare. Their tall rounded 
helmets were crested with orange. Each held a pike, and 
had a large curved shield, straight-sided, standing by 
him. The gateway was a great square arch; as he rode its 
shadowed length he saw the massive doors laid back 
against the walls. Then he came out into the sunlight 
within the city.


The stench of the street was the first thing to hit them, 
so that the animals snorted and tossed their heads; it was 
as bad as the smell of the Kalnat town. Then the people in 
the street noticed him. Some boys shouted, and all at 
once he was the centre of a crowd. The men at the gate




239




had not moved or glanced aside as he passed, so that he 
had thought strangers were commonplace to them; but 
these people called and stared and pressed around him 
jostling one another, women as bold as men. He had 
grown so unused to people that he found he had to 
struggle with something very like fear. They were not 
unfriendly, and they did not seek to hinder him, but he 
found he had stopped anyway, confused by the clamour 
of words he could not understand. Then from behind 
sounded a noise, like a horn but higher and harder, and 
more precise than the Kalnat horns. The crowd began to 
melt away, and those who lingered were pushed back by 
men with the metal-scale tunics, until Mor'anh found 
himself between two lines of these scaled men. One who 
seemed their leader came through the file, raised his flat 
hand to Mor'anh briefly, and led the way forward.


The plainsman followed bemused. They went swiftly 
along broad paved streets until another high wall faced 
them with closed gates of metal that was bent and twisted 
into pattents, before which another man waited as if 
expecting them. He and the leader of the men with 
Mor'anh exchanged salutes; one spoke and the other 
replied. Their voices were so quick and unemphatic that 
they must have been repeating mere formulas. The first 
man turned away from the gate and saluted, again so 
brisk and blank-faced that he could not feel it to be a 
greeting, then spoke sharply to the men, who turned 
swiftly and followed him. They turned as if he had pulled 
them; and it was then that Mor'anh noticed how 
strangely they moved, all their legs moving together, 
twelve feet striking the earth as one. He turned to stare, 
but now the metal gates had been opened, and another 
double file of men waited to lead him in.


He could hardly keep from gaping at the building 
which faced him. It was like a hill of stone. Slopes made 
of piled narrow ledges rose to broad platforms with walls 
along their edges, lines of slim stone trees shadowed 
paths by tall blank walls, roofs rose one level on another; 
and everywhere was the sound of water, and clumps of




240




green. As they drew closer, he had to tilt his head back to 
see the roof-line.


The men led him to a broad slope of the narrow ledges. 
There was a blaze of sound from the strange horns, and a 
group of people came across the flat place above. Men 
whose scale-tunics were of yellow metal sprang down to 
line the slope, and as the foremost of the men reached the 
topmost ledge, they and the men about Mor'anh shouted 
and fell to one knee.


Eight men bore up a canopy under which walked three 
ù people; behind came a group of more plainly dressed 
men. The three under the canopy were all splendidly 
clothed, but Mor'anh looked at the man in front, on 
whom maybe the fate of the Alnei hung, and no further. 
He was tall and slender, with smooth brown hair about a 
fine pale face, not young, but not yet old. His steady eyes 
and mouth held command. He moved a hand; the musicians 
fell silent, and the kneeling men rose smartly. The 
men holding the canopy poles became immobile. 
Mor'anh gazed up, and the lord met his eyes and spoke. 
He greeted Mor'anh in a light cool voice, with words he 
could not understand; but their tone, and the look of his 
grey-green eyes, was re-assuring.


Mor'anh swallowed. He had not spoken to a man for a 
moon and a half, and for a moment feared that no words 
would come.


'I greet you, Lord,' he began, then realised that he was 
using his own tongue, not the speech of the Golden Ones 
as he had decided. He went on in the language he 
thought more likely to be understood, 'I cannot speak 
your tongue, Lord. Is there any man here who knows the 
speech of the Kalnat?'


It was then that a miracle happened. The group of men 
further back shifted, and one came down. He bowed and 
spoke briefly to the lord, who gestured assent. Then 
turning to Mor'anh he said,


'If you are, as I think you must be, one of the men who 
call themselves the khentorei, from the plain in the far 
north, then I know a few words of your language.'




241




Eight men bore up a canopy under which 
walked three people; behind came a group of 
more plainly dressed men. The three under the 
canopy were all splendidly clothed, but


Mor'anh looked at the man in front, on whom 
maybe the fate of the Alnei hung, and no further.




He spoke slowly, with hesitation. His voice was even 
and lacking emphasis, so that the sound of some words 
was strange, but the language was that of the Tribes. 
Mor'anh's face lost its careful impassivity. The astonished 
delight that leapt in it needed no translation, 
and the Lord smiled.


From his heart Mor'anh offered gratitude to the Gods, 
to Kem'nanh, and to Ir'nanh, loosener of tongues, who 
had gone ahead to prepare his way. 'I am of that people. I 
am Mor'anh, the son of Ilna, Lord of the Alnei. I come 
bringing your Lord gifts from the Men of the Wide 
Lands, and am come to ask his help for us.'


The interpreter turned to translate. Buoyant with relief, 
Mor'anh looked about him, and at the other people before 
him. Towards the back of the canopy was a young 
man clad even more richly than' the Lord. Then the person 
he had not yet seen clearly, who had been hidden by 
the Lord, moved, and he saw, with surprise, a woman. 
He looked at her briefly, then looked again. But the 
interpreter was speaking.


'You stand before the Lord Yu-Thurek, Lord of our 
City, Jemaluth. He bids me greet you, and says, Lord of 
the Alnei, Mor'anh, you are welcome to the land of 
Bariphen and to Jemaluth, the City of the Wise.'


Mor'anh dismounted and went forward. He laid fist to 
shoulder and bowed before the Lord Yu-Thurek; but the 
Lord of the City stepped forward to the very edge of the 
canopy and gave Mor'anh his hand. Mor'anh had never 
felt a hand so smooth-skinned and soft-fleshed. There 
was no strength in the Lord's grasp; the strength was in 
his eyes. Grey-green and calm, they smiled on the 
plainsman; the eyes of a man who li,ed more in thought 
than in the passing moment, over whom passion had 
little power. Mor'anh felt abashed under their gaze.


The other man had ordered his words, and when the 
two Lords stepped apart, he went on,


'The Lord Yu-Thurek asks you to be his guest, and bids 
you make his---his tent--', Mor'anh grinned, '--his roof 
your own for as long as you wish.' He hesitated. 'He bids




244




me call men to lead away your horses. Will they go with 
them?'


'The pontes will: but it will be best if I take Racho--my 
horse where he must go. And they will not go within 
walls.'


When this was translated the splendid young man 
laughed, then checked at a glance from the woman. The 
Lord spoke, and another man came down the slope. The 
speaker said, 'I am to come with you, and see to your 
comfort. The Lord says, when you have shaken off the 
dtst of your journey, he will offer you--', he looked 
harassed again, 'the horn of greeting.'


Mor'anh bowed; the Lord bowed; the scaled men 
turned, and they all moved up to the flat place, the lesser 
standing back until the canopy had passed. Moranh 
lookedup at the woman again, but she did not turn her 
head. He was left with the interpreter and the second 
man, who was eyeing him curiously. He said smiling,


'How do you know our language? Have you seen the 
Plain? Is it possible? Are you the man who came to our 
tents?'


The'other bowed. 'I am that man. My name is Ya-Buren, 
and eleven years ago I was a guest of the tribe 
Alnei. I learned your speech then, but I fear I have forgotten 
much.'


'I should have foreseen that your words would lead me 
to your own place! It is good to speak with men again, 
Ya-Buren. Will you lead us, then? Would sombone shave 
my beard, before I meet your Lord again? This is my 
horse, whom you have not met before; his name is 
Racho.'


His spirits were rising to jesting. Had he known, Ya-Buren 
would have smiled. But he was an earnest man, 
and he remembered that plainsmen thought highly of 
their horses; so he bowed and greeted Racho gravely, 
before leading them away.




The royal rooms were on the north side of the Palace. The 
room where Yu-Thurek greeted Mor'anh again and gave




245




him the cup of welcome was cool, as was the cup itself 
and the pleasingly sharp drink it held. Mor'anh gave 
thanks in the phrase he had learned from Ya-Buren; the 
Lord's brows rose, and he spoke. 'The Lord says, your 
quickness rebukes us,' said Ya-Buren. He had a bundle 
of thick white sticks beside him, from several of which he 
had peeled a long strip of thin hard skin, and he seemed 
surer of his words. 'And also, his daughter and son wish 
to greet you.'


Mor'anh had been wondering if the woman was wife 
or daughter, and trying not to look at her, ever since he 
came into the room. Now he turned to the young man, 
but it was she who stepped forward first, and as he spoke 
her name Ya-Buren bowed deeply. 'The Princess 
Jatherol.'


She was tall and slender, made unlike a plainswoman, 
with deeper breasts and fuller hips, so that her waist 
looked yet smaller. City-women wore light flowing 
dresses; the soft cloth of hers clung over her breasts and 
her hips. She met his eyes, which were level with her 
own, as easily as another man might, holding out her 
hand; but looking at her he felt how long it had been 
since he had lain with a woman. The hand she gave him 
was smooth and cool, and softer than a child's; he drew a 
breath, and held his eyes to her face. He could not judge 
her beauty. She had silky curling hair of soft brown, long 
light-green eyes, a soft skin; it was a cool face, at odds 
with her body.


The Prince, Yo-Pheril, was easier to greet, though he 
talked so fast that Ya-Buren could not keep pace, and 
much of what he said could not be put into the Khentor 
tongue. He seemed to Mor'anh to lack the beating of a 
Lord's son, to have no consciousness of being the Young 
Lord, his father's right arm. His assurance was no less 
than his sister's, but of another kind. Still, his open 
friendliness was irresistible.


Mor'anh turned to signal to the men who carried his 
bundles. The Alnei had chosen their gifts by those things 
the Kalnat seemed to value most highly; but as the men




246




began to untie them, Mor'anh was shaken with doubt. 
Could people who lived as these did, find worth in anything 
the'Plain could offer?


But there was no doubting their amazement and pleasure 
as the furs and the pliant dyed hides were spread 
before them. Yo-Pheril knelt to examine more closely a 
decorated drum, Jatherol caressed a carving, but the 
musk was presented on bent knee direct to the Lord.


Ya-Buren translated their praise of the gifts, and 
added, 'These are things we rarely see, Lord Mor'anh. 
Ivory--furs--why, only half of this would be a lordly 
gift!' Mor'anh bowed, then sat down, taking the cup a 
servant offered him. His tension was lessening. He 
looked at Jatherol, and dared at last to let his eyes and 
mind dwell on her. Then Yo-Pheril picked up a horn and 
began to blow it, and Yu-Thurek, laughing, stopped 
him. '


'Lord Mor'anh, I think you can see how your gifts 
please us. But when we met you said that you had come 
to ask our help. What help may we of The Cities give you 
of the Plain?'


Mor'anh drew a breath and took the ear-rings from his 
pouch. 'These are Ya-Buren's gift to my father. Looking at 
them I thought that here where they were made there 
would be men skilled in the use of metal; and as I look 
about I see it is so. We have no such skill; indeed, we 
have no metal. But we have great need of weapons. There 
are men we must fight soon, and they have red spears, 
and long knives like the one Prince Yo-Pheril wears at his 
side.'


'A sword; swords,' said Ya~Buren.


'Swords. We have spears wtiich are nearly as good as 
theirs, though of stone; but only knives we use for hunting, 
of stone or bone.'We must fight this people soon, it 
must be; and my people will die if I do not get them 
weapons of metal. Will you make them for us? That is 
what I come to ask.'


His eyes spoke as persuasively as his deep urgent 
voice; they looked at him silently as Ya-Buren translated,




impressed by his unstudied intensity. After a while Yu-Thurek's 
words came back to him.


'There is nothing hard in this request. I see no reason 
why Jemaluth cannot give you what you ask. But the day 
grows hot. It is our custom, Lord Mor'anh, to rest 
through the heat of the afternoon. My people will take 
you to the room they have prepared for you. This evening 
we shall feast you, and tomorrow we shall speak of this 
again.'




248




26




hey had given him a room on the northwest 
corner, with great windows and a 
wide arch leading onto a broad terrace, 
from which steps led down into a walled 
garden where Racho was lodged with the 
ponies.




Even his bed was of stone, a low platform each side 
three paces long, spread with mattresses and cushions 
and a heavy embroidered coverlet. He had both men and 
girls to wait on him; the girls seemed chosen for their 
prettiness. Some were smooth City-dwellers, but there 
were others, darker and smaller, yet quite unlike plains-women, 
for they had smooth brown skin and their hair 
curled. They had bare arms, and skirts unsewn at one 
side. He watched them thoughtfully, but he feared his 
ignorance of their customs, and the girls' shy manners 
discouraged him.


As the sun set he was walking on the terrace, watching




ii
Racho feed from a tripod in the garden below. He had 
bathed luxuriously--there was a bath sunk in the corner


of his room--and been shaved. The attendants had taken 
away his dusty clothes and boots to brush, and he wore a 
long loose robe, with little heel-less slippers that were 
hard to keep on his feet. He felt light and elated. The long 
strain of his journey was over, and no longer preoccupied




249




with doubts he was free to enjoy without reserve the 
strangeness and luxury about him.


From his terrace he could look out over the walls of the 
Palace and see the buildings of the City beyond. He could 
see how far it was to the huge outer walls, and guess at 
the number of people those walls held. It was never 
quiet. There were noises not only of men, but of things he 
could put no name to. His curiosity was sharpened; he 
was greedy to see and learn it all. He had seen wonders: 
the forest, the Great River, a path laid upon water, 
Ir'nanh's mighty waterfall; but Jemaluth eclipsed them 
all, a living marvel. He thought of the towns of the 
Golden Men, with wooden walls and straw roofs, their 
paths paved with hardened dirt and edged with weeds, 
and he laughed with scorh. Yet they despised and 
mocked his people, while the Lord of this great City had' 
received him courteously, and called him Lord Mor'anh. 
He felt a new kind of anger with the Kalnat, as if they had 
sought to deceive him.


From her terrace above Princess Jatherol could see one 
part of his, and glimpse him as he strolled in the sunset. 
She had been taught by Ya-Buren how the nomad 
plainsmen lived, but this stranger walked the stones of 
their palace with the assurance of a Prince of Bariphen. 
She watched him for a while, but her women were waiting.


When she was dressed and adorned, she went to her 
father. Yu-Thurek was seated at his toilet table choosing 
his jewels. She leaned against his chair, and he glanced 
up smiling. 'Advise me.'


She turned over the jewels, holding them near the 
brown watered silk of his robe, then chose a set of clear 
yellow stones. She drew out a chain, and let it flow from 
hand to hand. 'Shall we give him the swords, then?'


Her father arched his brows. 'Well, we have not said so 
yet. You know better than that, Jatherol. We must move 
through the fight forms.'


She shook her head. 'I do not think our guest would




25o




understand them. I think this time we must do business 
like common men--break a stick and call it a deal.'


'Wher do you learn these phrases? From Yo-Pheril, no 
doubt. Well, maybe, though I think you underestimate 
him. I shall ask you to call a Chairing, for one thing, and I 
am sure he will understand that. Berethol is recovered 
enough to attend, is she not? Well, do you object?'


'To giving him the swords? Not at all. Only--' She 
paused, aware that her studied indifference was leading


her into feigning.


'Well?'


She examined the lid of a pot of paint. 'This is a new 
thing surely; that a City of Bariphen should concern itself 
with barbarian chiefs and their wars.'


'Jatherol, you astonish me. You know better than to 
speak so. What, the Princess of Jemaluth speaking with 
the vula.rity of a lord from Inthukar? While I govern, 
Jemaluth will find nothing beneath her concern. When 
we think ourselves too great to deal with any we do not 
think our equals, our end is written. I thought that was 
the first thing you learned.' She looked at him earnestly 
in the obsidian mirror. 'That reason is enough. But there 
are others. You have listened to Ya-Buren, you know as 
much as I do of the plainsmen. Barbarian chiefs and their 
wars? If he came from the south, maybe; but you have 
heard Ya-Buren say that the plainsmen do not make war. 
The tribe he visited did not know what he meant. For the 
worst crimes their punishment is not death, but expulsion. 
Think of those crimes, too.' (Jatherol smiled, 'Eating 
horse-flesh,' she murmured.) 'Murder is not one of them. 
It was not remembered, Ya-Buren's chief said, that it had 
ever happened.'


Jatherol was conscious of regret, and tried to cover it 
with lightness. 'Things are changing on the Plain, then.'


'Indeed; alas, maybe. But I should be most surprised if 
this is a war between tribes. Recall that Mor'anh said that 
their enemies are already armed with metal. I would 
think they are the Kalnat. Come, think like a politician.




251




The Kalnat are becoming stronger all round the coasts in 
the north, and even through the swamps and into our 
coastlands. Our ships can no longer put in for water or 
repairs in safety. If this young man's people attack them, 
it may stem thegrowth of their power before it becomes 
too great a danger to us. Also, let us not forget that 
Bariphen lives by trade. It is a melancholy fact that 
swords are easier taken up than laid down. They will 
need more weapons, and where will they bring their 
northern treasures but to Jemaluth, if we have treated 
them well?' He paused, adjusting an ear-ring. 'My last 
reason is less solid, but I am not sure it is not the most 
important. There is, it seems, a nascent power in the 
north, and from the knowledge we have one of potentially 
enormous power. Do you not agree we ought to 
secure the friendship of this people for Jemaluth?' He 
smiled at her reflection. 'And there is the reason that 
needs no explaining. He came to ask our help; and this is, 
after all, Jemaluth.'


She piled the jewels back in their casket. 'This is 
Jemaluth. It is well for him that he came to us and not to 
Inthukar.'


