Sharon Green - The Crystals of Mida

My warrior finished with him and arose, and still I remained standing at his side. No warrior stirred in the tent, for though they knew that use of him was at an end, still they wondered if the war leader would honor him. I felt the leather of the tent floor beneath my feet, saw the rise and fall of the captive’s chest, smelled the sweat that covered his body and caused his red-gold mane to lie about him in greasy strands. My eyes moved to his and I smiled at the desire I saw ablaze there, a desire even greater than the fury that had gripped him so many times that fey. The sthuvad found pleasure in the sight of Jalav, war leader of the Hosta of the Midanna, and his desire blazed forth, above the urging of the drug, for all to see. I stood a moment longer, holding his eyes, then spoke to my warriors without turning.

“Secure him through the darkness,” said I, “and see that he is well guarded. I would not care to have him stolen from us when he has rendered such faithful service.”

The laughter of my warriors, and the sounds of their rising from their places, covered the snarl of the sthuvad as he again writhed in rage. So sure had he been that he would be honored, that his desires would be seen to, that I would use him as my warriors had. Yet I was war leader, and did as I wished. I turned from the captive and strode from the use tent, returning immediately to my own tent. The sight of the shield and spear of the war leader warmed me as always, and I regretted having given Fideran to another. I extinguished the candles, then, sought my sleeping leather, my dagger fast in my hand as was proper.

The arrival of the new light saw my warriors and myself already mounted in preparation for departure. More than twenty hands in number were we, a force large enough to press an advantageous attack, yet small enough to disguise its presence should it become necessary. My warriors were anxious to be gone, and I was too. Rilas, who had come to bid us farewell, stood beside my gando.

“The fey will be a warm, fair one,” she observed, examining the bright streaks in the slowly lightening sky. “Mida smiles upon your efforts, Jalav.”

“That remains to be seen,” said I, regarding my warriors in their places. Their clan colors about their hips showed them proudly as Hosta, their life signs tied firmly about their necks showed them eager for battle. Their hair, like mine, was bound with war leather, for we rode to recover the Crystal wherever it might be found. “A fey black with the clouds of rain may be fairest of all, Rilas,” I said, “should victory in battle show Mida’s pleasure.”

“True, Jalav.” Rilas smiled, placing her hand upon the binding scale of my gando. “It is when the warriors of Mida ride out in such a manner that I wish I, too, were yet a warrior. The sight stirs my blood, war leader, and brings memories of long ago. Much glory do I wish you, Jalav, and ask Mida’s blessings for you and your quest.”

“We shall return with the Crystal should it be Mida’s will.”

I smiled, then placed my hand briefly upon hers. “See to that of which we have spoken, and perhaps we may one fey speak again.”

She nodded then, and stepped back with a smile, her hand raised in farewell. I looked again at my warriors, felt the proud weight of my shield upon my left arm, the smooth, slim shaft of my spear in my right hand, then nodded too, and struck my gando with my spear. I led my warriors from the camp and we rode forth upon our gandod, perhaps to victory, perhaps to the glory of death in battle, none knew and none cared. It is the privilege of a warrior of the Midanna to ride forth when there is need and desire.

I had considered Bellinard, and therefore led my warriors to the road to Islat. It would be well to seek quiet entrance to Bellinard if possible, therefore we should stop in Islat to exchange gandod for Kand. The gando, while excellent for battle, is feared for its temper and intractability, and never may one be found within the walls of the cities. If we wanted to ride between the gates of Bellinard, it would best be done upon the backs of kand, and kand might be had in Islat. The road to Islat was a short one, a mere four hind in the traveling.

Islat was a village much larger than the Hosta camp, and had found a safety for itself in trade with the Hosta. Little did my warriors require that they were unable to obtain for themselves, yet were there articles such as clan silks and woven goods, candles, arrowheads, and well-made knives, that those of Islat might offer. In turn, we of the Hosta provided pelts of the children of the wild, those that village males and city males feared to seek themselves. The woods and forests looked harshly upon those who had insufficient knowledge of them, and too often had the Hosta found the remains of those who had tried for the pelts and had failed. The Hosta had let it be known that Islat lay beneath our protection, and only once had it been necessary to avenge a raid. A small, independent band of Harra had taken males from Islat, yet there had been little difficulty in tracking them. All six Harra had been taken, the two males released from the leather which bound them, and the Harra, bound themselves, were given over to the remaining males of Islat. The time had been before I had become a warrior, therefore the fate of the six Harra was unknown to me, though it was known well enough to others that Islat had never again been touched in raid.

The new light was high and bright when first we reached the beginning of Islat. The village spread about upon the bank of the Dennin river, which ran east and west through the land of the Hosta. Crossing the Dennin was necessary and fairly easy. All crossings were known to the Midanna, and I, myself, had crossed it while still a warrior. I would cross it now as war leader, and touch its wetness to my forehead as reminder that we rode to battle where wetness of another sort would be expected. Some thought that the wetness of the Dennin would guard against the free running of blood from a wound, and it would be foolish to overlook the possibility.

The males of Islat emerged from their low dwellings to stand in surprise beside their staring slavewomen as we rode through the village to the Headman’s dwelling. Even had the Hosta not traded there the fey previous, the sight of the shields and spears we carried was sufficient to inform them that a thing not often seen was beginning. The slavewomen were ordered within their dwellings with the little ones, and the males accompanied us toward the center of their village, wary and distrustful, and keeping their distance from my warriors and our gandod. I smiled at their actions as I rode, reflecting that the distance they kept would hardly have seen to their safety had it been their village against which we rode. The farthest of them was still well within reach of our spears.

Maranu, Headman of Islat, stood before the entrance to his dwelling, awaiting us. Although he did not retreat before the snapping snouts of our dancing gandod, he seemed tense. He wished to know why we rode in such numbers to his village, for never had he seen such a thing. Strangely, he had been Headman for many kalod, and remained Headman in spite of his graying hair. Perhaps his still-strong figure allowed for this, perhaps the vigor he retained did. Or perhaps he was most aided in that the males of Islat had no battles to face—the youth of the warriors of the Hosta stood protection for them and their village. I reined in my gando, and gazed down upon him.

“We of Islat make you welcome, war leader,” said he in a tone which neither took nor gave. “May we do a service for you and your warriors?”

“Indeed, Maranu.” I smiled to ease his tension. “The Hosta ride to battle, yet we need to trade for a small number of kand.”