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Seventy-Three

The manor house was built of stone and designed to be defended—almost a castle, but painted sky blue with yellow trim. Its nearly level grounds covered several acres, landscaped and tended. There were neat lawns; evergreens shaped by gardeners' shears. And broadleafed trees with massive boles, their crowns spreading vivid gold, flame, crimson, yellow-green, for here autumn's brush stroked weeks later than on the leeside of the mquntains.

This baronial manor was the eighth the barbarians had taken, but only the first on the coastal plain, which extended from here for more than a hundred miles west. They'd crossed rugged mountains at the headwaters of the Hasannu River, and followed it; the mountain clans, awed at their numbers, let them pass without war. The mountain stream became a river, the mountains foothills. Then they'd passed through rolling piedmont that went on for more than a hundred miles—Gorrbian country, much of the land cleared of woods and in places badly gullied, used more for grazing than for crops. There'd been towns, rich manors, and they'd had skirmishes occasionally, but no real fight. The people said their regular forces had been called away to fight the Maklanni, leaving only a militia.

And finally, this manor had had no fighting men at all. The people said their militia had been called west to help fight a new enemy, had left only two days before.

Just now the manor's tended lawns were occupied by warriors of the Kinnli Innjakot, with their gear and cooking fires, absorbing the early sunshine after a chill night on the ground. On the land around them were some five thousand more of various clans and tribes. Killed Many had told them they must sleep in the open, for they were warriors at war, not conquerors whose work was complete.

Killed Many too had slept on the ground. Now he squatted with the tribal chiefs by his cookfire, breakfasting on fresh roast. After weeks of sparse trail fare, his warriors had been eating well; gleebors were plentiful in this country, and no trouble to kill.

Killed Many's strong teeth wrenched off another mouthful. He chewed thoughtfully, his attention on something beyond the food, then glanced around at the chiefs who shared his fire.

"We will move on when we have finished eating," he said. "We have two armies to defeat, and if we stay here long, the warriors may become disobedient and ransack the buildings. They will take everything they like, and will not want to leave it behind. They will carry it with them, worry about it and fight over it, and cease to be warriors."

Spear Breaker, chief of the Tchook, grunted. "I have told my warriors that it is all theirs now," he said, "and to leave it here. I told them they need not take it with them to possess it."

At times like this, among the gathered chiefs, Eltrienn Cadriio listened and learned, seldom saying anything unless asked. He knew a great deal about the barbarians, but not yet enough to venture needless comments.

He hadn't foreseen some of the difficulties Killed Many had had. The barbarians had no tradition of a central chief, and their adjustment was not complete. Their first loyalty was to their clan chieftains, then to their tribal chiefs, and Killed Many held them only by the oaths those chiefs had sworn to him.

He'd had no defections, but twice it had been close. Once he'd had a clan chieftain executed by strangulation for refusing to obey an order. And when the chief of the entire Aazhmili tribe had called him a liar, he'd knocked the man down, then had drawn his sword and struck his head off. Both troubles had been with the Aazhmili, the most difficult of the tributary tribes.

Each incident, in its turn, could have begotten an intertribal war, but the Innjoka and Tchook had stood by him, while the northern tribes had kept aloof.

After having the chieftain executed, he'd outmaneuvered the clan warriors, telling them to name three men fit to command their clan. They'd have done this anyway—chosen candidates and discussed them. But now in choosing them, they were doing what Killed Many had ordered them to do. Then he'd stepped in and named their new chieftain from among the three; they could hardly reject the man they'd named first. Then Killed Many had taken the man's oath of loyalty and declared him chieftain, establishing a major precedent: The high chief can appoint clan chieftains.

Later, when he'd struck dead the tribal chief of the Aazhmili, he'd told the Aazhmili clan chieftains to name three of their number who they'd be willing to have as chief. "Swims in Winter" was the first named, and the one they'd agreed on most quickly, so Killed Many took his oath and declared him chief, praising him extravagantly.

Clever as it was, Eltrienn recognized, none of it would have worked if Killed Many hadn't been a rare and remarkable man. Few people, even Aazhmili warriors, could stand against his will. Apparently, even in his absence it wasn't easy to take a firm counter stance, and to stand against him in his presence was very difficult. The few who had, usually were in such an agitated state that they couldn't speak or act intelligently.

He wasn't sure how Ettsio Torillo had done it, or Sallvis Venettsio. Perhaps it was their foreignness.

Now Killed Many looked across the fire at Vessto. "Speaker With Hrum," he said, "why is it that these Djez so fear your people and this strange new army from the other side of the ocean, that they left this place undefended against us?"

"They do not fear us Hrummeans," Eltrienn answered. "They simply wish to take our land from us, and they know it will take a very strong army to do it. But the army from across the ocean they do fear. It is very big, has strange and powerful weapons, and they fear it will make their people slaves.

"While they know your people only as raiders. They have never seen you as an army. They believe that if they defeat the strangers from across the ocean, they can then easily drive you away."

Killed Many regarded Vessto almost broodingly. "And what do you think, Speaker With Hrum?"

Vessto replied calmly, almost blandly. "The strangers from across the sea will be defeated. Because you will join with the Djez to beat them, despite their loud-barking stick weapons that shoot farther than the bow, and their fat iron logs that sound like thunder and destroy walls at a distance. You will fight them in the great Djez village, at night, where their iron logs and stick weapons are of less avail. Also, the strangers do not have swords. And while they can use their stick weapons as short spears, they are not skillful at it, easily losing heart. They much prefer to kill at a distance, which you will not let them do."

"How far away are these foreign soldiers?"

Vessto seemed to look inward a moment. "They are still at Haipoor, the great Djez Village, about a hard three-day march along this river. And what they are doing there will make them much more dangerous, unless they are stopped."

"Why should we not let the strangers and the Djez kill each other off? Then we can more easily beat the winner."

Vessto's gaze was steady on his own. "Because then the strangers would beat the Djezians. And later they would fight you in the countryside instead of in the village. The advantage would be theirs. But the great reason is that Hrum-In-Thee will make sure you fight them now."

Killed Many's face was impassive; it would be impossible to know his thoughts by his expression. "While you are prophesying," he said, "prophesy me this: Will I rule the Djez?"

"Not at this time. But you will go home with much booty, and kaabors to carry it. More important, you will take much knowledge home with you, and steelmakers, and many honors. It will have been the greatest raid of all time. And by then you may decide you do not wish to rule the Djez."

Killed Many took his eyes from the sage and stared off westward. Sometimes he believed this man's pronouncements and sometimes not. Before the others he professed to set great store by them; they helped him rule. But always he followed his own judgement; now he must decide.

After a few minutes during which none of them spoke, he brought his attention back, and standing, looked around. "We will make common cause with the Djez against this army from across the ocean," he told the chiefs. "Have your warriors form the marching order. We will not stop to cook till evening. A great army stands three days ahead; we will fight it and earn much honor. Speaker With Hrum will tell us more at the end of this day."

The chiefs dispersed then, and the Cadriio brothers drew apart. "The Almites are still at Haipoor?" Eltrienn asked. "Why is that?"

"I don't know." Vessto grinned then. "Hrum doesn't tell me everything."

"And the thing they're doing? That will make them much more dangerous?"

"Hrum didn't tell me that, either. But I got an impression of them working at their ships, which are sunken. Their fleet lies on the bottom of Haipoor Harbor."

Eltrienn stared at him, then shook his head and went over to pack his packsack. It had never before occurred to him to wonder: How could an adept, how could anyone, know the difference between whispers and pictures from Hrum and one's own imaginings?

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Framed