'Your reasoning is a little astray tonight, my dear. It 
was not chance; he came to us because Ya-Buren had 
gone to them. He would not have gone out from Inthukar 
seeking knowledge.' He gave her an ironic smile. Her 
dress was the colour of electrum, her rustling robe darker, 
like clear honey. Her hair, paint, jewels, scent, were all 
exquisite. 'But you astonish me, Jatherol. Do you really 
consider our guest no more than a "barbarian chief"? You 
look very lovely. I like that dress; I do not think I have 
seen it before. Is it the one you thought too good to wear 
for the Prince of Ko-Phitel?'




Ya-Buren came to guide Mor'anh down to the feast; it 
seemed they had a room especially for eating in. They 
walked through wide cool corridors, where the perfectly 
smooth floors and straight walls amazed Mor'anh. One 
wall of the corridor did not shine like others, and it was




252




decorated with lines and patches of colour. Mor'anh 
looked at it doubtfully, wondering why the City-men 
found it pldasing. Then he stopped, his hands clenching, 
angry and dismayed.


Before him stood two Golden Men, each as tall as 
Kariniol, their yellow hair and long spears gleaming. 
They flanked the door. At first he took one of them for 
Kariniol, but their faces were strange. 'What are you 
doing here?' he demanded fiercely in Kalnat. Then, his 
senses returning a little, 'Are you from Mald?'


ù The big man looked at him, his blue eyes bewildered, 
and saluted with his spear. Though the familiar shape, it 
had not the red gleam Mor'anh knew. The Golden Man 
spoke to Ya-Buren in the language of The Cities, and the 
scholar said 'Do you wish to speak to the guard, Lord 
Morar? He does not understand you.' Then he guessed 
the mistake, and laughed. 'No, no, Lord; these men were 
born in the' City. They are part of the Golden Guard.' 
Mor'anh cooled, looking at them with less hostility, and 
he smiled grimly as they saluted him.


He entered to a crash of music. The men and women 
rose to greet him, and bowed as he passed between them. 
The first woman astonished him so that he almost 
checked, for her eyelids were blue as a lizard's throat. 
Then he saw that every woman there had eyes as vividly 
coloured, and that the men too were painted. The servants 
led him to the top of the room, to a table on a raised 
platform. The table was of stone. He half expected to find 
his chair the same, but it was of polished and padded 
wood.


There was another blaze of sound, and Yu-Thurek 
entered with his children. Mor'anh rose with the others, 
and watched their approach. Yo-Pheril glittered in the 
lamplight. The Princess's dress rippled and shone like 
water; he had never seen silk before. It was so fine, it 
moulded even her thighs as she moved. When she took 
her place at the table, the deep folds of her robe fell 
straight and hid her body, and he was almost glad. Once 
again he was surprised to see her take the place of 

hon


253




our, while Yo-Pheril sat on his father's left. Indeed, the 
Lord himself took the less magnificent of the two central 
chairs; it was Jatherol who sat under the golden canopy.


He asked Ya-Buren why the daughter was placed 
above the son, even, it seemed, above her father, and the 
other man laughed. 'Yes, she sits above them both; I 
thought it would surprise you. It is because she is her 
mother's daughter. Yu-Thurek is Lord for his life, but he 
became so by marrying the last Princess. The man chosen 
to be Jatherol's husband will be the next Lord. Yo-Pheril 
is a Prince because of his high blood, but he will not 
follow his father. Power goes through women here.'


He turned to look at her, amazed, and met her eyes. 
She smiled. Her eyelids were green, but being nearer he 
could see that they were painted, as was her mouth. She 
laughed at his scrutiny and spoke, leaning forward that 
Ya-Buren might hear. Her dress was cut low, baring part 
of her breasts. Ya-Buren said 'The Princess fears by the 
way you look at her face that you do not admire it.'


'Tell her, it is only that I have never seen a woman's 
skin painted like that. Say no, I admire the Princess 
entirely.' Ya-Buren translated without emphasis, but the 
Princess had watched Mor'anh's eyes and heard the cadence 
in his voice; she drooped her lashes and turned 
away smiling.


The feast was long, with scores of dishes, and long 
pauses through which musicians played. The variety of 
food bewildered Mor'anh. Nearly all of it was vegetable, 
though strangely disguised; there was little meat beyond 
fowl-flesh. Some of the rich spiced sauces pleased him, 
though he hardly knew what he ate. It was not food that 
could be eaten with fingers, and they had a variety of 
delicate tools, spoons, and tongs, and skewers; he 
watched Ya-Buren to learn their uses.


He soon became aware that all the richly dressed men 
and women were watching him with an interest as absorbed 
as his in them, nodding and smiling whenever 
they caught his eye. He had not suspected how strange 
and fascinating he seemed, with his black hair and eyes,




254




his graceful energy, his deep resonant voice. Ya~Buren 
told him hoy he had ben announced: Lord Mor'anh, 
Prince of the Plains. He shouted with laughter, and there 
was a ripple and a sighing; even the Princess Jatherol 
stirred in her seat.


When the eating was done, servants cleared the tables, 
then set them with wine and fruit. Musicians played, 
entertainers came, tumblers and jugglers, and last of all 
girls who danced. Their dancing was strange to him, but 
they were pretty and moved gracefully. Darkness went 
&om blue to black beyond the curtained arches, and 
through the high windows he saw stars; he was amazed 
at how far into the night they sat.




Over the next days he roamed Jemaluth with Yo-Pheril 
for companign, until he began to know the City a little.


He was learning their language with a swiftness that 
astounded them, from Ya-Buren and from Yo-Pheril; 
within days he could talk easily about ordinary things. 
His quick ear and accurate memory amazed a people 
whose own powers of listening and remembering had 
been dulled by centuries of literacy. Yu-Thurek mocked 
his daughter gently for her surprise (which she acknowledged 
to be unreasonable) at the plainsman's intelligence, 
but it had astonished more than her. And Jatherol 
was even more amazed at the ease with which he had 
taken to their life, the assurance with which he walked 
amid his unfamiliar surroundings.


Mor'anh now treated the Prince like a younger brother. 
Yo-Pheril was something he had never met before, a 
young man free to play like a child. Now he knew him, he 
no longer thought him lacking in sense, yet there was still 
a lightness about him, and there were times when he 
seemed more girlish than his sister. Mor'anh could not 
conceive of manhood without responsibility. Yo-Pheril 
was a good-looking young man in the style admired in 
The Cities; slender and graceful, taller than Mor'anh, with 
a face tapering from his high cheekbones to his chin, a 
narrow delicate nose, mobile mouth, and long eyes with




255




drooping painted lids. His voice was light, but they were 
none of them deep-voiced; Mor'anh's vibrant tones still 
woke a fluttering of silk sleeves among the women. Being 
a young man, the Prince wore long loose trousers under 
his tunic, not a long skirt as his father did. Mor'anh still 
found the sight of men clad like women amusing, though 
he liked the long open robe they put on when formally 
dressed.


He had seen the temple 6f Jemaluth's guardian god, 
where the law-courts were, and the temple of the god of 
the springs, where the outer courtyard was the city's 
public fountain. There the fiver he had followed rose in 
two springs within the sanctuary, whence it was led in 
conduits from basin to tiled basin before flowing out of 
the temple and finally through its own gate in the city 
wall. There were two other springs within the city, each 
enshrined within a smaller temple. They had a deep 
reverence for this pure water; drinking it was their only 
daily religious rite. Few crimes were punished more severely 
than hat of fouling a spring; and water was a thing 
in which they took great pleasure. No noble's house was 
without at least one fountain, and even smaller houses 
had their pools.


He saw the score of colonnaded courts and shadowed 
terraces where the scholars and philosophers from whom 
Jemaluth took her title met: men, Yo-Pheril told him, 
from every city in Bariphen. Ya-Buren himself was not a 
native of Jemaluth. They looked at Mor'anh hungrily, but 
his knowledge of their language was not subtle enough 
for him to talk with them, and they had regretfully to let 
him go. These men were housed and fed by the city; they 
had no other concern in life but the search for knowledge 
and understanding. Mor'anh was surprised to find that 
though they served no god, they were esteemed far more 
than priests. Indeed, the City-people gave their gods 
respect rather than worship. The Goddess, who was regarded 
as only the guardian of the family hearth and 
pregnant women, received affection, but not fear or adoration; 
the sun was not Lord of Heaven to them, but a




256




faintly malevolent power. They had a tower where offerings 
were made to him fbur times a year, twice when he 
had gone farthest away, twice when he stood overhead; 
but for the rest of the time the priests who served there 
were concerned only with keeping the calendar and 
marking the hours of the day.


They had found a way of reckoning these without the 
sun, for often Mor'anh would hear the first hour blown 
on their trumpets while the sky was still dark. All his life 
it had been dawn which woke him, by its light or by the 
Drum; now he would lie in the great bed, watching the 
darkness above the City thinning, and never know 
exactly when the sun rose. It was in that time of cool 
quiet, when the breeze tippled the curtains of his room, 
that the strangeness of finding himself where he did 
returned. T13en the room in which he lay, the Palace and 
the City would grow remote and marvellous again. The 
times of solitude with leisure for thinking of the new 
things he had learned were grown rare; he valued this 
morning time, and the long afternoons of their strange 
fractured days, which they ordered to avoid the sun. He 
lay alone, after the first few days. Among his early discoveries 
was that he was waited on by bond-servants and 
slaves. He was shocked to find what that meant, and 
never felt at ease with his attendants again. The memory 
of the maids' smiling compliance filled him with shame; 
he did not want to take a girl to bed when he knew she 
could not refuse.


It was a reaction that Yo-Pheril and his friends could 
not understand; they could not imagine why he found it 
humiliating. For the first time he had learned a custom of 
theirs in which he found nothing to admire, and it distressed 
him that he could not make them share his disgust. 
He began to notice things anew that he had hardly 
regarded at first. He saw that the men and women 'who 
sat around the gates and in the squares were not idling 
away time they were too old and sick to spend usefully, 
but were begging for their livelihood. He realised that the 
gangs of children who roamed the City werenot making




257




vicious mischief for play, but were struggling for their 
lives. Once he had been puzzled by the women loitering 
along the streets at night; now he understood, he found 
the knowledge appalling. Coming of a people with few 
possessions, it took him some time to recognise poverty, 
and to see that here, to own little was a disease that 
people died of. He knew now why they were escorted 
after dark. He had thought it was to honour them. It 
would be strange, he thought, to be unsafe walking alone 
among the tents, but he understood now, that a City was 
not a Tribe.




258




27




hey were a people of stone, as the Kalnat 
of metal; they loved it. Even the cup in 
Mor'anh's hand was of stone, ground 
thin and polished. He said this to Yu-Thurek, 
and the Lord laughed, agreeing. 
'Stone... it is the bones of the earth.




Our mother has beautiful bones.' He turned his own cup, 
holding it to the light, and his face softened with pleasure. 
Mor'anh leaned back in his chair, watching Jatherol 
walking on the terrace in the moonlight. Yu-Thurek said, 
'What are you, then? If they are metal and we are stone, 
what are you?'


'Oh, of the beasts, our sharers of the earth. We love and 
know them.'


'Yet you hunt them,' said Yo-Pheril.


'How else would we live? But we understand them, we 
live among them and suffer their fears. We know them as 
they are, and love them for that, not for the use we can 
make of them. That is why it is a thing we punish, to 
harm them without need. The Gods have put them in our 
keeping.'


There was silence a moment, then Yu-Thurek said, 'Do 
you mean that men were created for that reason--to take 
care of the animals?'


Jatherol had entered, and stood listening. Mor'anh 
looked at the Lord, but his face was perfectly earnest. 'We




259




have always believed it was why the Khentors were 
made,' he said carefully. 'To protect them, and guide 
them. We share the earth; but only we were given wisdom.'


Jatherol looked at him with grave wonder. The Lord 
was silent a while, then laughed softly.


'Could it be as simple as that, after all? Could everything 
be simpler than we think? You must let the 
philosophers discuss that with you, Moran. Listening to 
them I have often wondered if the Gods meant to set us 
such riddles as they wrestle with.' After a moment he 
said, 'There are some who have begun to speak with envy 
of your life; did you know, Moran?' They had none of 
them quite mastered the check in his name, nor the 
breath at the end. 'They talk of nobility and simplicity 
and dignity, and living close to the earth.'


It was strange; the complexity of their life dazzled and 
excited him, whiie they were stirred by the lack of it in 
his. Doubtless each was envying what he did not understand. 
He set down his cup and said,


'To me too our life seems very good: but it is not easy. 
The summer is one thing; but I think if these people knew 
what winter can mean they would envy us less. To be 
close to the earth--it is like being close to a tiger: it may 
not be pleasant. Yo-Pheril, there are two of your friends 
who say this, Ya-Thoron and Yu-Bareth. To them I would 
not say this, because it seems to insult them; but had they 
been born on the Plain, they would not have lived to be 
men. I have heard my strength praised, and my health. 
Well, all my tribesmen are healthy and strong; those who 
were not are dead. My mother never lost a child, but she 
bore only two, and was a favoured woman; I know 
another who has borne eleven, and never reared one to 
the age of learning. The women comfort her saying that 
the children they lose here are theirs for ever in the Great 
Plain, where my mother will be childless; and doubtless 
it is true, but here, year by year she weeps.' He shook his 
head. 'It is not all cruel. There is summer; the tiger is




260




beautiful; it is a good life. And we have the Tribe. That is 
best of all.' .He looked af them earnestly. 'It is not only the 
fellowship. There are words I have heard here which 
seemed strange to me at first: "have pity on the widow 
and the fatherless". I have heard it said of good men to 
show they were good "he pitied the fatherless and the 
widow". But it did not mean he wept for their grief, as I 
thought; it meant he sheltered them and fed them, when 
no one else would. Among us, a widow is only a woman 
whose man is dead, avd those without fathers do not go 
hungry. Nor do the old, or the sick, or the crippled. No 
one struggles for life alone. No one sits in the dust and 
stretches out a hand to me as I pass, or dies un-noticed in 
a corner.'


'Lord Moran, say no moreY And Jemaluth takes pride in 
being a ci.ty governed by the laws of virtue! We are 
shamed.'


Heshook is head. 'I do not speak to shame you. Your 
city has made the world wider for me. The Tribe too can 
be merciless. There is a girl in my tribe a woman cannot 
be cast out--but she is almost an outcast in our midst, 
because she is afraid to live the life of a woman. There is 
no place for her. Yet is it her fault? It is true she takes, and 
gives nothing to the Tribe. But if she were crippled or 
foolish we would pity her; because she is strong and 
clever and beautiful we do not. May it not be that her 
heart is crippled? Or her spirit lame? She is cruel and 
angry, but how has her nature been twisted, when here it 
might have grown free?'




In the gloom before sunrise he waited before the great 
gate to take Racho out for exercise. Whatever the sun-priests 
said, the Captains of the Gate knew that day 
began with light. Not until the sun had risen were the 
ox-teams led from their stalls in the base of the great 
towers and harnessed to the massive chains that opened 
the gates. Mor'anh had not seen them opened before, 
though he had watched the closing more than once. In




261




the evening a crowd always gathered, but now he waited 
with one man dozing in an ox-cart, and a youth with a 
traveller's pack and staff who eyed him with interest and 
envy. The ox-drivers shouted and cracked their whips, 
and the teams leaned into their harness. The soldiers 
talked and laughed, adjusting the last buckles of their 
armour as they waited to pass through and mount guard; 
the drivers yelled at their animals; the oxen groaned and 
laboured; but the huge gates made no sound as they 
swung apart. They rose as they opened; if there was ever 
need to close them with great speed their own weight 
would do it, but usually the ox-teams were used to brake 
their closing. Now men were waiting to chain and wedge 
them back. Between them light grew, and the watchers 
saw day unfolded to them.


Mor'anh rode until the freshness of the morning was 
past, and returned by the horse-fields where the chariot 
ponies of the army grazed. He slowed to look at them, 
then dismounted and examined some closely. He had a 
low opinion of the City-dwellers as horsemen, and few of 
them could fide; but still he had been surprised at how 
little use their chariots were to them. He had not before 
seen the herds; now he wondered no more. They were 
small gentle ponies; they looked well on a parade ground, 
or trotting a light chariot around the streets. They were 
pretty and graceful, but vigour had been bred out of them 
long ago.


When he had bathed and changed, he went seeking 
Yu-Thurek. Jatherol watched him come leaping up the 
staircase that led to the royal terrace, and smiled. The 
Palace tailors had copied his leather clothes, which were 
too warm for Bariphen, in cloth; he was wearing a suit of 
crimson linen, preferring strong colours to the pastels 
they wore. He looked well in it; it was no wonder that 
Yo-Pheril and others were beginning to imitate his fashion. 
Though, she thought, if they too meant to let their 
coats swing open, they would do well to wait until they 
could bare chests as firmly muscled as his. Though 

prob


262




ably they would not dare; in Jemaluth it would be 
thought most immodest. She wondered if anyone had 
told the Prince of the Plains so, and hoped they would 
not.


'Yo-Pheril is not here,' she called. He looked up and 
laughed, shaking his head. She went back to the cushioned 
bench where her book lay. He reached the terrace 
and came to perch on the balustrade before her. 'I was not 
looking for him, but for your father. Is he here?'


'He was walking here with two friends until a moment 
ago. He will return soon.' The scroll had lost her attention, 
and she laid it down beside her. He bent forward 
and looked at it.


'The marks look like broken twigs. What do they say?' 
'This is.poetry. In this poet's time, they tried to use as 
few words as they could; sometimes it is good, but when 
a poet w/rites only "Pool-flower-stone-lovely", I think I 
am workirg harder than he has, and stop reading.' She 
smiled as he shouted with laughter.


'Oh, what else could one of your poets say! "Pool-flower-stone-lovely." 
Oh, I shall remember that. That is 
Jemaluth. Only a City-man could have said that.' He 
laughed down at her; and she realised with a slight shock 
that he was laughing not at, the poem, but at Bariphen. 
She had never imagined that he might find some things 
about them amusing. He picked up the scroll.


'And with these broken twigs, you can hear what was 
said far away and long ago. It is a powerful thing. Maybe I 
must learn it.'


'Moran, how much do you mean to do! Have you time 
for that too?'


