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Alanna was rolling herself up in an embroidered throw. “I plan to take a nap.” She yawned. “Until the tribe decides what to do with us, we can’t do a thing.” Within moments she was fast asleep, Faithful curled up beside her nose.
Coram was working on his third cup of date wine when Halaf Seif looked into the tent. “She looks softer when she sleeps,” he commented quietly. “When she awakes, tell her the tribe will decide your fate before the evening meal, at the campfire. I will send for you.”
Coram nodded and finished his wine. Alanna was right; there was little they could do now. Making himself comfortable, he took a nap of his own.
The last streaks of sunlight were fading in the west when Alanna woke from her nap. Coram was still asleep, snoring lightly, and Faithful had vanished. Yawning and stretching, she stepped outside to find the village oddly still, as if it had been deserted. She would have gone to explore when Ishak—who was crouched beside the doorway of her tent—caught at her pant leg. Covering his lips with a warning finger, he led her back into the tent.
“It is the Moment of the Voice,” he explained when they were inside. Coram was smoothing his sleep-ruffled hair. “All adults in the tribe must be present, but I was told to attend you.” He looked up as voices sounded outside. “It is over, and soon they will call you. I will take you to them.”
“Aren’t ye afraid we’ll corrupt ye?” Coram asked kindly.
The boy shook his head. “Halaf Seif says only the man who wishes to be corrupted will fall into evil ways. Halaf Seif is wise in the ways of men.”
“Wiser than your shaman?” Alanna asked.
“Akhnan Ibn Nazzir is an old desert hen,” the boy said scornfully. “His magic hurts more than it helps.” He looked eagerly at Alanna. “Ibn Nazzir says you are a sorceress from the North. Will you teach me your sorcery? Look! Already I know a little!” Reaching out, he concentrated on the ball of reddish fire growing at his fingertips.
Alanna knocked his hand away, breaking Ishak’s concentration. “I know nothing of magic,” she said harshly. “And I want to know nothing of magic. The Gift only leads to pain and death.”
Kara peered in the doorway and bowed. “Ishak, help our guests to get ready,” she commanded. She swallowed hard, looking at Alanna. “Will you need help, Woman Who Rides Like a Man?”
Alanna smiled. “Thank you, Kara, I can manage for myself.”
The girl bowed again. “Ishak will bring you to the central fire when you are ready,” she said before letting the tent flap fall.
Coram was already breaking open one of Alanna’s saddlebags, bringing out her mail shirt and leggings. Ishak gasped in admiration, touching the gold-washed armor with reverent fingers. Alanna had been given the mail by her friends on her eighteenth birthday. Although she had plain steel mail to wear, this was specially made for her and particularly light. She fastened the amethyst-trimmed belt at her waist, removing the sheaths for sword and dagger. It would not be polite to go armed, and it still hurt to look at Lightning. She hooked gauntlets decorated with her lioness rampant design into her belt and nodded to Coram. “I’ll wait for you two outside,” she said casually. “I need to think.”
She was actually responding to Faithful’s soft hiss just outside the tent. She went to stand beside her pet, scanning the rapidly falling darkness. “What do you want?” she whispered. “We have these people to—”
Shadows moved against the night, and she froze. Akhnan Ibn Nazzir was leading a horse into the darkness. “Now, what do you suppose he’s up to?” Alanna asked Faithful. “D’you think he means trouble for us?”
Yes, the cat replied. He was asking the young ones who came into your tent what you had of value. I don’t think he asked because he means well.
Alanna sighed and followed Ishak and Coram to the campfire. Wasn’t life difficult enough without earning the enmity of a Bazhir shaman?
She was given the place on Halef Seif’s right, with Coram beside her and Faithful settling down in front of her crossed legs. As the men of the tribe settled into the great circle formed by the firelight, Alanna took a closer look at Halef Seif. With his burnoose off his head, the headman looked to be in his late thirties. He was hook-nosed and lean; sharp lines were drawn from his nostrils to the corners of his thin mouth. A man who’s seen a lot of life, Alanna decided.
The women of the tribe watched from behind the men, their eyes glittering over their face veils. Alanna tried to keep her nervousness hidden; she wanted to make friends of these people, and she had no way of knowing if they wanted to make a friend of her. A flicker of green caught her attention, and she turned with the others to watch the shaman take his place opposite Halef Seif. He looked pleased with himself. Something told Alanna he had been up to mischief.
