Paul Thompson: Sister of the Sword

“What has he to do with anything?”

“He lives because Amero wanted him to live. Amero believed he could teach our brother to be a peaceful man. I never shared his confidence in Zannian’s ability to change, and I’m not so forgiving of the raiders’ crimes.” She frowned. “But he is my brother, too. And now, my responsibility.”

Still in human form, Duranix went with her to Lyopi’s house and there viewed Amero’s body. With his gray-flecked beard, the man he’d become hardly resembled the inquisitive youth Duranix had plucked from a tree and saved from the yevi all those years ago.

What an evanescent thing is human life, the dragon thought. Was it the brevity of their existence that made them feel so vulnerable, fearful, and violent?

It was a question Amero would have enjoyed discussing with Duranix. No one present could do it justice, so the dragon kept his thought to himself.

Karada called a great council of her hand and the people of Yala-tene. The resulting crowd was so large they had to assemble on open ground west of the wall, near the hill where Amero’s friend and foundry master, Huru, had fought the raiders and died defending his village.

With everyone present except the Silvanesti and those nomads appointed to guard them, over sixteen hundred people were gathered to hear Karada, Lyopi, and the elders speak. The first matter addressed was how to honor Amero. The village elders suggested an elaborate funeral pyre, either on the valley floor or, as Jenla suggested, on the old Offertory in the village. Jenla’s idea was on the verge of being approved when Duranix arrived, still in his fair-haired human shape. He was taller than anyone present, topping even Pakito by a handspan, and caused a stir when he appeared.

After obtaining Lyopi’s permission to join the discussion, the dragon-man spoke against the use of the old Offertory. With its reminders of the Sensarku’s strange antics, he said this would not be a location that would please Amero.

Lyopi asked what he would suggest.

“Before the cave-in of the storage tunnels many years ago, you humans usually buried your dead,” Duranix replied. “I think Amero should be put in a special place in the mountains, sealed forever inside. Then there will always be a place you can come and be near him.”

Karada asked if he had a place in mind.

“My cave.”

This took the humans aback. Tepa spoke for all when he asked, “If the Arkuden is sealed in your cave, where will you be?”

“Far away,” said the dragon. “Once Amero is put to rest, I am leaving the Valley of the Falls forever.”

Consternation erupted. Villagers rose to their feet and cried out against this idea. Who would protect them if both Amero and the dragon were gone? Duranix listened implacably, unmoved by their fears.

Karada called roughly for silence. The anxious villagers gradually settled down.

Duranix said, not unkindly, “My friendship was with Amero. Though I think well of some of you, I’ve realized I can’t stay here any longer, minding your small affairs and defending you from your own vicious brethren. I’ve been too much with humanity these past thirty years. It’s time for me to go, to find and coexist with those of my own kind.”

They continued to plead with him; wondering plaintively how they would survive without their protector.

“How did you survive before you came here?” he asked vexedly.

“We wandered,” Jenla said. “But we can’t go back to those ways. Some of us are too old, and the younger ones know no other life than this.”

“Then we’ll stay here,” Tepa said stoutly, grasping her hand. “The soil is fertile, the hunting is good, and the Arkuden’s wall is high.” He looked to Karada. “And we have friends, if we need them, yes?”

The nomad chieftain nodded curtly, and the villagers’ anxiety was slowly replaced by hope.

It was agreed Amero would be placed in the great cave behind the waterfall. Duranix would seal all the entrances. The burial would take place before sundown that very day.

Some of the crowd had begun to move away, but Karada’s loud voice halted them, reminding them there were other matters to settle.

“First, the murderer of Amero must be punished,” she announced.

Adjat the potter, a distant kinsman to Mara, rose. “The girl has lost her wits,” he said bluntly. “She’s mad with fear and hatred of the Silvanesti.”

“So? Are we just to forget what she has done?”

Intimidated, Adjat replied, “Of course not. It just seems... wrong to condemn the feeble-minded.”

“Seems perfectly right to me,” Karada said. “Murder should be repaid with death. That is the way of the plains.”

“This is not the plains, great chief,” Hulami the winemaker said.

They argued fruitlessly a while, until Karada at last turned to Lyopi.

“You were his woman,” said Amero’s sister. “What do you say?”

“I’d gladly wring her neck,” Lyopi said, her voice tired but strong. Though Karada nodded sagely, the village elders looked appalled. Lyopi went on. “But I can’t. The wretched girl has known nothing but torment and fear since she left Yala-tene with Tiphan last winter. Maybe he’s the true author of this deed—abetted by Silvanesti taskmasters and her oppressive devotion to Karada.”

It was obvious Karada wanted to speak, but having asked Lyopi her opinion, the nomad chieftain kept silent.

Lyopi said, “I say exile her. Turn her loose on the open plain and let the spirits of the land and air decide her fate. That’s what our ancestors would have done.”

This verdict won instant favor from the villagers in the crowd, who were sick of bloodshed. The elders quickly approved exile for Mara.

Karada turned to Duranix in disgust. “Crazed as she is, she won’t last five days. Hunger, thirst, savage beasts... hers will be a slow, agonizing death,” she said. “Their ‘mercy’ is more cruel than my punishment!”

“Not killing her outright salves their conscience,” Duranix said darkly. “That’s what matters most to them.”

One last important decision remained.

“The man called Zannian, as everyone now knows, is my youngest brother, Menni,” Karada told the crowd. “Blinded in battle, he will likely never recover his sight.

It was Amero’s wish that Zannian remain in Yala-tene and he treated as his brother, not a defeated enemy. I don’t share this view. Zannian is a dangerous man, with no more honor in him than a hungry viper. Now that my brother is dead, Zannian should be dealt with like the snake he is.”

Beramun, listening quietly beside Harak until now, stood up. Lyopi nodded for her to speak.

“I suffered as much as anyone at Zannian’s hands. His men slew my family and enslaved me. He tried to take me by force, but I escaped. It sounds vain to say so, but I think he came to Yala-tene as much to recapture me as to conquer your village.”

Beramun glanced at Harak, who smiled and gave her an encouraging nod.

“I would gladly see him dead,” she continued, “but I think the only one who can rightly pass judgment on him is Karada. He’s her kin. Let her do with him what she thinks best.” Beramun sat down.

Karada looked enormously pleased.

Factions aligned themselves in completely different ways from when they’d debated Mara’s fate. The younger people of Yala-tene favored sparing Zannian, while the elders wanted him put to death. Hulami suggested exile for Zannian as well, but in his sightless state, nobody felt comfortable with that idea.

Lyopi stood up to speak. The crowd slowly quieted to hear her words.

“Much as I respect Karada and Beramun, I have to disagree with them,” she said. “Zannian should remain in Yala-tene.”