'Not this winter. But maybe when I return.' She looked 
up sharply. 'Oh, I mean to return, Jatherol. And Yo-Pheril 
is to come ah, here is your father.' He rose to 
greet him, and she had time to calm her face.


'Ah, Moran, now I do not need to send to find you. My 
chief armourer has come. He has decided how best to 
make your swords, and has one to show you.'




263




'That is good news. And I have decided something. I 
know what the Alnei may give you.'


'You have already given us much!'


'That was a gift of another kind. No, I speak of something 
else, which may help Jemaluth, if you will accept it. 
I went to your horse-herds this morning. I understand 
now what you have told me, that you can use them little. I 
cannot say what I want to say in your tongue; but you 
must know, or your horse-keepers will tell you, that you 
will breed in weaknesses unless your stock is 
strengthened. I think you have no wild herds in this land, 
am I right? Well, we will bring you ponies, not to use in 
your chariots, but to strengthen your ponies' blood. Do 
you want this?'


'Moran, no gift could be more welcome! I am no 
horseman, but I have heard that my grooms go like pilgrims 
to gaze on your pack-ponies. Would that you could 
give us some of your skill, too.'


'Well, why should we not? There is a road between us.' 
He paused as two other men came onto the terrace, and 
Yu-Thurek turned. They bowed to Jatherol, then to him. 
'Ah, Ya-Rophel! Lord Moran, this is our chief armourer, 
who .has brought his work to show you.'


The man stepped forward. 'It was a nice problem, 
Lord, but I am pleased with our answer. A very interesting 
problem, but I think we have solved it. We discussed 
it with the captains too, of course. Well, this is what we 
have made.' He beckoned to his companion, and took a 
bundle from him. 'Yes, here it is.' He unfolded the cloth, 
and held out the weapon. 'Would you like to take it, my 
Lord Prince?'


Mor'anh lifted it carefully. The metal blade was cold, 
and he flinched a little from its touch. It was not the hot 
sunset colour of the Golden Men's weapons, but paler, 
more like grass at summer's end. Hilt to tip it was a little 
longer than his arm. The blade ran straight for most of its 
length, but where it began to narrow it began to curve 
also. The point was very fine. When he grasped the hilt




264




he was surprised to find how light the weapon felt. He 
exclaimed, and the armourer.smiled.


'That is the balancing, Lord Prince. That is where the 
skill is. It is not sharpened yet, of course. The cuter curve 
will be sharp, and both sides of the point. Will you tell 
me, is that grip comfortable to your hand?'


'It seems strange, to ask if it is comfortable.'


'Oh, but very important! Think, if you could not grip it 
firmly. Or if it galled your hand. It is meant to hurt your 
enemies, not you!' He laughed cheerfully.


Mor'anh shuddered. The sword did sit easily in his 
hand, almost too snugly. He took the blade in his other 
hand, and looked at it again, imagining the edge ground 
bright and sharp. It was made to kill men; it could have 
no other use. It was a terrible thing.


' /hen the armourer had gone, Mor'anh stood leaning 
on the parapet, his face grim. After a while Yu-Thurek 
said, 'Ya-Rophel tas done his work well. What are you 
thinking? IS it learning the use of the sword? I am sure 
you need not worry. You will not find it too hard.'


He laughed faintly. 'No, Lord, I think I fear to find it too 
easy. Ya-Rophel has done his work too well; my hand 
closes so readily on the long knife. I have a new prayer: I 
pray that the sword in my hand will always gall me...' 
He turned and looked over the balustrade. 'Sometimes 
when I see where I am leading my people, I grow afraid. 
After I had killed the Golden Man, I felt such horror... I 
had never guessed how easily it can be done; and now I 
cannot forget. Whenever I am angry with a man, the 
knowledge will be there: I could kill him. Will the terror 
of it always hold my arm? The Golden Ones do not feel it, 
and I think your people do not. I see how easily your 
son's friends will call upon a man who insults them to 
fight, and Yo-Pheril says men have been killed like that.' 
His hands clenched on the stone coping. 'Maybe this 
sounds foolish to you. But there is a name my people 
have for themselves; ker'ivh meni, the gentle people. I do 
not want to take that name away from them.'




265




'And yet you plan to fight the Kalnat.'


'Not plan; not unless we must. Not if they will let us go 
without it. But they will not. They are a people who have 
no fear of killing. I have seen death many times --mostly 
of beasts, but of men too. And killing is death, only 
showing a different face. Each time I have killed, I have 
smelled the bitterness I must drink one day. And so I say, 
Lord, I fear the spear in my own hand as much as the 
spear in my enemy's hand.'


'And yet you will face this,' said Jatherol, 'so that you 
may free your sister?'


He smiled. 'No, not that only. Or even chiefly. I 
thought so once but the loss of Nai was only the torch 
set to the fire. The fuel had been gathering all my life. 
Now I do this because Kem'nanh commands me, and for 
no other reason.' He turned back to face them. 'We have 
never had a word for what we seek now, but you have 
one you use often, "liberty". I did not know that name 
before. Well, I know my "liberty" is worth fighting for, 
only I do not know if it is worth killing for.' He paused, 
pulling the embroidered border of his coat between his 
hands. After some while he said softly,


'And I listen to myself saying, I know this, but I do not 
know that, as if I am waiting to choose. And yet: very 
often we say, I will think about it more, but while I think I 
will do this, and this, and this. Then when we have done 
our thinking and come to make our choice we find it is 
made, there is no choice left. All those things we did only 
while we thought lave made it, and when we look back 
we cannot see when we chose our way.'


'Now you talk like a philosopher. Will and fate; fate 
and will; which is stronger? Yet you say your god leads 
you, Moran. Surely, then, you are not troubled?'


'I know I follow Kem'nanh; but still I fear. The Har'enh 
follows, and Terani fears. I do not think the Gods are 
always thinking of our peace and happiness when they 
guide us. I think they have their own reasons. It is their 
fight. But what obedience brings us may not please us at




all. Jatherol, I once said to you that I must obey Kem'nanh 
because only then do' I have quiet. I was answering 
lightly. A rfian should not obey his God because this will 
bring him strength, or happiness, or peace. He should 
obey because it is his God, and for no other reason.'




267




28




he fountains rang softly into their pools, 
and the tame water-birds shook their 
feathers. The shadows of the drooping 
leaves swayed over Mor'anh's face. 
While he kept his eyes closed and lay




quite still, he could almost think himself 
into being cool. But not quite. The winter solstice was 
eight days past, and the sun was on its way back.


The garden he lay in was famous. There was even a soft 
lawn coaxed into greenness. Mor'anh stroked his fingers 
gently over the grass-blades. A breeze moved the leaves 
and shook the fountains' drops into a different music. 
The Princess sighed. 'Qethadol, your fountains always 
make me think of Ladrekor.'


Mor'anh sat up, blinking in the sun. He had been 
thinking of the Tribe, and their faces were still in his 
mind as he opened his eyes on the young nobles. For an 
instant they seemed strangers again; it seemed impossible 
that this garden and the Plain were in the same world, 
and that one man could know them both. He wondered 
how he would ever find words to tell the Alnei of this 
place. 'What is Ladrekor?'


Jatherol sighed again. 'The most beautiful city in 
Bariphen, they say. Its fiver has seventeen springs; and 
the main fountain has many bowls so made that as they




268




catch the water they sound different notes. So the city is 
called Ladrekor of the Singing Fountains.'


'It is the name, that is all,' said the other girl. 'Probably 
it is nothing wonderful. But it does sound more interesting 
than City of the Wise.'


'And Yo-Pheril is to go there on a visit,' said Jatherol to


Mor'anh, 'which annoys me, because I cannot, ever.' 
'Cannot? Why?'


Yo-Pheril smiled. 'The penalty of power, my sister. A 
Princess cannot leave her city, Moran. A superstition, our 
philosophers say; but it has the force of law. The people 
would expect the walls to crumble if Jatherol left them.'


'Never go out of the City?' Mor'anh looked appalled, 
and Jatherol laughed.


'Oh, through the gates into Jemaluth's land, but I may 
not travel to another city or its lands. But why should I 
wish to? It i's only Ladrekor that I would like to see.' She 
broke a small' cake and threw it to the birds, who flapped 
and gabbled. Their host, Yu-Bareth, said, 'Are those new 
bracelets, Prince Moran? I have not seen them before.'


'You should not call him Prince,' reproved Yo-Pheril. 
'He has rule, so he is a Lord. And you do not keep 
memory of your forefathers, do you, Moran? You cannot 
name your grandfather's grandfather?'


Mor'anh shook his head smiling, then was stunned to 
realise how true that was. Other men had long ancestries 
whether they could decorate them with names or not, but 
he was the first generation of his line. Who had begotten 
his father?


'And besides, Lord is the higher title, and he should be 
given it. Now you may ask your question.'


'Thank you. Lord Moran, are those bracelets new?' 
Mor'anh looked at the polished, engraved bronze band 
on either arm. 'Only as bracelets. I wore them when I 
came here, as a shackle the Kalnat had put on me. One of 
your men took it off for me. Then he made these of the 
metal. I shall wear them always, and my sons after me.'


'Have you any sons?' Jatherol asked. How strange, not




269




even to have wondered if he had a wife. But surely he 
would have spoken of her?


'Not yet, but I shall have.' He grinned as they derided 
his certainty, and lay back on the grass. Jatherol looked at 
him, ivory skin and hair like jet on the bright grass. 'It is 
an unsubtle contrast,' she told herself, but it almost 
stopped her breath.


When they had been silent a while, the Prince said, 
'Moran, I have remembered something. That road you 
followed to come here I have heard of it before. It is the 
relic of an old realm, called Barithor, peopled by men 
from Bariphen. They cleared the forests, and built cities 
and roads--five cities, I believe and traded along the 
rivers. The realm stretched between the rivers as far as 
the sea. But in the end the estuaries silted, and the land 
became swampy and too unhealthy to live in, and the 
realm came to an end. Long ago. Nine Jubilees; four or 
five hundred years, since the last city was deserted.'


'But that is--that is ten lives of men, or more! And yet 
you remember!'


'Well... the records are incomplete, but they remain.' 
After a while Mor'anh said, 'And the rivers drove them 
away. They belong to the Boy too. It was Ir'nanh's 
punishment, because they destroyed the trees.'


Yu-Bareth looked interested. Jatherol said, 'Maybe that 
is so; it is said to be a haunted forest. Yes, I know; but 
Ya-Buren is not a fanciful man, and he believes it. He 
says he heard voices in it.'


Mor'anh sat up. 'What? Speaking to him? That is 
strange; so did I.'


'Did they curse you? He says they railed at him, and he 
had evil dreams.'


'Each of you understood them, did you?' said 
Qethadol. 'What well-taught ghosts, to know your language 
and ours.' She laughed, then stood up. 'Here 
comes my stepmother,' she muttered.


Mor'anh grimaced. He liked Yu-Bareth, Qethadol, and 
their elder brother, and their father: but not their father's 
young wife, who never lost a chance of languishing her




270




long eyes at him. Had what she offered been less tempting, 
he might have laughed and disliked her less; but he 
could not laugh at Pheruthal.


This was the one puzzle he had been unable to solve. 
Their manners of greeting, of eating, the hundred small 
ceremonies they wove into their lives, he had mastered 
like one playing a game he does not understand, yet 
enjoying his own skill. And in most things of more moment, 
his natural courtesy was enough. But in this one 
thing it was not enough, and there were no formalities to 
learn, and it was hard to ask advice.


In the Tribe, he would never have sought to make love 
to another man's woman. Here, the young unmarried 
women whose favour he would have courted among his 
own people might talk to men as equals, might display 
their bodies alluringly, but he soon learned that they 
must be treated like girls not come to womanhood. Slaves 
whose bodies were not their own to withhold brought 
shame into the bed with them. Prostitution repelled him. 
Convention said there was no other kind of woman. Even 
had convention matched truth he would have found it 
easier than he did when reputed honest wives smiled 
invitation, and lovely wantons like Pheruthal blatantly 
offered themselves. Yo-Pheril and his'friends talked 
lightly of affairs, of lovers and mistresses; there must be 
some safe and honourable path through that field of 
serpents, but he could not see it, and feared to take a step.


Yet the pleasure of love-making had long been as 
necessary to him as food, and far more easily won; the 
lack of it was sorely felt. And there was Jatherol, his daily 
companion. Between the women he wanted and could 
not have, could have but did not want, and wanted and 
could have, but with dishonour, his confusion and 
exasperation grew, until withdrawing to his room that 
afternoon he took refuge in memory, and lay thinking of 
Manui with heartshaking longing.




Mor'anh dropped the thin curtain and walked across the 
moonlit terrace. The talk and music faded as he went




271




slowly down the steps; on the level place halfway he 
paused, savouring the beauty of the night. The flowers 
planted for the darkness were opening; in the pool below, 
the silver moon was reflected half full. Her light 
shimmered on the silk robes of the woman standing 
there, and stretched her shadow up the steps to his feet. 
She turned smiling to greet him.


He came to stand by her, leaning his arms on the wall of 
the pool. Along the beams of moonlight, fish gleamed 
briefly. The silver embroidery on his coat flickered in and 
out of shadow as he moved. She stood looking at him, 
feeling the moment grow timeless, filled with a still delight.


His figure was reflected indistinctly in the water. She 
smiled, remembering his first encounter with a mirror. 
She had had to explain the use of it, and at first, as with 
the paintings, his unaccustomed eye simply could not 
see the image. But she still remembered with pleasure 
how he had looked when he understood that the face he 
saw was his own, how wonder had been replaced by the


slow exultant grin he could not curb.


'You have left the feast early.'


'Yes; they have begun talking of things I do not understand. 
There is a word--I have forgotten it already. What


is it, when a man ends his own life?'


'Suicide?'


'Yes. They have begun talking of that, and praising it. 
It seems they think it a noble end. This I do not understand.' 
The thought shocked him deeply. 'Do you truly 
think this? This great gift the Gods give, you will cast it 
back at them?'


ù 'It is done far less than it is talked of, Moran. But yes, 
we do praise it. You must know ly now that we are 
people who like to order our lives. I think many of us 
would rather arrange our meeting with death, than be 
taken by surprise.' She laughed as she spoke, and he 
listened incredulous.


'Let me be taken by surprise! Death is the great enemy, 
and who would go willingly to him, holding out his




272




hand? No, let Hom-blower choose my time.' He shook his 
head in wonder. 'Who but you of The Cities could do 
it!--to talk s6 coolly of this thing, and to laugh as you do 
so! To make rules and manners for dying!' He turned to 
her. 'This in your people is strangest of all to me, Jatherol. 
They take everything apart and look at it with their 
minds. Even beauty they make rules for. Do they not 
praise you part by part? I think they say to you that you 
carry your head well, or have well-shaped ears, or graceful 
hands', she began to laugh, 'or your bones will age 
well. But which of hem has looked at you whole, as I 
have; and which of them has said as I do, Jatherol, you are 
beautiful, and I desire you?'


Her laugh choked into a gasp, and she blushed in 
confusion. It was his turn to be amused.


'There is no answer you can make, I know. That is why 
I never Said it before. I should not have said it now. 
Forgive me."


She was angry to find herself trembling. Was her 
sophistication so easily overthrown? 'There is nothing to 
forgive. In Jemaluth, all may speak as they please; but 
there is nowhere all may do as they please.' She glanced 
at him, but he was looking at the water, not at her. 'Now. 
let us speak of something else. How does your sword-training 
go?'


'Well, I think. The Captain is a good teacher. And 
Yo~Pheril helps me; he practises with me. He is very 
good at it, it seems to me. Is it so?'


'Yes. He has a name as a swordsman.'


A fish leapt out of the water through the moon's image, 
shivering the silver. He watched it tremble into wholeness 
again. 'I must learn well and fast... I have been 
here more than a moon, Jatherol. When this moon is 
waning, I must go.'


'So soon?'








'It is not long to be here, I know. But I have been long 
away from the Alnei, and I have still the journey back to 
them. I must be with them before spring.'


'But you will come back, you say.'




273




'Oh, yes. Not next winter, but the one after that I shall 
come, bringing the ponies I have promised. And when I 
go back to the Plain then, Yo-Pheril will come with me. 
You will come to know the Alnei well, Jatherol. This is 
only the beginning of our friendship. There are many 
years to come.'


'Only the beginning,' she repeated, and turned to meet 
his eyes. They looked at her gravely; there were no secret 
meanings hidden in them. He spoke as a Plainsman, not 
a City-dweller who knew how to double-edge his words, 
but she was the very soul of the City of the Wise, and her 
words would serve her as she chose. She spoke firmly, as 
one who makes a pledge. 'Yes, there are many years 
ahead. We will be better friends yet, Prince of the Plains.'




Inside the Palace, the wide corridors and dim staircases 
breathed coolness; outside, the brazen sun kneaded his 
flesh, and the bright stone beat in his eyes. Yet his friends 
still strolled unperturbed, and talked of things they 
would do before the hot weather came. He wondered 
how even custom could make it bearable.


The day of his going was fixed: the fifth day of the 
white moon's waning, a full month after the winter sun-feast. 
It was more than three moons since he had left the 
Tribe. They would soon begin looking for him; and the 
Dha'lev would be growing restless long before his journey 
was over, smelling the wind for spring.


His yearning for his people and for the Plain grew 
daily, an ache for the feel of the wind, the scent of the 
grass. There were times when he was wearied by the 
unyielding stone beneath his feet, his eyes and flesh 
bruised by the solidity of all around him. He longed to 
sink his eyes in the cool green of the Plain once more. He 
hungered to feel his mouth shaping the words of his own 
language, and to hear it spoken again by low Khentor 
voices. There was still pleasure in the company of City-dwellers, 
and fascination in their City; but he yearned for 
people to whom his ways and thoughts were not strange.




274




He wanted the ease of Hran's company, and Manui's 
love. tie had not thought to miss Manui so bitterly.


And yet, th last evening came too soon. The stone 
lamps shed their soft light on Yu~Thurek's dining room, 
and the moon on the curtains made them a shimmering, 
rippling fall of silver. Mor'anh looked around at the lux~ 
ury of the room; even the air was made sumptuous for 
them, very delicately scented, tie said, 'When I have 
been gone a while, I shall begin to doubt my memory.'