Halef raised his voice so everyone could hear. “There are two voices in our tribe. One speaks for the acceptance of the intruders, saying they are a sacred one and the servant of a sacred one, deserving honor at our hands. One calls for their deaths, saying they are the servants of the king in the North, and that women must not act as men. By our custom, the strangers must hear each voice and answer. So it has always been. Before others speak, I will say what I must say. I am headman of the Bloody Hawk: this is my right.
“I do not know that this woman is the Burning-Brightly One who came with the Night One to free us from the Black City. She claims to serve the king in the North, and he is our enemy. Yet she came here in peace until the hillmen attacked her. Then she fought well. She and her servant killed many of the hillmen, who are our foes.
“She rides as a man, goes unveiled as a man, fights as a man. Let her prove herself worthy as a man, worthy of her weapons and of our friendship.” Finished, he bowed his dark head.
The arguing began, with the shaman speaking next. Alanna wasn’t surprised to hear him accuse her of blasphemy against the gods for her manner of dress and her way of life—some of the priests at the royal palace had said much the same, when her true identity had been revealed. Gammal followed the shaman, once again telling the story of the strange events at the Black City, six years before.
One tall Bazhir named Hakim Fahrar spoke of the penalty owed to any outsiders: death. And others in the tribe asked for moderation, saying that people who did not change with new times were doomed to extinction. The debate went on and on while Faithful took a nap. If her life and Coram’s had not been at stake, Alanna would have been bored by the long speeches. As it was, she felt a growing respect for Halef Seif’s insistence on hearing each man’s opinion. It was not the first time she noticed the great concern the Bazhir people had for the right of all to speak out (in some matters even the women had a say, she discovered later), but it would not be the last.
Only once did they say something to puzzle her. “The Voice gave her and the Blue-Eyed Prince honor when they returned from battle with the Nameless Ones,” Gammal told the shaman hotly.
“The Voice also says we must decide her fate ourselves, Gammal,” Halef warned. “Be still. Justice will be done.”
Alanna frowned. Ishak had mentioned a “Moment of the Voice,” now Gammal and the headman spoke of “The Voice.” Did Myles ever tell me of a Bazhir god or priest by that name? she wondered. I don’t think so. I’ll ask Halef Seif about his “Voice”—if I survive the night.
The oldest man of the tribe raised his hand. “There is a way to decide this woman’s status. She bears weapons as a man—let her fight as a man. Give her the trial by combat. If she wins, the tribe is wise to accept her. If she loses, let her servant be killed also.”
The shaman jumped up, screaming, “The favor of the gods to the man who kills her! I swear it!”
“If the favor of the gods is offered,” Alanna asked mildly, “why don’t you kill me yourself?” There was a murmur of laughter, and the shaman whirled to glare at Alanna.
“She mocks our ways!” he cried.
“I mock a shaman who looks at the goods I possess and calls for my death because he says I
offend the gods. Can you tell me you have no interest in what I own?” she asked steadily, her eyes never wavering from his staring ones.
Halef rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “One third of what you have goes to him who slays you. One third goes to the headman. One third goes to the priest. It has always been so.”
Alanna smiled angrily. “I thought as much.”
Halef Seif raised his hands. “The men of the tribe will vote on this matter: to grant the Woman Who Rides Like a Man the trial by combat.”
Women passed among the men with bits of parchment, reeds for writing, and ink. They returned to collect the folded papers, and Halef Seif counted them. He took great care to unfold each paper and place it in one of two piles before him, so that no one could accuse him of manipulating the vote. Once again Alanna was impressed with Bazhir honesty.
At last the votes were counted. “It is the combat,” Halef Seif announced.
2
THE BLOODY HAWK
ALANNA STOOD, NERVOUSLY RUBBING HER SUDDENLY wet palms on her tunic. “I accept the will of the tribe. Who will carry it out?”
Hakim Fahrar stood. “The law is the law. I will fight for the tribe.”
Alanna bent to strip away her boots and stockings, examining her would-be opponent. He was head and shoulders taller than she, and his naked torso showed hard muscles in the firelight. He seemed agile enough, but only the fight would confirm that.
Coram tied her hair back with a leather thong, his callused hands gentle. As she began her loosening-up exercises, he knelt beside her. “Be careful,” he cautioned, his voice a whisper. “They fight to the death here.”
