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According to the tribal history, two generations ago these lands had lain uninhabited by all but the animals and the occasional visit of one of the fisherfolk, seeking rushes or hemp for basketry and netting. Once, deeper inland in a district known for its lakes, the farthest eastern tribe of the RockChildren had built its OldMother’s hall. That tribe, called Sviar, had not been heard of since two Sviar ships had been sighted raiding southward in the time of Bloodheart’s father’s chieftainship. With the recent incursion of human tribes, well armed, vigilant, and only slightly less belligerent than the RockChildren themselves, none among the RockChildren had gone to investigate their absent brethren.
But he might. At last, goaded by the long silence, one woman stepped out from under the porch that gave his prisoners scant shelter and into the beating rain. Unlike most human women, she wore a light veil that concealed her features. Her cloak glistened with raindrops.
“Chieftain,” she said in the common language used by all traders, a melange of Wendish, Salian, and old Dariyan, “what is your will with us, who have harmed none but only seek to trade?”
The others shrank back against the wall of the town hall. The gap widened between them and their colleague, as if they hoped to escape the punishment sure to be inflicted upon her for her rash speech.
“What are you called?” asked Stronghand. “What nation among humankind do you call your mother?”
She had expressive hands, spread wide now as she gestured to two darkly-featured and nervous men standing among the crowd who wore peaked hats and ornamented sleeves, whose ends they twisted at this very moment. “We are children of the people called Hessi in the language of the Wendish folk and Essit among ourselves. I am known as Riavka, daughter of Sarenha. I act as Holy Mother to those of my people who live and visit in this port. I come before you as a supplicant, for I know well what stories are told and indignities suffered by those who have fallen under the fierce attack of your people.”
He grinned so that his audience could see the many jewels that studded his teeth. She alone did not flinch. “I do not intend to attack, only to safeguard this port. A fair tithe paid to me by every merchant for each shipload will assure that no further disturbances plague you. Does that not seem fair?”
The others murmured among themselves and then, remembering that he could understand them, fell silent. They were as taut as snared rabbits, waiting for the ax to fall. The rain slackened as the storm moved through.
“What tithe will you demand?” Either she had taken his measure and decided that he respected most those who did not cringe before him, or else she simply did not fear death. “This port was founded by those on whom tithes laid heavy in the southern lands. If you lay your hand upon us too harshly, who is to say we won’t rise up against you in rebellion?”
“Then you will all die.”
Brows were wiped, sweat-drenched despite the cold. Several of the merchants glanced back toward the distant palisade, half concealed by buildings. They knew what grim work went on out of their sight, burying the dead in a mass grave. A portly man staggered forward to the edge of the porch’s shelter to whisper into her ear, but she did not respond to him as she continued speaking.
“Then who is to say we won’t simply abandon this town, sail away come summer, and seek another site from which to trade?”
He regarded her with curiosity. “Are you not afraid that I might kill you for your presumptuousness?”
Her damp fingers flicked the lower edge of her veil, and he caught a glimpse of the hollow of her throat before the veil swayed back into place. “Had you wished to kill us outright or break us down into slave pens, surely those of your soldiers who attacked us yesterday would already have done so. You are meeting with us now because you have another plan in mind.”
“What tithe would you consider a fair one, Riavka, daughter of Sarenha?”
She did not hesitate. “One part in ten.”
“One in six,” he replied as quickly, “and you will create a council among you of six elders to oversee the tithing. A governor of my own people will remain here with a garrison.”
“So be it.” She inclined her head to show her assent. Behind her, the others hurriedly agreed.
“That is not all,” he went on. “I wish to establish another trading port, like this one, along the coast where my own people dwell. I have already chosen a harbor, in Moerin country, in the southern part of my people’s lands. It is sheltered, and there is easy passage from there to sea-lanes that lead as far west as Alba, south to Salia, and eastward to these countries. Do any among you care to build such a port under my protection?”
The portly man had found his tongue, and he stammered out a anxious question. “It is a long and sorry voyage at this time of year, my lord. The lands of the Eika are known to us by report as a rugged, inhospitable country. Few will wish to settle there.”
“Then, truly, I will pick some from among you.” The gathered merchants reacted with such comical expressions of dismay that Stronghand had to suppress an odd urge to laugh, something learned from Alain, who had not been afraid to find pleasure in the foibles of humankind.
Riavka gestured toward the younger of the two Hessi men. “I will send my son and his household.” In the same way water builds up behind flotsam jamming a narrow channel and then breaks through, her words released the others from their paralysis. They began speaking at once, a clamor that irritated Stronghand. The sound of a horn rose high over their noise.
He lifted a hand, unsheathing his claws. At once, the elders stuttered and gasped into silence.
The alert rose again over the waters, made gray by misting rain and tendrils of cloud hugging the distant watery isles. A crimson flag whipped into life on one of the outermost ships, waving once, twice.
He paced to the edge of the quay. Water lapped at the wooden pilings, shushing and slurping to the rhythm of unseen waves. Rain spattered the waters and stilled. Wide-bellied knarrs laden with cargo lay along the quay. Farther out on the bay, the sleek outlines of his own warships rested on unquiet waters, wreathed with fingers of mist.
The surface of the bay eddied in a spot where neither ship nor reef had its place, the wake made by an unseen pod of merfolk, come to call.
He turned to Tenth Son. “Had you any warning of this?” Tenth Son gave a sharp lift of his chin, to signify “no.”
A pair of glittering, ridged backs snaked above the water and vanished. Tails slapped down. The townsfolk yelped and skittered back, all but the veiled woman, who, amazingly, took a step closer in order to see better. She made a noise, unintelligible through her veil, and extended a hand, palm out, as if she could taste their essence through her skin.
inned so that his audience could see the many jewels that studded his teeth. She alone did not flinch. “I do not intend to attack, only to safeguard this port. A fair tithe paid to me by every merchant for each shipload will assure that no further disturbances plague you. Does that not seem fair?”
The others murmured among themselves and then, remembering that he could understand them, fell silent. They were as taut as snared rabbits, waiting for the ax to fall. The rain slackened as the storm moved through.