'Then we are the more certain of your coming back to 
refresh it,' said Yu-Thurek. Servants were removing the 
traces of their meal, and setting tables with wine and 
fruit. Mor'anh took a yellow fruit, and turned it between


his hands. 'This is something I shall miss.'


'Is there no fruit on the Plain?'


'Oh, yes, when we find it. But none like this.' He ate it 
slowly, relishing it. Yo-Pheril laughed.


'It is not youlast; we can take some with us.' He was to 
travel with Mor'anh as far as the Great River. Mor'anh 
only smiled in answer, and settled back in his chair. It 
might be the last he would ever eat so, sitting by a lamp of 
golden stone, with the feel of silk against his oil-smoothed 
skin, hearing harp-music fall through the 
perfumed air. Jatherol gazed entranced at his sybaritic 
composure.


Pages had entered, and Lord Yu-Thurek motioned 
them forward. 'So, Prince of the Plains, your first visit to 
us comes to an end. We must make it as hard as we can for 
you to forget us. Jemaluth has given her gifts to the Alnei; 
these our gifts to you, our friend.'


One by one they laid them before the White Wolf. A 
robe of heavy green silk, its black border embroidered 
with silver, and a belt plated with silver. From the Lord a 
necklace, and a sword of a rare new metal, grey and 
gleaming, a metal harder than bronze, keeping an edge 
better, and, it was said, holding hidden fire; a sword 
such as only Lords and great Princes bore. Yo-Pheril gave 
him a jewelled baldric and a scabbard; and Jatherol, two




275




women's robes of silk, one golden and one crimson; one 
for his sister, she said, and one for his wife, if he had one, 
or when he chose one. Also she gave him a lamp of thin 
stone carved like one of the flowers that floated on their 
pools; remembering the poem he laughed, and again at 
her last gift, of a mirror.


When Mor'anh had thanked them, and the servants 
had gone, Yo-Pheril said, 'I have this for you too; it is not 
a gift like those, only a curious thing.' He gave it to 
Mor'anh: hollow like a horn, lighter and frailer than 
stone, but quite unlike the flimsy shells Mor'anh had 
seen before. The outside was dull blue-green; the inside 
grey, and faintly iridescent. One end was bluntly 
pointed, the other swirled open. Yo-Pheril said, 'Do you 
remember asking me where rivers went? And I told you 
the sea, but could not tell you what it was like. I got that 
shell from a man who has seen it; and he says that if you 
put it to your ear, the noise you hear is the voice of the 
sea. '


There was only a swirling, at first: but then he heard it; 
the hiss, the soft roar, the echo of a distant boom, the 
sound curling over and down, again and again, muffled 
remote thunder. His eyes grew spellbound. It went on, 
endless and unresting, fireless, relentless, wave after 
wave. New distances opened in his mind. He knew at 
once that it claimed kinship with him. Long years before 
Khentor feet would tread a sea-shore, when the hunger 
for wide wandering had touched none of them, he sat in 
the palace of a city of an inland realm, and listened to the 
calling of Kem'nanh's other Plain.


He took it from his ear at last, and handed it on to 
Jatherol. 'So that is where rivers go. No wonder that it 
draws them.' He shook his head, and laughed suddenly. 
'! have come to the City of the Wise; and I have forgotten 
to ask my own question! Lord Yu-Thurek, I did not ask 
the hunters of h'uth. Maybe you can answer me. Tell me, 
does the river flow in the bed laid down for it, or does it 
choose its own way?'




276




Yu-Thurek smiled. 'Be glad you did not ask them; you 
would be there still. It is a question we have all asked 
them, in mahy ways. They cannot say, and nor can I. But 
this I can tell you, Mor'anh; that a stream near its source is 
easily turned aside, but once the river is old and its bed 
deep, it must flow in it for ever.'




277




29




he great court was in shadow. So soon 
after dawn, the stones had not lost the 
chill of night. Yet early as it was, the 
people of Jemaluth were massed along 
the road leading from the Palace to the 
gate. Mor'anh could hear, beyond the




walls, their swelling murmur.


Racho pushed his nose into his rider's shoulder, and 
Mor'anh fondled him. Yo-Pheril leaned on the side of his 
chariot, yawning a little, shivering at the morning's coolness. 
At the foot of the stairs stood two great palanquins, 
canopied and gold-crusted. Eight fair-haired bearers 
stood by each. Even for Kalnat they were big, the biggest 
men Mor'anh had ever seen.


Trumpets blew on the terrace above. The gold-armoured 
guards shouted and fell to their knees. The 
Lord and his daughter beneath their swaying canopy 
descended. Mor'anh stepped forward, then stopped, 
awed.


Yu-Thurek was dressed as usual with sober magnificence; 
but Mor'anh had never seen Jatherol so splendid. 
Her dress was not of pale rippling cloth, but heavy 
orange silk, the hems two handspans deep with gold. 
Her outer robe, which all but hid the dress, was stiff with 
gold, and its high collar stood up rigidly behind her head. 
She wore a round flat-crowned head-dress beneath




278




which all her hair was hidden; chains of gold hung 
against her cheeks. She was weighted with jewels unlike 
any he had-seen her wear before, heavy and ornate. 
Mor'anh had never seen her pre-eminence so clearly 
demonstrated, and was a little shaken.


'I should have taken leave of you last night, Princess; 
while I still dared to call you by your name.' She smiled, 
and her eyes beneath their painted brows and gilded lids 
were unchanged. 'We will not say farewell, Moran. Only 
"until we meet again". May you prosper. Night and 
morning Jemaluth will watch the roads for your return.'


She put out her hand, but when he took it the rings 
were hard against his fingers, and instead of speaking he 
bowed, fist to shoulder. The bearers knelt, and Jatherol 
moved forward. Under the sumptuous weight of her 
ceremonial garments and archaic jewels she moved 
without her.liquid grace, but with great stateliness. The 
Lord stepped.easily into his palanquin, but the Princess 
had to be handed to hers by attendants. Mor'anh 
mounted; Yo-Pheril gathered his reins; the Golden Men 
rose, lifting their splendid burdens. The trumpets blew, 
and the escort formed.


They passed through the wrought gates, Jatherol's 
orange palanquin first, the Lord's behind; after them 
came Mor'anh and Yo-Pheril, side by side. They went 
with slow majesty towards the City's gate. The road was 
almost choked not only with crowds, but by canopied 
chariots, priests in poled carrying-chairs, nobles' litters. 
At the Gate there was a space of calm, under the arch 
where none but the guards might ever stand; but outside 
the City, the crowds began again.


Jatherol and her father came down from their thrones at 
the gate, and mounted the walls to watch the travellers 
out of sight. Gazing after them, Jatherol said suddenly, 
'Do you think we have done wisely?'


'In sending swords to the Plain. I think so. Or if not 
wisely, justly.'


She moved her head a little to look at him; her collar 
made it difficult. 'When you talked of a new power in the




279




north, there was something you did not mention. Do you 
know what I am thinking?'


'That they will overthrow the Kalnat, and learn their


strength; and that some day, our turn will come.' 
'Well?'


'It may be. But the Bariphen to which that happens, if it 
ever does, will not be the realm we know. The world must 
change.' He raised his arm to Yo-Pheril, who had looked 
back. 'And I daresay we may deserve it, by then.'


Jatherol was silent, following Mor'anh with her eyes. 
Turning Racho to look back for the last time he saw her 
standing on the wall facing the sun, a tiny glittering 
figure, like the image of a goddess.




Mor'anh and Yo-Pheril, with their train, travelled along 
the road; this time he would follow a swifter way to the 
Great River. On the third day they descended from the 
plateau by a ramped road which wound back and forth 
across the slope. It took half a day; Mor'anh remembered 
his two-day scramble ruefully. Below, the road ran on.


'It isn't bad, remembering its age,' said Yo-Pheril, 
driving his chariot by Racho. 'It could be re-paved, 
though.'


'Is this too part of the old realm, then?'


'In a way: it was a main route to it. It doesn't get much 
use now--though maybe its second blooming is coming. 
To think, after all these years, the old realm's road will be 
used to travel to a place and a people that the men who 
built it never knew existed! I won't think it, it makes me 
shiver. I wonder who is coming after us?'


Yo-Pheril had never travelled for so long. He had expected 
never to leave Bariphen, and his high spirits made 
this journey far less heart-wearying to Mor'anh than the 
other. He had wondered how the Prince would endure 
the lack of comforts on the journey, but Yo-Pheril was 
undisturbed. It seemed to enhance his pleasure; he was 
hardier than he seemed. The servants raised a tent for 
him every night, but he preferred to lie out, as Mor'anh 
did. He talked and questioned constantly. Since 

Yu


28o




Thurek had consented to his own future journey to the 
Plain, his curiosity about the life there had redoubled.


Mor'anh found it hard to make clear to him what a 
Tribe was. Even when they agreed that it was not like a 
city, nor a family as Yo-Pheril understood it, nor an army, 
it was not easy to say what it was. The Prince persisted in 
thinking of it as Mor'anh's to command, as if his fellow-tribesmen 
were subservient to him. At last as they 
bathed in a small river one evening, Mor'anh suddenly 
said, 'Listen, Yo-Pheril; you have heard me talk of the 
Great River? I have said what a mighty water it is? Well, 
that great river--it is this little river too, and the river I 
followed to find Jemaluth, and every small river, every 
stream, that has flowed into those rivers. Even this trickle 
among the ferns, that I can stop with my finger, that too is 
the Great River. Yet all these little waters, like single 
lives, they make something that has a soul and a life of its 
own, always' changing, and always the same. That is 
what a Tribe is like.'


Morning and evening he practised swordcraft against 
the Prince. He would never have Yo-Pheril's long-learned 
skill that made supreme effort seem polished 
ease, nor did he have his dash; but his eye was good, and 
his reactions quicker than his friend's.


When they came in sight of the Great River Yo-Pheril, 
gazing from the hill-crest which gave the first view of it, 
was deeply impressed. 'No wonder my father thought it 
necessary to send a message to the ferry-men. Are these 
the haunted forests I see beyond?'


'No. Those trees do not grow close. That is where the 
fallen stones lie, though.'


He had been wondering how he was to make the 
crossing, but the ferry summoned by the Lord of 
Jemaluth was waiting where the road ended; a fenced 
raft, towed by two boats. It was large enough to take 
Racho, the ten ponies, and himself. There he parted from 
Yo-Pheril, with affection and regret. The Prince wished 
him well with the City-dwellers' traditional blessing: 
'The Gods send you health, happiness, and a handsome




281




wife!' Mor'anh laughed and said, 'It is likelier to be 
granted than my wish for you; but I say as I said to your 
father and sister, I wish you a good horse beneath you, 
your people about you, and the wind in your face always.'


The ponies, though becoming hardened to strange 
things, liked the raft as little as the bridge. He had to give 
them all his attention as the big dour rivermen leaned on 
their oars and the bank fell away behind them. Not until 
they stood on the landing-stage on the northern shore 
could he look again for his friend. The sun was in his 
eyes, but far away across the river he could see the group 
of men, small as seeds; and before them, like a chip of 
jewel, one figure in light bright green. The distance was 
too great for movement to be seen; but still, when he had 
mounted he sat and waved his arms before riding away.




Returning, the way seemed shorter, or his eagerness 
moved him more swiftly. He rode aside after strange 
sights less than on his outward journey. It was strange, 
when he rode through the fallen stones and broken 
ground, to think that here had been a city like Jemaluth. It 
was not easy for him to think that he looked at something 
which had been, and was not; that the past was about 
him. To find himself in two times at once was as hard for 
him as to stand in two places at once, and as disturbing. 
Plainsman that he was, the City-dwellers could not teach 
him soon to think of Time. For his people, years and 
centuries withered like grass and were gone; the past was 
as mysterious as the future, and stories of it vague as 
prophecies. To be able to number the dead years, to name 
their men and know their deeds, to look across them as 
from the cliff-top he had looked across the land below, 
seemed almost as marvellous as to see into the years 
ahead. As marvellous, and as powerful, for how it increased 
life!


When the true forest began, he remembered his voices, 
and Ya-Buren's. He rode looking about warily. But 
maybe for that reason, he neither saw nor heard 

any


282




thing, nor felt any watchful eyes. Yet now he knew their 
history, even the trees seemed to whisper grief to him. At 
last he stbpped the ponies, and rode Racho across the 
ditch and among the trees a little way. 'Be easy!' he called 
into the silence. 'The Dancing Boy avenged you. He 
made the rivers poison them, and long ago their cities 
fell.'


The road reached the last river; but he did not turn 
north. He rode on to the water's edge, and found his hope 
nswered. It would have been hard for the ponies, laden 
is they were with swords and gifts, to have swum this 
:irst and last river; but here too the road ran on under the 
a, ater, to the island, and surely beyond.


The crossing was slow. He tested the footing carefully, 
;or the current thrust hard, and it would go ill with a pony 
arhich fell. The river was full, and seemed bitterly cold; in 
:he north, the snow was melting. It was growing dark 
,hen the, reached the far bank, and night had fallen 
before he had attended to all the animals. But there was 
wood in plenty, and he built a fire that warmed them all 
well into the night.


He woke next morning to the realisation that no more 
rivers divided him from the Tribe, and that the sun-graced 
mountains in the west held, somewhere among 
their northern foothills, the winter camp of the Alnei. 
Elation flooded him. He felt that a spring to the saddle 
and a swift gallop would bring him among them at last, 
that if he now shouted 'Hran!' with all his power, his 
spear-brother would hear him. He knew in truth he still 
had a long journey, but his heart was bursting with 
triumphant joy as he set out that day.


He had succeeded. He had braved the loneliness of the 
lands where no men lived; he had crossed the long emptiness, 
and seen the marvels. He had found The Cities, 
whose existence they had all doubted, and been received 
there with honour. At the end of the terrifying journey he 
had found unlooked-for friendship, and people who 
gave the help he asked generously. The world was greater 
and stranger than he had dreamed, and the Golden.




283




People much less. His faith in Kem'nanh had been fully 
answered, more than fully; and after it all, he was returning 
safe. His heart almost cracked with happiness, and he 
sang as he rode.


The last part of the journey took five days. For four of 
them he threaded a way round and over the lower slopes 
of the mountains. On the fourth day, about noon, they 
came over a crest and saw spreading out northwards, 
seeming at their very feet, sudden space and smoothness: 
the Plain at last. He shouted with joy, and Racho 
neighed. Even the tired ponies pulled on eagerly, sniffing 
the wind, sweet with the smell of springing grass.


His heart thudded like a lover's as he watched the level 
land draw closer; the ground flew away beneath them. 
When the last hillside was a bow-shot behind them, 
when the grass stretched level all about and they stood 
once more on the black earth of the land the Gods had 
given them, Mor'anh dismounted and flung himself to 
the ground. He spread his arms as if he could embrace the 
Plain and pressed his face to the grass, weeping with joy. 
After a while he rose, and prayed to Kem'nanh; then he 
went on until it was time to make the last of his solitary 
camps. He slept content that night. When he rose in the 
morning he opened his gifts, and groomed himself for 
his return to the Alnei.




Hran had made a watch-place on the hill east of the 
valley's mouth. From there he could see far over the Plain, 
north and east, and every possible hour he spent there. 
He had resolved not to begin looking for Mor'anh too 
soon. 'After the third moon', he had said, 'begin listening 
for my horn. It cannot be less than three moons, and it 
may be more.' And he had replied, 'When winter leans 
towards spring.' So he had let three complete moons 
pass, and after the third full moon had let it wane before 
beginning to watch. Only with the fourth new moon had 
he begun his vigil. Now he had spent the greater part of 
thirteen days in his rocky nest, standing leaning on his 
spear, or crouched out of the wind with his back against




284




the rock. Tonight would be the fourth full moon; spring 
had begun, and the fourth month nearly ended.


Some of the Alnei had despaired of Mor'anh's return as 
soon as his confident presence was no longer among 
them. Others had felt their faith sapped through the 
winter. Now, as the new grass began to grow, and the 
young King Horse who had never met the Lord became 
restless, there were many whose hearts began to fail, and 
who looked at Hran fearfully, as if some knowledge must 
come to him. Manui was withering in pale silence. Only 
the Old Man never doubted, and Hran; Hran would not 
even speak of hope, declaring it was certainty, and asking 
which they doubted, Mor'anh's faith or Kem'nanh's 
power. Yet even he sometimes felt he watched with 
neither certainty nor hope, only stubbornness.


So he was feeling on this, the fourteenth day of the 
year's first month. He could see nothing of the smoke-hazed 
caml from where he stood; only trees and a steep 
rocky path to his left, with Ranap at the bottom of the 
slope, to his right an even more precarious path, and 
before him the Plain and the sky. It was a sunny day; the 
green of the young grass shone and rippled. But he had 
watched since daybreak in this windy perch. He was cold 
to the bone, and near despair. Now the shadows were 
lengthening again, and turning eastwards.


And then he saw a moving spot out in the green, that 
separated into eleven specks. Too often he had been 
deceived by wandering animals; but these seemed to 
move with purpose. He caught his breath, and even as he 
shaded his eyes to look again there came faintly the 
sound of a horn, blowing a call he knew.


Then he gave a great yell of joy. He hurled up his long 
spear and caught it, and flung it up again whirling in the 
sun, a wheel of fire; and he saw something flash in 
answer above the little caravan. The horn sounded again, 
and raising his own he replied, blowing on and on in 
wild delight. In the camp they heard, and everyone 
dropped their work. Then men ran for their horses and






boys for their ponies, while others only ran. But Manui 
285




pressed a hand tO her side, grown faint with sudden 
hope.


Hran came leaping and sliding down the steep path, 
and the women and children gathered around Ranap 
needed no answer but his joyous laughter: 'He comes! He 
comes!' While Mor'anh too laughed for gladness. Then 
he took the sword that was the Lord's gift to him, and the 
mirror that was the Princess's and whirled them above 
his head as he rode.


