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Fifty-Two

The old man wore a robe of stealth-hawk skins, and a wooden mask carved in the likeness of a stealth hawk's fierce visage. He was the chief shaman of the Innjoka tribe, and recognized as more powerful than any other shaman among its clans. Drums beat a steady resonant meter, but he did not dance, simply sang a song to Hrum in a voice that alternately keened ashrill and droned in the deepest bass.

Several other Innjoka shamans, including shamans of clans besides the Kinnli Innjakot, stood arrayed behind him to both sides. Vessto Cadriio stood in the place of honor, almost at his right hand, only half a step back. In front of the old man, facing him, was a large crowd of warriors, mostly Kinnli Innjakot but with fighting men of every Innjoka clan and the hostages and cadre of every other tribe.

When the old man was done singing, the drums stopped too. He looked the crowd over, then despite his age, spoke in a voice that all could hear.

"Warriors of the Innjoka and the united tribes. Hrum has sent the southerners to you to show you the way Hrum wishes you to fight when you make war on the Djez." He paused for effect. "But you have been obstinate! You have not been willing to change! You are more willing to be killed by the Djez than to learn new ways that would make you greater warriors!"

His piercing eyes scanned the sullen faces before him.

"When told to drill with the long spears, to stand against soldiers riding kaabors, many of you refuse, asking, 'What manner of fighting is this? Warriors do not stand still and let others rush at them,' you say. 'Warriors attack!' But the Djez who charge on the backs of kaabors do not care what you prefer! They will be happy to ride their kaabors trampling over you. And they will, unless they are met by rows of men standing firm behind their long spears.

"And when you are given a shield to use in sword drills, you refuse to use it. You say a warrior doesn't need something to hide behind. That is all right if you would rather die than kill. Otherwise it is the quibbling of a sulky child. You fail to differentiate between a duel and a battle between numbers of men."

The old shaman stared at the warriors with asperity. "Now Hrum is giving you one more chance. Two great swordsmen will fight before you, one in the old way, one in the new. If you learn nothing from this, Hrum will abandon you as foolish children. He will not travel with you when you go to fight the Djez. If you refuse to accept his gifts to you, of better ways to fight the Djez, there will be no more gifts, and Hrum will turn his back on you."

Their faces still were surly, but they stood attentive and quiet nonetheless.

Two men came out of the warriors' lodge then: Eltrienn Cadriio and a warrior named Quick, who was famous among the Innjoka clans for his skill with the sword.

Before the crowd, the two faced off. On his left arm, Eltrienn carried a stout wooden buckler, two feet in diameter and covered with tight-stretched bullhide. His right hand held a wooden sword. Quick carried a wooden sword in his right hand and a wooden knife in his left.

They fought for two long minutes, and Quick was quick indeed. Twice Eltrienn was nearly touched by the knife. But the sword strokes he countered nicely with his own sword and shield, and when it was over, he had touched Quick four times, the last one on the ribs. The old shaman called the exhibition finished. The contest had given the warriors something to think about.

As the two contestants turned to enter the warriors' lodge, a newly arrived decade of Hrummean cavalry galloped into the village. Steel swords raised, they charged the mass of warriors, sheering off at the last moment. Then they stopped their mounts at the edge of the mustering ground and dismounted, having sheathed their swords.

It was Killed Many who stepped before his warriors this time. "Now," he said, "maybe you can see why we need the long spears, and men who will stand firm with them in lines. If the foreign kaaborwarriors had wanted to, they could have ridden over you, and many of you would have died. But if you'd stood firm behind long spears, the kaaborwarriors would have died instead, or turned away."

He stopped then, and waited a silent minute before saying any more. "When the first leaves turn, I will lead the united tribes to fight the Djez. Every man who goes with me will have drilled satisfactorily with his weapons. The older men will carry the long spears, to hold off or kill the charging kaabors, for the older warriors are strong and steady but no longer so quick. Many others will carry a sword. And shield! No shield, no sword! Those who will not learn to fight in the new ways, will be left behind."

He glared around him at the tribesmen, and when he spoke again, it was an angry shout. "Those who will not learn would be liabilities in battle against the Djez! They can stay home and help the women cut firewood while the men go off to fight. Now—" He looked back at the warriors' lodge, and called a name. His two household squads came out—ten men; barbarian squads had five warriors each. "These warriors have drilled with sword and shield until they have mastered them. I invite any other squads to fight them, right now. See how well you do against them without shields."

Two squads volunteered. The fight lasted brief minutes, refereed by the shamans, and when it was over, more than the shamans could see that the warriors with shields had gotten much the best of it.

"Now," said Killed Many, and his voice was a growl, "who will go with me to make war on the Djezes?"

The response started slowly, with scattered men pushing through the others and shouting the name of Killed Many. But it grew quickly to a clamoring mass of fighting men crowding around the Great Chief.

* * *

In midafternoon a schooner landed at Agate Bay. Her timing was fortuitous. She unloaded 500 new steel swords. She also unloaded three more logging crews complete with kaabors for skidding logs. Large piles of charcoal were waiting on the wharf, and when the swords had been unloaded, men with wheelbarrows began loading the charcoal into the holds.

* * *

The next morning the Cadriio brothers, with Killed Many's principal subchief, rode north on the trail to the Aazhmili lands. Behind them came other prominent Innjoka warriors, the principal shaman, two squads of Killed Many's household warriors, and the decade of Hrummean cavalry. And the cadres from the north who'd been trained in the new ways and would teach them to their people.

They'd force a march to the Icy River, where the warriors of the northern tribes were gathering, and cajole and coerce until they too accepted the new ways.

So much to do, Eltrienn thought, and so little time. But so far, he reminded himself, things had gone surprisingly well.

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