Thus he came back to the tribe, Mor'anh Lin'ham on a 
lord of horses riding over the sunlit plain. His robe was 
edged with glancing silver, as if a light ran round it, and 
light flashed above his head, glittering and blazing from 
his hands. For it seemed that he wielded white flame in 
his left hand and cold fire in his right He whose name 
was Spear of Heaven, he seemed armed with the 
weapons of a god, like Ir'nanh's burning spear itself. 
Awe silenced them briefly; then a voice cheered, and 
they shouted,


'Mor'anh! Mor'anh! Ai, the Spear of Heaven! Hai-ai-al; 
Mor'anh Mer'inhen, Mor'anh of the Lightnings!'




288




30




l
he fire roared exuberantly, an endless 
skein of red stars streaming from its


peak. Sometimes a gust of wind blew one 
side hollow while smoke and flame 
belched from the other, making the 
dancers yelp with laughter and skip out 
of reach; but that night even a scorching was a joke. They 
had scoured the woods for this huge Fire of Gathering, 
and the valley was sweet with woodsmoke.


Mor'anh sat on the Lord's chair, his happiness blazing 
like the fire. He still wore the silk robe, the silver embroidery 
looking like trickles of flame. Tomorrow night 
would be for telling his story, not this riot of gladness. 
The noise was surely carrying to the next valley. The 
dancers leapt endlessly about the fire, sometimes a proper 
chain, more often small groups or solitary men dancing 
out their exultation. Hran was not among them; the Long 
Spear did not leave his spear-brother's side. He shone 
with happiness and relief, even the lack of Nai overwhelmed 
for one evening.


Mor'anh felt that he was talking ceaselessly, greeting 
and joking and answering, tumbling out whichever of 
his recollections lay nearest his tongue, basking in their 
love. His brilliant eyes were wide, gazing about, renewing 
his memory of every face. He had not yet spoken to 
Manui; he had glimpsed her in the crowd when he rode




289




in, but she had not been close enough to reach in the 
confusion. She had come late to the Fire, and seeing her 
moving to a place among the women, he had sprung to 
his feet and called, 'Manui!' She had stood confounded, 
blushing so that even the firelight could not conceal it, 
while any reply she might have made had been lost in the 
Tribe's laughter, as Mor'anh sat hastily, embarrassed 
himself at so far having forgotten custom. Hran said, 
laughing, 'Is that City manners?' and he answered 
lightly, to cover his confusion, 'No. For in the City, 
unless you are a woman's kinsman, you may not greet 
her until she has greeted you.' They whooped, and 
begged to be told more, and his breach of custom was 
forgotten.


His new title had grown to him already; Mor'anh 
Mer'inhen, Mor'anh of the Lightnings. When he had left, 
the Old Man had said that once, going forth a boy, he had 
returned a man; going forth a man, who could tell how he 
would return? He had come back in their eyes a demigod 
at least. Their shadowy history had held no heroes until 
now, so they could not name what they saw in him. But 
he was leading them out of the shadows, into the times 
when men would be named and remembered, and they 
had given him already the name by which the ages would 
know him.




Manui loosened her plaits with shaking fingers, and 
began to comb out her hair. Fresh washed, it sprang out 
of the braids and slipped away from her combing. She 
gathered a handful and smelt it, seeking the fragrance of 
Ralki's herbs; then let it fall, shaking the dark torrent 
about her shoulders and back.


She should feel happier. He had broken custom to 
greet her, and when she left the Fire he had caught her 
eye with a smiling signal he took no pains to hide. She 
could not understand why she felt nearer tears than 
laughter. For four months she had lived only for this day, 
for weeks had dreaded to find the fulfilment of her long 
hope turned to bitterness after all; and now when fear




290




and doubt were overthrown, she could not rejoice. It had 
been Ralki who had scolded and bullied her into preparing 
herselfitly, Ralki who had been sure he would come 
to her. Manui had felt too much, and it was all turned to 
pain.


She could hear the happy uproar at the Fire still; he 
would not leave it yet. She must shake off her daze to 
greet him as she had dreamed of doing. But even as she 
formed'the thought, the doorflap moved, and he spoke 
her name.


A small cold breeze blew in with him, stirring the edge 
of the robe he wore, so that the faint light went flickering 
along the silver; his left hand rested upon his sword-hilt. 
The unfamiliar outline made him look a stranger. She 
rose swiftly, gripping her fingers together, the blood 
rushing from her face. She tried to speak, but her throat 
choked the words.


There wets a charged silence. 'Manui?' he said again, at 
last, but there was already a hint of doubt in his voice. 
She tried again. 'Mor'anh,' she said with an effort; then 
desperation loosed all the wrong words. 'You have been 
long away. Was the journey very hard? I had begun to 
wonder if you would return at all.'


'To wonder?' She saw surprise stiffen his face, and 
hated herself. He answered, 'Not hard. Only long and 
lonely; but worth making.' He paused for her to speak, 
but if she could not find the right words at least she 
would not say the wrong ones. After a moment he said 
coolly, 'Has the winter been hard?'


'Hard? Yes, hard,' she almost croaked, knotting her 
hands in agony. 'Vexr hard, yes, very hard.'


Had she answered lightly again he would have gone. 
But he hesitated, and said almost humbly, 'Everyone else 
welcomes me, Manui. Will you not? I thought you would 
be glad to see me.'


'Glad?' she cried. 'Glad?' She fled across the floor and 
cast herself against him, clinging tight. 'Mor'anh, oh, 
Mor'anh! I thought you would never come back!'


He closed his arms around her, laughing shakily with




291




relief. 'I did not know--I wondered what had hap-pened--whoManui; 
look up---' But she pressed her 
face into his shoulder, crying incoherently, 'So long--all 
winter--I could not bear it. So long--and The Cities; and 
I thought it was for ever; and the cold. I was afraid to 
wake every morning. All that time, and never 
knowing--and then to expect words, just like that. And 
to laugh--after four moons *,o laugh!' She shuddered. 'I 
will laugh, but not yet. I know I am happy, Mor'anh, but I 
cannot feel it yet.'


He held her closer, shaken with a tenderness that astonished 
him, and bent his face to her hair. 'Oh, I have 
missed you, Manui. I have missed you so much. How 
good your hair smells; I had forgotten. There is so much 
to say. Look, I have brought you a gift. No, don't look; 
you can see that later. Look at me: Manui.'


The lamp burned on. Later, when she got up to pick his 
robe up off the floor and he trimmed the wick, he said, 
'They make these of stone . . . they gave me one. You 
shall see it.' She put her arms into the robe and stirred the 
folds, and he grinned. 'Oh, yes, you look well in it. Be 
careful, Manui; the long knife has the sharpest edge I ever 
felt. Oh, if I talked for a week I could not tell it all... How 
would you like to sleep in a stone bed?'


'It would depend on who else slept there. Mor'anh, 
that is no way to treat this coat!--'


She stirred cautiously in his arms, turning her head to 
see his closed eyes and peaceful mouth. But he said, 
'Don't move, I'm not asleep,' and she settled again. He 
sighed. 'Talk to me. Say something.'


'What is the gift you have brought me?'


'You can't see yet, I don't want to move. Say something


else.' She pinched him, but he only laughed.


'Were the women in The Cities beautiful?'


'Some of them. Much like other women.' He opened 
his eyes and grinned at her. 'The Princess, Jatherol: she is 
very beautiful.' She pinched him again, smiling, until he 
caught her wrists and wrestled with her gently, then




292




buried his face in her neck. 'But however beautiful they 
were, they were no 'comfort to me. Did you miss me, 
Manui?' '


'Have I not told you? Do not make me remember. Every 
moment I lived was like eating meat without salt . . . 
Why do you make me say these things?'


'I am sorry. Look, the lamp is flickering. Sit up; let me 
show you your gift while there is light.'


When he put the mirror into her hands it puzzled her as 
it had him. 'No, this is how you use it. Hold it there; and 
it shows you your face. Do you see?'


She did. She looked at her reflection in silence for some 
time, and she thought of Runi, of the beautiful City-woman, 
of many others. He knelt there, his eyes expectant, 
so sure his gift would give her pleasure. Indeed it 
did, as did the thought that he had not noticed, or did not 
care. Sh saw he had not praised her eyes falsely, and her 
hair was thick and glossy; but for the rest, it was only an 
ordinary, pleasant face. She turned it over and looked at 
the decoration before she said, 'It is lovely.' And she did 
not know whether her painful laughter was blessing him 
for not knowing, or reproaching him for making her 
know.




He did not wake until long after the Dawn Drum, not 
until she had risen and opened a flap of the roof, letting in 
the sun. As she sat combing her hair, watching him 
dress, she was struck by the sheen of health on him, so 
unlike everyone else's winter-weary look. 'They will 
have been crowding your tent door since sunrise,' she 
said. But he only laughed and replied, 'Then they should 
have had more sense.'


She smiled, then looked down to tease a tangle out of 
her hair. She said softly, 'Will you come here tonight?'


He did not answer. She stood up, furious at her folly, 
and picked up his robe, shaking and folding it. She 
offered it to him, but he did not move, only stood looking 
at her. At last he spoke.




293




'Manui,' he said. 'Did you know I love you?'


The shock was too great for gladness. It rushed over 
her, leaving her breath only for a stifled 'No'.


'No. It surprised me too.' He took her face in his hands, 
gazing at her gravely. She stood as though movement 
would lose her everything.


'This tent has been a place I sought. But you are right. I 
should be found in the Lord's tent. I am not the Young 
Wolf any more. Would it grieve you never to sleep here 
again?' He looked round regretfully, then back to her. 
'Come to my tent, Manui. My tiger-skin is lonely. The 
Princess sent a silk robe for my woman, and I would


choose to see you wearing it. Will you come?'


'Yes,' she said.


Belief came, and joy too great to bear. She felt she saw 
the world made new, and all the Gods turn smiling faces 
to her. Her spirit was singing, and out-dancing Ir'nanh; 
but she only said 'Yes' and stood holding his robe out to 
him. She gave a sudden amazed laugh, and he smiled.


'Who should have my spear? Your sister's man? Tell 
him to bring a spear to the Fire tonight. No. I must speak 
tonight--tomorrow. Come, smile, my pigeon . . .' He 
stooped and kissed her lightly, then took his robe, picked 
up his sword, and was gone.


After a moment she sat down weakly. At first she felt 
regret that the present hour must pass; and then the 
realisation came, that there would be no more need to 
prolong such hours. She understood at last that this was 
only the beginning of happiness; and she feared only that 
she would not know how to endure such joy.




Runi felt that she could not bear another year like the last. 
She had endured the winter in an obscure hope that 
when Mor'anh returned he would have forgotten her 
offences, and she would be restored to the place she had 
once held. She would see the hunger back in his eyes, 
and know that power was hers again. Maybe she would 
go to the Goddess in the autumn. In the desperation of




294




her loneliness, with only her father and younger brothers 
and sisters still tolerant of her, she felt she could even find 
the courage to be a woman.


She could not have spoken to Mor'anh at the Fire; but 
next day she watched for him. She saw when he went to 
the horse-herd to greet the new Dha'lev, and saw the 
path among the trees he took; she loitered there to wait 
for his return. Walking back deep in thought, he heard a 
quick surprised sound of pleasure, and looked up.


Runi stood before him, smiling uncertainly. 'Terani!' 
she said gaily. 'It is good to see you back!'


He inclined his head astonished. 'It is good to be back.' 
He looked at her coaxing smile, her hopeful eyes, and 
was strangely reminded of Pheruthal, waiting along garden 
walks to ambush him with her beauty. Only Pherut-hal 
had never made him feel as Runi did.


He knew that-he had never known her. He knew the 
girl he had loved for more than two years had never 
existed, that he had created her himself out of his own 
dreams and Runi's beauty. But the dreams were not yet 
forgotten, and the beauty was real. He had forgotten how




'It--it has been trange---not to see you for so long.' 
She had never had to find words before, only to accept his 
homage, or reject it.


'To be strange is not always to be bad. That I have 
learned again this winter.' He watched unbelieving as 
she stepped nearer. There was pathos in her attempt 
at--what? What was she offering? Did she know? What 
would she do, if he took hold of her? His mind pitied her; 
but his body did not.


'Oh, it was bad this time, Terani.' But it was not Terani 
who had courted her. Abandoning the search for words 
she looked up at him, green eyes glinting. It was a look he 
had seen a hundred times; and amid the rush of emotions 
it woke, he thought astounded, 'She means to bend my 
neck again!'


He drew a breath. 'Well, it is good to see you, Runi. But




295




I am waited for.' He stepped firmly past her without 
looking aside; and he had walked some way before he 
realised he was still holding his breath.


The Khentorei say there are three ways of loving. There 
is the love of tigers, which is fierce but not deathless; for 
passion spent, tigers part, and a pair hunted will each 
escape as it can. There is the love of lions, calmer and 
nobler than the tiger love, deep and warm; for the lion 
will fight as his family escapes, and die for them at need. 
So Mor'anh loved Manui. And last there is the love of 
leopards, who will fight side by side, or flee together, or 
perish together, but who will not be parted. For if a 
leopard is killed, its mate will stay by the body and die 
sooner than escape alone.


Runi had been Mor'anh's leopardess. Such love can 
only be given once, and his had been wasted. Runi had 
proved unworthy of the Lord of the Alnei; but what he 
had given he could not take back, and she was his 
leopardess still.




Never had a bride been claimed so. No suitor was ever 
secret, but Mor'anh threw his spear to Manui at the Fire 
of Gathering. He rode his caparisoned horse into the 
circle of firelight and called 'Duranoi!' He had prepared 
himself with care, and even Hran was moved at sight of 
him. 'Duranoi! Come forth with your sister Manui!'


The murmur of pleased approval brought a glow to 
Manui's face as her sister's husband led her out into the 
space before the fire. She too was in her best, but she had 
no splendour to match his. The Alnei saw nothing amiss 
in that; it was fit that a bridegroom should outshine the 
woman he sought. Mor'anh raised one of his collared 
spears, and it stabbed the earth between Manui's feet.


'Duranoi, I would be 'our brother!'


'I have your spear, Terani.'


Mor'anh took up the spear Duranoi threw to him, but 
he did not then ride away. He circled Manui and her 
brother, leaned from the saddle, and scooped his bride 
up before him. With a triumphant yell he sped away into




296




the darkness. The Alnei cheered, and Duranoi, followed 
by others whose mounts were picketed near, ran for his 
own horse to pursue them. Mor'anh led them beyond the 
waggons and three times about the camp and herds, 
while Manui clung to him laughing in delighted terror, 
before he rode back to the centre of the camp and lifted 
her down at his tent door. Hran was there, to tie the 
curtain after them and keep the door from the bride's kin; 
but Duranoi and his friends did not contest with him 
long. Soon the dancing began, and when he had rubbed 
and picketed Racho, Hran went to lead them in rejoicing.


Mor'anh was resolved to ride to other tribes before the 
Spring Wandering began, and tell their lords how things 
had changed among the Alnei. It was possible that the 
men of Mald, or other Golden Men, might visit their 
anger at one tribe on another, and he wished to warn 
those he could reach. Before the sun was high, he and 
Hran were riding across the river. Some women were 
gathered nearby. One called boldly, 'You are out early for 
a bridegroom, Terani; we thought better of you!' Only 
Ralki would have dared. He joined, their laughter; and 
another woman answered, but so that he should hear, 
'Not early for a father, Ralki; he's going to fetch her the 
mare's milk.'


'Not yet; you think too well of me, sisters!' he said 
cheerfully. Then catching the looks they gave each other 
he drew rein, startled. 'What do you mean?' he said.


Manui was making the Lord's tent her own, so busy 
she hardly noticed Mor'anh enter, until he spoke. 'Oh! I 
thought you had gone!' she said, turning; then, 'What is 
that?'


'Mare's milk.'


She looked up at him. She was trying to look stern, but 
could not stop the smile. 'Ah, who told you?'


'Some of the women--they thought I knew already.' 
He was glad they knew he had not. Now no one could 
think he had taken her to his tent for that reason. 'Why 
had you not told me?'


'Everything came at once. I wanted to save this last




297




thing, just a day or so.' She took the leather beaker. 'They 
tell me this is very nasty. Are you angry with me?'


'Angry! At such news! How could I be angry!' He cast 
himself laughing into his chair. 'Are you pleased, 
Manui?'


'I have waited so long. I had begun to fear it would 
never happen. Now I have everything. I am more than 
pleased.' She raised the beaker, and drunk the 

strong
tasting milk quickly. 'Vech, it is nastier than they said.' 
'When will he be born?'


'He! You are very sure. The Good Goddess may send 
you a daughter.'


'I hope she will; and when she comes she will be most 
welcome. But this will be my son. When will hebe born?'


'Six moons from now. In the Moon of Storms, about the 
full moon.'


'The Moon of Storms! When else could my son be born? 
The son of the lightning-bolt, and born in the Moon of 
Storms!' He caught her up in his arms. 'My father must 
have willed it. How does it feel, Manui, to be the mother 
of Kem'nanh's grandson?'


She leaned her head against his. 'I try not to think of it. 
But I have waited years to be the mother of your child. 
That is enough for me; and a greater thing than--than the 
other, that I do not like to say. What will you call him?'


'I shall call him Ravalsh. Ravalsh, the son of Mor'anh--'


'Ravalsh?' She looked startled. 'Dawn Thunder? But 
that is a horse's name!'


'It is a man's name from now on. Ravalsh. How will 
you bear us, my Manui? The Gentle One, to be the 
woman of the lightning, and the mother of thunder!' He 
set her down. 'I must go. Hran is waiting, and I must go 
to the other lords. Ravalsh. Ravalsh. I like it better each 
time. Say it, Manui: Ravalsh, the son of Mor'anh, the son 
of Kem'nanh!'




298




here were times when Madol wished he 
had never taken his Wanderer concubine.


As a houseslave, she had never been 
very useful; nor had she brought much 
pleasure to his bed. He had never 
brought her to willingness, only at best to sullen 
exhausted submission. And from the beginning she had 
unsettled his house. The other slaves were afraid of her, 
while as for Marat--a bastard half-sister was small loss, 
true, but it had been galling that a foreign slave held such 
sway over her. He had never been able to humble the girl. 
She met favours with disdain, and was uncowed by 
neglect or brutality. There were times when she made 
even him afraid, and it had been worse since he had 
exposed her baby. He blamed all his ill-luck on her; the 
barren cows, the sick bull, the failing crops. He never saw 
a smile on her face save when news of some misfortune 
came to him. And it made him furious that she did not 
conceive. When he had taken the other child from her, he 
:had sworn to get one on her himself, but she had said 
'I shall not let you'. Not could he. All his other 
en bore children to him, but not the Dark




He even wondered, now, what beauty he had ever 
seen in her. Now that he was soon marrying, she would




299




be more trouble than ever. The suggestion that he might 
sell her back to her tribe he met with derision, though he 
had thought of killing her. But Kariniol got to hear of that, 
and sought him out to say that if harm came to the dark 
girl, 'then he, Kariniol, would kill Madol and not care for 
the punishment. Kaniniol had been growing odd, since 
the business of Black Cloak's capture and escape; so 
Madol had let the girl live.


But worst were her weird moods. They came often, but 
were most disturbing at the first full moon each autumn. 
Then she seemed crazed. The second time he had locked 
her in an outhouse, but she had got out, and roused his 
neighbours with her singing, while her dancing was still 
a by-word for indecency with those who had seen it. He 
had dragged her to his bed, and that had been the only 
time he had got any great pleasure with her. But when he 
spoke of it she had stared stonily and said, 'Not me. It 
was the Goddess.'


Now this winter past had been worst of all. She had 
sunk for hours at a time into a delirium of terror, wailing 
softly in her own tongue saying, a half-caste slave said, 
that she was lonely, that he was gone, so far; lost, lost, 
lost; until even he began to recognise some words. He 
half hoped she would die, but feared the ghost she would 
make. It unnerved him. Such grief and horror could not 
be in a house and not bring ill-luck upon it.


Her strength had returned with spring, but she was not 
less disturbing. A month had brought her from despair to 
a fierce elation, as frightening as the worst of her frenzies. 
He would hear her singing to herself at times, a soft 
happy sound that froze his heart. There was a jauntiness 
about her that he felt bode him ill. Worst of all, she spoke 
prophecies now in their language. Once he saw her gazing 
raptly at the rafters, and she said, 'This roof will let 
snow when winter comes again.' She walked more 
lightly, and looled at those who treated her ill more 
mockingly; she stopped among the sowers one day and 
said merrily, 'Why sow that the horses will eat?'; and 
once when in a rage he whipped her and chained her in




the logshed she only laughed and said, 'Yes, you can shut 
me up now, but wait for the lightning. When all the walls 
are down, rhat will keep me in?' Mostly she simply 
watched them, with closed mouth and secret eyes, the air 
of one who means, 'It would be better for you if you knew 
what I know,' but will not tell. A servant asked her why 
she spoke her warnings since no one believed them; she 
answered gaily, 'But I like them not to believe me.' When 
Madol heard that, it scared him.


But she prophesied no more, after a certain day. Standing 
at the well with other women she stiffened, her eyes 
fixing; she cried out as if astonished with gladness, and 
called aloud,


'Listen: listen: do you feel the air? A wind is coming. 
Can you not hear it? A great wind, a great wind! A wind 
is coming: and those with roofs must make ready to see 
them torn 6ff!'




When the second moon of the year was new, in the fifth 
day of New Grass, the Alnei followed their King into the 
Plain. Mor'anh rode Racho at the head of the column 
now, not cantering with the young men about the King 
Horse. This Dha'lev was still almost a stranger to him, a 
young horse, broadbacked, all black, save for his forelock 
and the feathering of one hoof. There had been times 
when Mor'anh had wondered what would happen if the 
Dha'lev led them to pitch their tents near Golden Men 
who were strangers. But when Hran asked h;,m the same 
question he laughed. 'The God leads the Dha'lev. He 
knows what he means us to do. If it happened, we should


refuse tribute, I suppose. But it will not happen.' 
'Can you be sure?'


'As sure as if I rode the Dha'lev myself and knew where 
to guide him. Why would Kem'nanh lie to me? The 
Alnei, and the men of Maid6; we are like cats and serpents, 
enemies fated for each other.'


The gifts from the City were laid away now, or as 
familiar as Mor'anh's necklace of silver chains and rough 
emeralds, or his flower lamp. All the Alnei could describe




301




by now everything their lord had seen there, though 
Mor'anh often wondered if he had been able to give 
anyone a true picture of Jemaluth. The only thing he had 
shown only to Hran and Manui was the shell which held 
the sea-sound.


But the swords were in constant use. Day after day the 
tribesmen laboured to make themselves swordsmen, and 
Mor'anh strove to pass on what he had learned. Most 
became moderately skilled, some would never learn the 
use of it, and some, like Hran, seemed to know without 
learning, as if they only needed to remember artistry laid 
aside for a time. Hran especially had a judgement, a 
grace, and a deadly deftness, that would in time make 
him a swordsman the equal of Yo-Pheril. Mor'anh, 
watching his spear-brother admiring and appalled, soon 
left the teaching to him. When they had learned the use of 
the weapon they had to learn to fight with it on horseback, 
and there they could only teach each other; the 
City-men had had no advice to give. They had to teach 
their horses not to fear the clashing metal and the blades 
flashing about their heads; but the skill must be learned 
first, or an injured horse would learn the wrong lesson, 
and far worse, and would have his faith in his friend and 
rider shaken. Seeing the work to be done, Mor'anh 
prayed to Kem'nanh not to bring them to their enemies 
too soon.


Spring warmed into summer. The Moon of the Young 
Lord passed, and Mor'anh had been Lord of the Alnei for 
a year. The boys were sent out into the Plain, and 
Mor'anh, blessing them as they left, promised they 
should return to a better tribe in the autumn. For a little 
while their mothers stifled anxious weeping, then looking 
at the swords blinking on the practice-ground, feared 
for their men instead.


The first time that the God had possessed him after 
revealing himself, Mor'anh had been astonished with 
delight, for Kem'nanh had come as gently as a father 
touches his sleeping child. Now he never struegled




302




against him, but watched for the God's sign eagerly, the 
possession did not rack him in' coming. He felt the Lord 
of Herds always nar, a presence at his right hand as 
Hran was at his left. The feeling was so strong that when a 
man rode to his right side it made his hair rise. Even in 
their bed, Manui must sleep at his left.


The Moon of Sheep Shearing came. For days, everyone 
laboured among the flocks. Mor'anh, working with 
Hran, set the struggling sheep he held back on its feet and 
released it, while Hran scooped up the stinking fleece 
and added it to the pile for the children to carry to the 
women at the river. Rubbing his brow on his arm, 
Mor'anh watched the sheep, who had ceased staggering 
away and grown calm, and was now beginning to realise 
that it was free of its wool.


'The fleeces are .heavy this year,' said Hran. 'They are 
all saying that everything prospers now you are Lord.'


'In summer that is easily thought. Let them say it next 
year, and I shall be glad.' The sheep, lightened and cool, 
gave a hesitant skip, and he grinned. 'Look; she thought 
she had forgotten that trick.., no more today. Let us go 
to the river.'


At sheep-shearing, there were so many eager to bathe 
away the wool-oil at the end of the day that it became like 
another Gathering, all sport and laughter. But they could 
not linger; sword-practice must go on. Hran, indeed, had 
no wish to delay it. As they walked he drew his sword 
and began sporting with it, making it whoop through the 
air, carving hot brightness. Mor'anh drew back and 
watched with perplexed wonder. He wondered if Hran 
had thought at all of the purpose of his new art, or if, as 
with dancing, he was simply delighted by the harmony 
of movement. Mor'anh, though better than most, would 
never excel, simply because he did not like swords. He 
could see the beauty of his, could admire the craft that 
made it, catch his breath at the brave show of its flashing 
blade, but the more beautifl it seemed, the more it 
appalled him. He had strength, control, judgement; he




303




lacked nothing of mastery except delight in his work. He 
had always loved supremacy, and sought to excel in all he 
did, but in this, he resisted his skill.


Manui bloomed. Pregnancy, or happiness, suited her. 
Her face smoothed, and her lovely eyes glowed: she had 
never been nearer to beauty. She remembered how Ralki 
had been irked by her lessening agility, and laughed at 
her; she herself seemed to grow more graceful, not less, 
and walked now with confident gaiety. She never 
doubted she would bear Mor'anh the son he wished for. 
Once he grew half repentant, and asked if she wished for 
a girl, but she laughed at him.


'Whatever you or I wish for, it means nothing. The 
Goddess gives as she chooses. Son or daughter, I do not 
mind. But no doubt the Mother will listen to Kem'nanh, 
if he wishes you to have a son.


'It is not that I would not welcome a daughter. I shall. I 
want a little girl, but--'


'--but all men want to see their sons. I know.' She was 
making a sling to carry the child in, and paused as she 
pulled some stitches tight. 'Yet you will have to wait for 
your desire. When you say "my son" you see him grown 
and taking his spears from you, while I see a small boy; 
and when you speak of a daughter, you mean as you said, 
a little girl, while I think of my daughter as a young 
woman.' He grinned, admitting the truth of it. 'You lose 
your girls, and we our boys, when they grow.'


The Moon of Long Days waxed, and Manui's time 
drew near. The Dha'lev cried to them to follow him again, 
and they broke camp. They had been deep in the Plain; 
now he led them west. Mor'anh rode before the Tribe 
with a thudding heart, tense and silent. Wherever they 
pitched camp now, Ravalsh would be born there.


The King Horse hesitated twice, investigating sites, 
but each time he went on as if lashed, always west. They 
crossed two rivers, and once had to rope and picket the 
Dha'lev while the long column closed to a length the men 
could protect. At last they could see the horizon broken 
by the mountains. When they drew near, the great 

stal


3o4




lion slowed, smelling the air, hesitating for guidance, 
until he turned and trotted north-west. Even he was 
tiring, and glad when the God left his back, and let him 
rest.


They had not come to the same campsite. They had 
approached from the south this time; the low contours 
were not the same, and they were the other side of the 
fiver. But they all knew the shape of the mountains now. 
They pitched camp first, and only at sunset rode out; and 
then they saw it. Mald, with the smoke hanging above 
it, and the sun's last light burning orange on the pale 
thatch of its roofs.




305




32




f there had been anyone who still 
doubted that Kem'nanh willed this end, 
he did so no longer. It was certain they 
they were doomed to finish the struggle 
where it had begun; with Mald. Now 
the hunting cat was couched, and 

wait


ing for the serpent.


For this Mor'anh called no Council, but gave commands. 
They were not to ride too near the Golden 
People's border, or offer any discourtesy; but they were 
to let themselves be seen, and not hide which way the 
camp lay. If the Kalnat came, they would be civilly received. 
'What the Gods will shall be done,' he said, 'but 
let them walk open-eyed to their fate. We shall not lead 
them there, nor tempt them, nor trick them.'


Hran was surprised and a little disturbed. He thought 
of the saffron silk robe lying waiting: what of Nai? But 
Mor'anh was unshaken. 'It is in the Gods' hands. But it 
must be their doing, not ours.'


Two tribes had campednear Mald that year, and each 
yielded tribute. The Kalnat thought the world restored to 
its proper order, and did not hesitate to send to the third 
tribe.


When the embassy came, Mor'anh had not long returned 
from the hunt, and was working over the kill. He 
did not go out; the herdmasters received the demands,




3o6




and the embassy departed. The Alnei watched Mor'anh 
expectantly, but he gave nv orders. He was told that 
tribute was askdd, and laughed, and did nothing.


Vani was frail; the nights belonged to baleful Hega. 
Four days after the tribute should have been rendered, 
Mald sent again. A small embassy: one young man 
attended by two servants. He was haughty and curt, 
demanding to see the Lord. Mor'anh received him before 
his tent, making no effort for splendour; but it was plain 
the young man did not recognise him. He delivered his 
rebuke, and demanded swift obedience, with heavier 
tribute for a penalty. He had dressed to impress. Mor'anh 
gazed while he spoke at the finery which once would 
have awed him, and smiled in his heart. When the 
Golden Man had finished, Mor'anh replied mildly, 'We 
heard your -demands, and understood them. But we do 
not give tribute'.'


The Golden Mn stared at him unbelievingly. 'What 
did you say?'


'We do not give tribute.'


His face grew crimson, and the servants boggled. He 
began to remonstrate, but not delivering his considered 
speech and so amazed, he could not find words of authority. 
Mor'anh listened calmly until he had done, then said, 
'You have brought your message and we have heard it. 
Now you have an answer to take back. We give no tribute.'


The Golden Man departed clutching at his dignity, but 
Mor'anh's eye kept them from laughter till he had gone. 
Then he said, 'Put a watch on the way from Mald. We 
will receive the next more fittingly.'


Shocked and furious, Mald made the embassy to this 
insolent tribe the day's first business. The morning was 
only half gone when the scout came to say that the oxTcart 
was on its way; and all work ceased.


When the Kalnat came to the waggon circle and blew 
their imperious summons, no crowd gathered. Only two


men appeared to greet them with great courtesy and 
.sked them to enter the camp. They refused, and de~


3o7




manded that the Lord come out to them; but the 
tribesmen, though very polite, were immovable. At last, 
already ruffled, they climbed down from their wain and 
followed them.


The tents were very quiet. They soon saw the reason 
when they came to the open place at the centre. All the 
Tribe must have been massed there. The two men led 
them forward, then left them.


Mor'anh faced them, mounted on Racho. The banner 
of the Alnei was planted at his fight; to his left stood Hran 
and Diveru. The Kalnat knew then what tribe it was, 
when they saw the spears on which those two leaned; 
and they knew Mor'anh too, even without his black 
cloak. Their leader began to speak at once.


'What is this folly? Why have you ignored our demands 
and slighted our messenger? Beware. You have 
roused our anger against you. Where is the tribute due to 
us? No Wanderers have ever escaped tribute, and no 
other tribe refuses it now. Have the Gods made this tribe 
mad? If you are the Lord, explain! Obey us now, and 
there still may be mercy for you. The tribute is doubled, 
for your disobedience; but maybe nothing worse will 
befall you, if you obey now, and beg our pardon.'


'Nothing half so bad shall befall us,' said Mor'anh 
quietly. 'I greet you, Haniol. It is long since we spoke 
together. But it seems your last messenger did not speak 
as I told him to. We told him plainly, that we would give 
no tribute.'


'As you told him to!' The Kalnat stared, almost too 
amazed for anger. They had none of them ever talked to a 
Khentor who was facing them on his high horse; they 
had to look up to his face, and their composure was 
shaken. The Tribe was silent, and the two men by the 
Lord gazed at them calmly.


'Without doubt Akrol wishes you to be destroyed!' 
Haniol gathered his wits. 'You will give no tribute? Have 
you forgotten who we are? What are you, to deny us our 
due? No, it is plain now; Akrol,remembers your past




3o8




crimes, and has driven you mad, so that you will be


destroyed!'
ù




'We will not e destroyed. Certainly a God has done


this, but we are not mad. We see clearly now. You ask


who we are? I shall tell you. We are the Horse People, the




children of Kem'nanh, and he has opened our eyes. We


will give no more tribute, because he has forbidden it.'


Suddenly he smiled, but without softening his eyes. 'Let


us say we have forgotten who you are. We will begin


again. We will live in peace; we do not want what you


have." The Golden Ones listened dumbfounded. 'We


might even live in friendship. But always,' he said, 

'al
ways, now, as equals.'


They sucked in their breath, and let it out in shouts.


'Equals!' cried Haniol, 'Equals! No other tribe speaks so!'


"They too wi,Il grow wise.'


'No other lord. has ever so insulted us. Your old lord


would not have done so!'


'True! He would not. But you killed my father!'


His eyes blazed at them; the spokesman fell back a little


and as he did so Madol pushed out to the front. He drew


his head down into his shoulders, hissing.


'Cattle-driving savage! Dung-eating barbarian!


Equals? You should be grateful we come to show you


what men are who live in houses! How dare you speak to


US SO!'


Mor'anh moved. Madol's face flinched, and he stepped


back. But the Lord only raised a hand. No one stirred.


Mor'anh's burning eyes did not waver from Madol's face,


and the Kalnat stared mesmerised. The Khentor reached


behind him, and shrugged a robe to his shoulders, clasp~


lng a belt of silver about his waist. Still his eyes did not


flicker. Madol was white. At last Mor'anh spoke.


'I am Mor'anh of the Lightnings, Lord of the Alnei,


Kem'nanh's chosen Tribe. Who is this talks of 

barbar
ians?' The Kalnat men stared appalled at his robe, his


baldric, the rings, the necklace of emerald and silver. His


wrath seemed to make him rise taller.




3O9




'Listen to me, Yellow Dogs! I have seen a city like a 
mountain. I have met a people who cut stone like cheese 
and make water dance for their pleasure. I have talked 
with lords and ladies who never carry any weight greater 
than the weight of the ornaments they wear, whose skin 
is fine as new petals even on their fingertips. They wear 
cloth that is like water, and the air is made sweet for them 
to breathe. I have walked under the shade of stone trees 
with those who stalk truth in the City of the Wise, and 
feasted with Princes who wear jewels as the morning 
grass wears dew. I saw Golden Men in this city; but they 
were servants who stood at the doors, or carried their 
masters where they wished to go. I have been the guest of 
a lord whose house would cover all Mald, whose gardens 
grew the length of twenty spears above the earth. 
And this great Lord calls me his friend and equal, and 
names me as Prince of the Plains. I have learned the ways 
of men who live in houses; shall I tell you of them? Shall I 
now be awed at your wooden huts? When you have 
learned to pave your streets, when you have learned to 
make water come where you bid it, then come again to 
call me savage!'


He had scattered foreign words among his speech, but 
its meaning was clear enough. The Alnei stirred excitedly; 
the Kalnat drew together, pale with shock and 
anger. After a silence Mor'anh said, his voice calm again, 
'Do you understand yet? You have taken your last woman 
from the Alnei; your last cow, your last sheep, your last 
hide. Must I tell you again? We will give no more tribute!'


Then at last they understood that they were ten men in 
the camp of their enemies. They turned to go, but Haniol 
said, 'We will return, Black Cloak. We will come with 
anger and strength, and what you will not give we shall 
take, tenfold and more!'


But Mor'anh answered only, 'You may come; but what 
you take is with the Gods.'




The Moon of Storms was three days old when the last 
envoys came. Mor'anh laughed, thinking he should have




310




guessed that they would meet then, and began to take 
thought for what lay ahead.


He counted the rofs of Mald, and even reckoning two 
fighting men for every house, it did not seem many; he 
changed two to three, and still the number was fewer 
than the men of the Alnei. Then on the fifth day of the 
moon the men he had set to watch the town began to tell 
of men going out north and south, and west into the 
mountains, who did not return by sunset.


After two more days, men began coming to the town 
carrying weapons. Most came in small groups or singly, 
but two larger forces, each between twenty and thirty, 
came from north and south.


Soon they saw men out every day on the level ground 
before the town, exercising. They saw them practising 
with. swords and shields and spears, but no one used 
arrows, or ever threw a spear. It seemed the Golden 
Men's way of fighting was for two lines of men to run at 
each other with spears held shoulder-high, then to fight 
hand to hand with spears or swords. However, it seemed 
they realised this would not serve against Khentorei. 
After the first day they began manoeuvring in a new way, 
forming a close line of shields and slanting their 
grounded spears to make a line of bronze for the horses to 
run against.


The Alnei had made the last of their preparations. 
Every man made a pectoral of thick hide to guard his 
horse's breast. Some also made shields for their throats, 
but these irked the davlenei, and few would endure 
them. The men covered the horses' pectorals with 
adornments, but no one bothered to make armour for 
himself. Horn-blower knew every man's hour. No one 
could live beyond it, or die if it had not come.


Mor'anh watched the exercising Kalnat every day, and 
it still did not seem to him that the Golden Men took 
tribesmen seriously as enemies. The only sign that they 
had given real thought to the task before them was the 
spear-wall. His first sight of that had made him grimace, 
though he believed he found a way to weaken it. Yet the




311




Golden Men practised that less than anything, as if they 
hardly expected to use it. Mor'anh wondered if they 
believed that it would come to a meeting of spears.


Two days after the full moon the scouts of the first 
watch sent a boy to bring the Lord out. He came, and the 
man who gave place to him at the top of the slope said as 
he crawled down, 'It seems plain what it means; but we 
thought you should see.'


The army of Mald was drawn up before the town. 
Mor'anh had to admit that it was an impressive sight. 
The long front rank of men with polished breastplates 
and helmets hid the less well equipped men behind; 
when the flashing spears were raised above their heads, 
they were like a meadow of bronze. Some of their old 
splendour had returned to them. Fighting was to them 
the finest art, the highest pitch of life. The Kalnat had 
ever thought war a nobler state than peace. They looked 
in that hour as men look who are doing the thing in 
which they take most pride. When a man in a long blue 
robe walked through their lines, and they lifted the helmets 
from their golden hair, even Mor'anh was moved 
once more by the beauty of the sight.


The blue-robed man walked to a small platform of 
stone, and began to perform some ceremony. He killed 
two birds, and smoke rose from the stones. He began a 
prayer; but before he ended it, Mor'anh felt the air grow 
cool, and the brightness was blotted from the armour as a 
cloud hid the sun. Far off, thunder growled faintly, and 


the long lines stirred. The priest turned and spoke for a 
while, seeming to try to diminish the omen; the White 
Wolf grinned. Then the men began to come forward, each 
pausing before the priest. Mor'anh slithered back down 
the slope.


'They are ready, then. We too must prepare.'




312




33




.
or'anh would have kept watch all night,


not once as the other men, except that he


would not have it thought that unease


kept him from sleep. Now in the third


watch he walked from sentry to sentry,


greeting them softly and looking into the


darkness. The night was like an unlit tent. Heavy cloud


c.overed the stars and moons, and there was no wind. The


air was still, save for the drums. They never fell silent for


long. Th darkness throbbed with them. The tribesmen


slept, untroubled by the music that had lulled their 

in
fancy, but Mor'anh hoped that the men of Mald found


less ease. There must be many who lay wakeful, thinking


of the bad omen and hoping for better luck with a new


sun. Surely the pounding in the night must shake their


rest and sap their courage.


He had led the men away from the tel.,o, towards the


Golden People's border. They would :-eet them as they


came from Mald, not where the battle could endanger


the herds and the tents. He had not truly known what this


meeting of spears risked, until he had parted from


Manui; then fear of what could happen if the Golden


Ones overcame them gripped him. She had given him a


smiling farewell. 'And you may find a slenderer woman


when you return,' she said, 'I think he has chosen his day


with care.' Now he longed to know how things were with




313




her. Maybe she had gone already into the circle of women's 
tents. The camp was near, but many men would 
have liked to speak again to their women, and he could 
not be the only one to go.


The stars were hidden, but behind the clouds the night 
turned on, and Mor'anh lay down to sleep. The drums 
throbbed. Among the tents they could be heard; the boy 
who had come to mount the Dawn Watch kept looking 
west to the sound of them. In the heart of the camp, the 
Lord's tent stood empty. By the waggons Runi saddled 
Vixen. Ralki rose from her bed again, but her daughter 
slept contentedly, and she knelt down idle. In Mald, in 
her hiding-place, Nai lay wakeful, listening to the drums. 
'Hran,' she said softly. She pressed her hand against the 
wooden wall, and laughed gently.


The men keeping watch heard the Dawn Salute sounding 
from the camp as they went to wake their comrades. 
Mor'anh stood up smiling. He rubbed his face with dew 
to freshen it, then pointing to the east laughed aloud. 
'See!' he cried. 'Their sun does not shine on them this 
morning, either!'


They ate and drank. Though sunrise showed dimly, 
the cloud hung still and the day was slow to lighten. The 
air was warm and heavy.


The men gathered, checking their weapons, caressing 
their horses. They had all come proudly decked in all 
their ornaments. Mor'anh walked among them, making 
sure that every man was certain of his task, cheering 
them with his gay confidence. He had put the best fighters 
in the front rank, and behind them, in case they were 
to face the line of spears, the swiftest and most accurate 
archers. Soon a scout came to say that the gate of Mald 
had opened, and they mounted. They walked forward, 
over one crest and a second, and then saw the Golden 
Men.


There were no more hills between them, only a long 
slope. The Kalnat stood on a level place within their 
border, but many bow-shots from their town. They had 
not thought to meet their enemies so soon, nor to see 
314




them so formidably prepared; they were intending a 
punitive raid, hot a battle. Un-nerved, they grounded 
their spears and made their line almost where they stood.


But the Khentors did not charge. They drew rein and 
sat gazing at Mor'anh, and he looked round, impassive 
and considering, as if interested chiefly in the sky. Then 
he rode Racho out from the line, and turned to face into 
the Plain.


'Kem'nanh!' The heavy air dulled but could not stifle 
the invocation. 'Lord of the Wind! You told me that you 
would put the wind into my hand! Give it to me now! 
Father! Give me the wind!'


For a moment there was utter stillness. Then it seemed 
the earth sighed; a cool air breathed upwards. The grass 
shivered, and the manes of the davlenei flickered. It 
breathed again, more strongly. Mor'anh stretched out his 
hanls before him, then drew them slowly in; and the 
wind came with them.


The heavy cloud stirred, and began to roll. The 
strengthening air pushed at their backs and rushed down 
at the Golden Ones. The Kalnat reproached Akrol bitterly, 
remembering how their own plea for an omen had 
been answered. Mor'anh gave a shout of triumph, and 
wheeled back into his place. 'Alnei! The Wild Rider goes 
with us! Now!'


They surged down the slope, gathering speed. 
Mor'anh blew his horn, and they began to canter; they 
were within three bow-shots of the Golden Men. The wind 
bore them on. The space lessened; the Kalnat gripped 
their spears. At Mor'anh's shout the front rank of 
horsemen opened, letting the archers through. They had 
arrows ready aimed; they loosed, and the arrows sang 
among the Golden Men. A man stood up shouting and 
fell down; the second flight came while the men hit by the 
first were still gaping, and the third fell as swiftly. Already 
the spear-line was gapped. The archers fell back 
and the spearmen, their line already looping to drive 
hardest at the gaps, gripped their shafts hard against 
their sides. Mor'anh cried 'Harai! Harai Alnei! 

Hai-ai


315




ai-ai-!' He urged Racho to a gallop, and the charge became 
an ecstasy of speed, with fear out-distanced and 
scattered by the wind. There was a whipping of air, all 
but lost in the clamour, as the archers sent another flight 
high over their heads; and then the two lines met.


Mor'anh and Hran found that Kalnat breastplates were 
not proof against Kalnat spears with the weight of a 
charging horse behind them. The men they struck fell, 
any cry they gave lost in the rising noise. Mor'anh 
stopped for the spear planted by the man he had killed, 
and others took the idea, snatching up the spears of fallen 
men. The palisade had broken, but the charge went on, 
surging over lines of Golden Men, slowing as it did so, 
until the forces were mingled and grappling.


The men of Mald had not fought many pitched bat-ties, 
and never against an enemy they could not meet foot' 
to foot. They knew how to fight men who fought as they 
did, but not how to resist such weight. They had to learn 
anew as they fought. But they were brave men, and 
stubborn, and they could not believe in failure. They 
clamped their shields to their breasts, drew their swords, 
and fought grimly.


Mor'anh almost forgot to draw his sword. He was wild 
with exultation. He hardly knew he was in a battle and 
men were dying, only that his people were about him 
shouting his name, and that his God was filling him. His 
spears gone, he rode unarmed long enough to have died a 
dozen times; but he seemed to the men behind him 
invulnerable, clothed in a glory that turned back bronze. 
'FIarai!' he shouted, and drew his sword; and they 
pressed after him crying 'Harai! Mor'anh Mer'inhen!'


During the forward thrust someone yelled at him 'The 
banyei!' and snatching a glance back he saw black hair 
tossing; but there was nothing he could do. They pressed 
on until they had passed right through the Kalnat army. 
They turned, and paused for a moment; then they thrust 
back into the battle.


Mor'anh, wielding his sword ruthlessly, was aware of 
a horrible happiness. He smelled blood, and heard men




316




screaming with pain, and knew that Racho was tram-piing 
them as he pressed forward; he saw things that at 
any other time would have appalled him, and he 
laughed. Hran was fighting like a man enraptured, who 
sees one thing and presses towards it no matter what 
stands between. The Golden Ones held rank no longer. 
They were spreading far over the grass, fighting in tight 
out-facing groups. Hran saw where Madol stood in one 
such group, and rode towards them with a glad cry. 
Mor'anh followed, but a lone Kalnat came rushing at 
him, so he was too occupied to see how his spear-brother 
fared. He only heard Hran's shout as he wheeled away; 
and before he knew more, the noise of the battle changed 
its tone, and the Golden Ones were in flight.


The-Khentors shouted exultantly, and plunged into 
pUrsui, t, but Mor'anh sounded his horn, calling them 
back. Though some turned reluctantly they came, following 
him a little aside from the ground they had fought 
over, where lay a third of Mald's army. It seemed marvellous 
to Mor'anh that so many should have come unscathed 
through such red chaos; more marvellous that so 
few Alnei lay among the fallen. Surely, now, he thought, 
they would know they could no longer treat the Horse 
People as herds; now they would call for an end to the 
fighting. Then Hran shouted 'Look!' and seized his arm, 
and he turned to look across the fields to Mald, and grew 
still with astonishment.


The Master and other elders had watched the fight 
from the gate-house. It had taken them some time to 
believe what they saw, but when they understood they 
lost no time. All Kalnat knew what befell a town which 
lost a battle. None of them remembered that the Alnei did 
not know, and would have had no thought of a sack. The 
townsfolk were beginning to flee to the refuge of the 
mountains before the men broke. When Mor'anh looked, 
the gate and the road beyond were crowded with women 
and children, old people, and cattle. Out of sight, many 
more streamed from smaller gates, to take rougher but 
shorter paths.




317




The soldiers saw too, and realised that indeed there 
could have been no hope of out-distancing horsemen to 
the town and barring the gate. Their people had no more 
reliance on their protection, and the storm-wind battered 
as them in reminder that Akrol had given them out of 
his hand. Yet as they looked at the straggling helpless 
column of those who fled, pride filled some and battle-rage 
others, while many were driven by love alone; and 
they turned and re-formed their ranks. They dared not 
wait to face another charge. Those who still had spears 
balanced them at their shoulders, and raising the war-shout 
they ran forward, at the moment when Mor'anh, 
stating at the townsfolk, suddenly shouted 'Nai!'


At his side Hran took it up like a battle-cry. The dreadful 
exhilaration rose in Mor'anh once more. He did not 
know why the people fled, he did not know why the 
Kalnat chose to die when they might have lived, but he 
knew that under the strokes of his sword were falling his 
long-hated enemies, and that within sight the town lay 
open that had held his sister captive. He would have 
taken her peacefully, if they had so consented, but there 
was more gladness in winning her back so. He would 
have spared the Golden Men, if they had asked mercy; 
but if they preferred to die, he would give them their 
wish. In the sun that pierced the storm-gapped cloud, the 
lightning of his grey sword flashed ani fell.


When they broke a second time, he did not call the 
tribesmen back. Thrusting unheeding through the rout, 
he and Hran rode stirrup to stirrup to Mald. The last of 
the fugitives screamed as they rode up, some turning 
back, others struggling forward. The plainsmen reined in 
instinctively; but while Mor'anh stopped, Hran leapt to 
the groxand and ran into the town.


Mor'anh stood still. The frenzy was fading, his mind 
growing clear again. He looked at the pitiful cavalcade, 
the sobbing children and haggard women. 'Where are 
you going? Why?' he cried. 'We will not hurt you!' But 
they did not heed him, or stared in baffled, appalled 
terror. Glancing down he saw that he still held his sword;




320




he moved to sheathe it, but it was so bloodied he did not 
like to co so. He ttrned Racho, and looked back. The 
Alnei had shattered the last semblance of a line, and all 
resistance. They were hunting the Golden Men, harrying 
them as they fled. All Mor'anh's fury was gone, and 
energy was draining out of him. He watched the fleeing 
men still trying to draw the Khentors away from their 
families. Pity overcame him, and desolation. He let his 
sword fall to the ground, and raising his horn blew the 
call for the end of the hunt. Come away; let them be; 
enough.


They turned from their quarry, not sorry to do so. He 
watched them as they dismounted and began moving 
among the fallen, seeking their own; soon he saw them 
begin to carry aside the wounded, while others caught 
and led .away the riderless horses. 'And the Golden Ones. 
Look to them too,' he whispered. He felt terribly weary. 
Soon he must go down to join their labour.


His mind shaped faces he feared he had seen lying 
there, whom he dreaded to see again with certain knowledge. 
Yet it must be borne. Some Kalnat women who 
could no longer be restrained by their fear had broken 
from the column and were running down to the 
battlefield. Someone should go to bring Lal'hadai and the 
women. Mor'anh moved; but as he did so the air about 
him thickened, making Ranap and Racho toss their heads 
snorting; and above, Kalnat pausing on a mountain 
shoulder to look back at their home, raised a keenin cry.


In after days the Kalnat said, and many believec that 
the Khentors had burned the town; but it was not true. 
They, who fear fire running free above all perils, would 
never have done so. Some spilled lamp or abandoned 
kitchen fire had begun it, and now the wind, channelled 
by the narrow streets, was fanning it strongly. As 
Mor'anh turned, a fresh twist of the wind brought a wave 
of smoke rolling over the wall above him, and billowing 
in the gate. He heard the crisp sound of burning. 'Nai!' 
he shouted with alarm, 'Hran!' Springing to the ground, 
he ran through the smoke into Maid&




321




Once through the smother by the gate it was not so 
bad, but flames were running along eaves and leaping 
between thatched roofs. Every moment there was less 
smoke and more flame. For a heart-beat Mor'anh paused; 
the Khentor's fear of fire is deep, a fear of the blood, not 
the mind. Then he ran forward again, calling for his sister 
and his friend.


Abandoned chickens and stray dogs squawked and 
yelped in the main street, and rats and mice scampered 
about his feet. The heat was growing, and wind-caught 
sparks stung him. He could see neither Hran nor Nai 
along the wide street, and the thought of entering the 
narrow side streets filled him with horror. Then he heard 
Hran's voice, and glimpsed him along an alley, casting 
about and calling Nai! Nai! Mor'anh was about to go to 
him, when behind him he heard another voice. Hran 
turned with a shout, plunging through the flames. 
Further along the main street a smaller figure appeared, 
darting through the smoke, springing over piles of burning 
straw. Mor'anh started eagerly; then stood still, to let 
them meet. A house blossomed suddenly with fire; and 
against its light he saw his sister run laughing to her 
lover's arms.




322




the sun.


y noon the wind had slackened, and the 
only clouds were streaming like white 
banners in the bright sky. The mountain 
paths were almost empty. The smoke 
from burning Mald was thin, and the 
flames among the blackened walls pale in




Mor'arth stood within the door of his tent. Outside 
were the sounds of rejoicing, but his grazed heart was 
grateful for the dim quiet. He had left to Hran the 
triumph of bearing Nai back to the Alnei, a living 
emblem of victory. The first celebration had seemed to 
belong more fitly to them, with their unshadowed gladness. 
The tumult of his heart was too great for him to 
rejoice so soon, nor could he ride away from the hurt and 
the dying. But now they were all back in the camp.


He thought at first that Manui was not there, since she 
did not greet him. Then he became aware of her soft 
breathing, and saw her sleeping in their bed. She lay 
straight and slim, and by the bed stood a cradle.


He lit the flower lamp and looked down on her; and a 
gulf of sorrow opened in his heart. She was his woman, 
the one he had chosen, the wife he loved. Why did it still 
matter what she was not? It was a betrayal, to look on her 
sleep and feel such grief. He knelt and touched her hand, 
shamed by his treachery. Where could he have found a




323




better woman? Free to choose, he had chosen her, who 
had no equal; his comfort and strength, the lover he 
delighted in, the friend he trusted. There was nothing to 
regret. Nothing: save that his will had no power over his 
longing.


He turned to the cradle half reluctant, afraid that after 
all he would not be able to feel the gladness so long 
prepared; then he saw the child in its nest of fleeces, and 
his heart grew still. It moved its dark head against the 
creamy wool, small limbs thrusting against the softness, 
and gave a grunting cry of effort; and joy broke through 
him.


Gently, he gathered the top fleece around him and 
lifted him out of his cradle, sitting back on the edge of the 
bed. 'Ravalsh!' he said softly. His son. He gazed at the 
baby, dizzy with rapture. He had thought so much about 
this moment that it was strange to find himself so unprepared. 
But the child he had imagined had never been 
more than the echo of this reality, never half so alive. He 
brimmed with delight, gazing absorbed and fascinated. 
He had expected the creased face, the strangely wizened 
body, but not that these should proclaim such lusty 
health. Nor had he been prepared for the energy of his 
jerky uncertain movements, the fierceness of his small 
cries, the force of will in the tiny body he held on his 
hands. This was a person, a stranger. He was meeting his


son   
-^ -ab,,'s cheek, and


He touched a tinger against


laughed to see how quickly he turned his head to snatch


with greedy working mouth. He wished he would open


his eyes. He smoothed his hand over the dark hair,


entranced and terrified at the softness of the head 

be
neath, feeling the downy delicacy against his palm. The


hild's arms moved as though he were fighting, his


ands clenched into fists; his feet rubbed past each other,


heels kicking into his father's thigh. Mor'anh was


amazed again at the vitality in the tiny frame; that 

some
thing so frail could be so fierce! The strong grip of his


324




:ingers, though pro.verbial, was still astonishing. Then 
:he child,gave a gasp and a shiver, and woke. The flailing 
f his limbs ceased, and he opened his eyes.


For the first time Mor'anh met the eyes of his son. 
Ravalsh' he greeted him; the baby blinked. He gazed up 
at his father with a look of calm wonder. Mor'anh was 
,nchanted, and then suddenly overwhelmed with fear. 
He cradled Ravalsh in the crook of his arm, and looking 
flown into those hazy eyes he knew for the first time all 
lhat fear could be. He' had been afraid before, but the 
flanger past the fear had been forgotten. Now he must 
feel it always, the dread that is the penalty of love, the 
aching to protect what cannot always be protected. He 
had put the life of his heart into another's keeping, and he 
wasinvulnerable no more.


He became aware of a change in Manui's breathing, 
and t,o,.ked up at her, smiling. She said, 'You have found 
him. He looked down again. The baby was twisting his 
head, his lips pursed. 'He is sneering at me,' said 
Mor'anh, and she laughed faintly. The charmed stillness 
was broken, and the world came crowding back. He 
thought of all that had changed since he parted from


Manui; but he said only, 'We have brought Nai back.' 
She sighed with gladness. 'And the Golden People?' 
'They have run away.., most of them.'


His throatightened. Walking on the battlefield he had 
heard his name spoken. It was Kariniol. He was dying; 
there was nothing to' be done. Mor'anh had knelt and 
spoken to him; the Golden Man had looked at him, then 
his eyes had wandered away. 'Mor'anh,' he said again. 
He had nothing to say, nothing to ask. He had only 
wanted someone to recognise him, and to hear his name 
spoken once more before he died. Mor'anh shook his 
head, and said, 'Their place is burning.'


'What did Nai say?' ' 
'She laughed more than she talked. She will be here. 
When she knows you are awake, she will come.' What his 
re-union with his sister meant to him he could share with


325




no one, not Hran, not Manui. 'All things go well for our 
son. He will be laid in the lap of the Mother by her 
Har'enh. When was he born?'


'Not at dawn. I hoped he would be, and thought it for a 
while. Kani told me I shouted with anger when the salute 
came, and he did not. But soon after, when the storm 
began, then he was born.'


'That was when we rode at them... Kem'nanh gave it


to me. I called on the wind, and it came; and we knew 
then that the Golden Ones were already thrown down.' 
He lifted his child up before his face. 'When you were 
born, it was dawn for us indeed, Dawn Thunder. I hear 
the sound of the hooves in your name. My son, you are 
the first of our people to be born out of their shadow!'


After a while he said, 'When the fighting was over 
none of us knew what to do. I felt I wanted to ride after the 
Golden Ones and say, "What happens now?" ' He had 
never thought that they would run away. Nor had any of 
the plainsmen. Already Mor'anh was aware of a new 
feeling among them; astonishment and bitterness, as if 
they had been betrayed. They had dared to defy the 
might of the Golden People and to strike at their sanctity, 
to assail the shrine before which their feet had halted for 
so long, and they had found the shrine was empty, had 
always been empty. Where they had dreaded, they now 
scorned. They might have forgiven their former masters 
much, but never the swiftness of their surrender.


Manui said softly, hesitant, '---But what of our people?'


He lowered Ravalsh, mastering his face so that he


' t


looked stern. No many died,' he said carefully, 'though


many are hurt.' He busied himself with the fleeces, striving 
with himself. He could feel her troubled eyes. 'Not 
many; but they were all.' He drew a sharp breath. 'Yaln,' 
he said, to explain his tears. 'Yaln is dead. I am ashamed 
to face Ralki.'


She put out her hand to him. 'Their deaths are not of 
your causing. You only obeyed the God. Horn-blower 
called them, or how could they die?'


He nodded. 'I know.' But the shame of having 
326




widowed Ralki was not the grief that made his heart 
writhe. He stood upi hiding his face from her. Manui was 
silent. The child in his arms gave a tiny sharp sigh, and 
he loo. ked down. When he could control his voice he said, 
'Today I am learning what fatherhood means. I am Te-rani: 
shall I not weep for my children?'


The sharp agony had passed. No doubt it would ambush 
him again; but meanwhile, had he not causes 
enough for gladness? He was young, and a Lord. He was 
Mor'anh of the Lightnings, God-begotten, and 
Kem'nanh had kept faith with him. He had seen his 
enemies flee before him. He had avenged his father. He 
had taken his sister in his arms, and known the world 
made whole again. He was holding his son, who would 
never know the shadow of subjection.


H-e gave a sigh. 'There'is much to be done, I must g. 
Nai will ,be here soon to see you; to see you both.' He 
looked at her and smiled. 'But this I cannot delay. I am 
taking my son to show to the Dha'lev.'




The silver grass swirled silently about Racho's legs. The 
boundary trench brimmed with shadows at his feet; he 
snorted a little as he was urged on, but jumped it easily in 
the darkness. There was none to forbid their crossing. 
They moved at a slow trot, the davlani prick-eared and 
curious, perplexed by his rider's behaviour.


It was not usual to ride out of the camp at night. Behind 
them the Fire of Gathering burned on, far past the usual 
time. The rejoicing Alnei danced tirelessly. But Mor'anh 
had risen and left them, and sought Racho. Hran and Nai 
were gone; Manui and Ravalsh sleeping. The mountain 
drew him, and he had a grief to face which he could not 
yield to among the Tribe.


As they crossed the place where they had fought, 
Mor'anh let Racho slow to a walk, then stop. Their 
shadow lay before them. The very ground seemed to 
breathe pain. Mor'anh swung Racho to face Vani, and his 
cheeks were glittering. 'She wi,Il not dance for you again, 
Lady,' he said. I saw her fall.




327




She was dead. Haughty Runi had been brought low, 
her black hair spilled in the dust. Runi was dead, a 
bronze blade in her proud heart. When he and those with 
him .had turned after the first charge that took them 
through the Kalnat ranks, they had seen her, they had 
watched her go down. And Mor'anh had not flinched, 
though every eye had turned to him. But after, when all 
was done, he had come to find her. He had gazed on her 
lovely face, the black lashes of her sealed eyes, her cold 
mouth, her pale tear-stained cheeks. Then he had taken 
her in his arms and laid her head on his shoulder and 
stroked her streaming hair and wept, for all that was 
gone, and all that had never been.


Now he bowed his shoulders and wept again, deep 
shaking sobs that released his knotted grief, stretching 
and easing his soul. After a while he wept not only for 
Runi, but for Yaln; for Ralki, beating her own grief under 
her feet as she led the dance to welcome Nai; for Kariniol. 
He wept for the end of striving, for relief, for gratitude. 
He wept to empty his heart of turmoil. He wept for guilt, 
and pity, and weariness.


He raised his head at last, feeling drained and cleer, 
like the storm-scoured sky. Vani shone impassively; he 
looked at her uneven curve and sighed, rubbing his 
hands over his drenched face.


Mor'anh rode Racho far from the boundary, up onto 
the higher ground, 'until he came to a flat shoulder from 
which he could see the town. If he looked east, he could 
see the glow of the Fire, and the breeze brought the faint 
sound of drums. Exuberant with triumph, they danced 
on. But the mountains were silent behind him, and he 
looked down into the ruin of Mald.


It was little more than a charred shell. The roofs shone 
pale in the moonlight no more; the walls could hold no 
more captives. The smell of burning still hung about it, 
and a few piles of ashes still glowed dully, but the flames 
were dead. Even though he looked on it, he could 
scarcely believe in its destruction. He was Mor'anh, the




328




lightning-bolt. Where his anger struck, nothing 

re
mained; only'the embers smoked. So the Afnei sang


already.


He found it hard to comprehend how complete was


their victory. His first experience of the irrevocable 

sud
denness of war was terrible to him. Only a day ago the


town had lived, had sent out a host of men. Now the


Golden People had vanished among the mountains. The


Alnei had offered them help, food, healing herbs, almost


pleading with them; but they would not stay where the


Khentors were, preferring to drive their carts away up the


steepening roads. Where they had found to shelter from


the sweet summer night they feared so much, Mor'anh


could not guess.


When the fighting was over, he had prayed that he


might never again know such a meeting of spears. Now


he ,understood that Mald was only one town, that other


Golden Men might try to force them back to obedience,


that other Horse People would follow the Alnei. What


had begun could not be soon ended. He sighed. His eye


travelled over the trampled cornfields, pale under the


moon, and out to the Plain, the realm of the great hunters


whose innocent fellowship the Alnei had forsaken.


'They need not have died,' he said to the silence. 'I


thought they would talk. They need not have fled us.'


Racho whinnied softly, and Mor'anh laid a hand on his


neck. 'Well, they have gone, Racho. We need fear them


no longer. No, but, we have a worse thing to fear. 

Our
selves; each other.


After a while he stirred and looked about. 'Tomorrow


we will come and gather the stray cattle,' he said. And


Nai could maybe tell them if the strange grass growing in


the fields was good for anything. Maybe Mald would


still provide wood enough for the pyres, and the hills


were open to foraging now He yawned He was too 1


to .be ha
b
'
'
t'red


Ppy, ut he began to be aware of somethin ù


sa,s, fa. ction. Happiness would come.
g like


lglt wheeled about the Picket Star. The fire-glow was




329




Then he had taken her in his arms and 
laid her head on his shoulder and stroked 
her streaming hair and wept, for all 
that was gone, and all that had never been.




dimming; the drums were silent. The Alnei were going to


rest at last. And the Lord of the Alnei thought of his tent,


where his wife and son lay sleeping.


They did not take the same path down, but one which


led tiaem past the gate of Mald. Mor'anh lingered before


u h the aving gateway into the 

des
it, gazing thro g - ù ',   
----'ut 'i
' 'It is
olation. There was nothing left in naca. 
r , t- -ù our home!' The 
place that 
remains when all the people have gone.
'This was never 
what I sought,' he said aloud. He stretcl'ted out 
his right hand. 'Kem'nanh, Father, if there is 
guilt, let it fall only on me.'
The silence was 
unbroken, but the answer spoke in his mind.--'My 
son, you are too 
proud. 
Such burdens are
not for you to claim.''
He 
smiled faintly, and harned away from the ruin,
moving 
towards the boundary. 'I claim 
nothing. 
I ask
nothing. Only stay with me.'
--'Always.'
They cleared 
the ditch. Racho's tail rippled silver as he
quickened 
his pace. Mør'anh's back was to the Kalnat


lands. He was cantering back to his people, and the soft


night wind blew in 
his 
face, 
sweet 
and 
wild 
with 
the


scents of the Plain.


332


ABOUT THE AUTHOR




I was born in London right at the end of World War II of mixed 
Irish, Cornish, Somerset, West Highland stock, with the Sun and 
Moon in Capricorn and Aquarius rising--ths giving Saturn three 
places on my birth-sign, which is not fair. So I started off with a 
promising identity crisis and this was improved when, at two, we 
moved to rural Essex. Perhaps this accounts for the verbal and intellectual 
precocity which made me, very unwillingly, a rather lonely 
child.


1 have been asked why I write fantasy. First, I am sure I would 
have written, anyway. And I did not intend to write for public 
consUmption. In early days I thought it purely private and that if I 
wrote for publication it would be "realistic" novels .... I learned to 
read very early, at two-and-a-half. At five I had an almost adult 
reading ability, but adult books were more than the child could 
cope with. So ! found the great store of literature that age and 
popularity have reduced to emotional simplicity--not that "reduced" 
is the word, but the emotions are clear, basic, strong, while 
the stories can be told in rich, exciting language--folktale, myth, 
and legend. These, with the later addition of history, were my diet. 
Oddly I read very few children's classics: Ransome, a little Nesbit, 
Treece, $aville. But my knowledge of children's books was professionally 
gained later when I became a librarian. Nor did I encounter 
adult fantasy until I was twenty.


So my head was stuffed with heros, quests, castles, oaths, causes, 
Kings, Gods: and not surprisingly when I began to write that is 
what came out.


As for the specific form, Vandarei, it began as a playworld, the 
sort that a lot of children have, and I was of course the Queen, the 
character about whom I created the adventures. But I had the disposition 
of a pedant. I didn't really want to pretend: I wanted to know, 
to be sure, to get it right. SO even in its childish form this playworld 
had a tendency to become concise, factual. As I grew older, horses 
became a passion and the playworld developed into "Equitania"--the 
horse motif strengthening. During this time the history of the 
country itself assumed an importance and I began to actually write. 
At fifteen, however, the last links with "Equitania" wavered and 
the name "Vanderei" appeared. The Queen was abandoned and 
ceased to be an avatar of myself, becoming a character .whom I 
manipulated, but with whom I no longer especially identified.




The major facts about Vandarei, the outlines, were fixed by the 
time I left school at sixteen, but there was a lot of refining, modification, 


to come. One of the most important of these was the separate 
development of the Harani (Red Moon and Black Mountain) and the 
Khentors. Originally, all were Vandarins alike: the Harani simply 
being the royal house and the aristocracy. But they crystallized into 
very different, I hope complementary, peoples. So did other peoples 
of Vandarei, partly because I recognized that so vast a land could 
not be ethically, culturally, or linguistically homogenous: but the 
Harani and the Khentorei grew in stature and mystic significance as 
they did in individuality. And in the end, the Khentors took most of 
my heart--I am only sorry that having reached a satisfying mode of 
life, they have no impetus to do much. They remain the same. It is 
the more restless, troubled, burdened Harani who produce the 
stories: and who, being an "I" people produce the individuals, 
while the low-ego nomads, the "We" people, do not so often, unless 
touched by the Gods. if I try to define the different fascination 
of each of them for me, the interest of the Harani lies in their burden 
of responsibility, their separation from others by the power entrusted 
to them, the difficulty of reconciling destiny with happiness. 
The Khentor appeal is more atavistic, based on simplicity, 
harmony with nature, and so on: briefly, for me, they achieve the 
delight of closeness to the life of nature combined with the richness 
of human community.


Obviously my world is very real to me, but since cutting loose 
from the Queen myself, I have never been dominated by it. Of 
course, the older, the more complex a creation gets, the less it is 
amenable to manipulation, and the, nearer it gets to an almost organic 
life which imposes its own logic; so that invention can often 
seem like discovery.


Of course, I originally embarked on Vandarei because it is an 
expression of the material, acquired or internal, that I have to use, 
but my pleasure in fantasy can be partially defined. I get a kick out 
of postulating ways of life, societies, then examining how their 
members work and live, also, in introducing one exotic, incalculable 
element, like magic, into a human situation. What I wish to say 
really is that I do not consider fantasy a light form, one which 
evades the vicissitudes of reality. It uses strangeness and glamour, 
but if that is a lack of seriousness I share it with Homer, Malory, 
Milton, Blakealthough obviously no comparison is intended. I 
deny that reality 'is defined by drabness. Indeed, fantasy is "unrealistic" 
only in externals: it is within ourselves; and it is in our 
relationships with others that we live. These are reality. I may bring 
different tensions to bear on my characters, but I hope that only 
serves to underline their basic reality, and the humanity which is 
the perpetual conce,'n of the writer 


--Joy Chant




I




A powedul new novel by one o thenost hr/Il/ant


and evocative wr/ters o our time.




NEVERYONA




Samaei R. Delany


Før'PrYn, a young girl who flees the village of El!croon 
on the back of a dragon, Neverybna is a shining symbol, 
just out of reach. Her search leads her to the 
exotic port city of Kolhari, where she walks with 
Corgik the Liberator as he schemes against the Court 
of Eagles. It brings her to the house of Madame 
Keyne, a wealthy merchant woman trapped by her 
own desires. And it sends Pryn on a journey with a 
circle of strange stars, seeking a mad queen's golden 
treasure and an answer to the riddle of a city beyond 
the edges of imagination.




(#01434-X - A large format book ù $7.95)




Read NEVEIiYONA, on sale September 15, 1982, whereo-er 
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sending a check to Bantam Books, De?. NE, 414 East 
Golf Road, Des Plaines, Ill. 60016. Allow 4-6 weeks for 
delivery. This oer expires 4/83.




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