Tavi glanced back at Fade and then followed Doroga out of the tent and into the blinding light of the first day of winter. Sunlight poured through crystalline skies to blaze over the snow that covered the ground in an almost perfect layer of white. It took Tavi's eyes long seconds to adjust and for him to squint around him as he emerged from the tent, Fade clutching at his arm.
They stood among hundreds of Marat.
Marat men, most of them as heavily built as Doroga, sat at cooking fires or watched casually, hands near the hafts of spears or on chipped-stone daggers or furyforged Aleran blades. Like Doroga, they wore only a brief loincloth, despite the weather, and evinced no signs of discomfort, though some of them wore cloaks of hide and fur that seemed more ornamental or martial than made with the intention of keeping their owners warm or dry. Children ran here and there, dressed in the same long leather tunic Doroga's whelp had worn, and watched the strangers with obvious interest.
To Tavi's astonishment, the women wore nothing more than the men, and lean, muscular legs, naked, strong shoulders and arms, and other things a proper Aleran boy was not supposed to see (but wanted to anyway) abounded.
Tavi felt his face flush, and he shielded his eyes furiously, trying to pretend it was still the sun in them.
One of the young warriors nearby made a quiet comment, and that same coughing laughter resounded around the camp, which Tavi saw was arranged down the slope of a long, bald hill. He felt himself flush further, yet, and glanced at Fade. The slave stood beside him, no expression on his face, his eyes somewhat distant-but he put his hand on Tavi's shoulder and squeezed, as though reassuring himself that the boy was there.
Doroga stood, patiently waiting, and then nodded toward the crest of the hill. He started that way himself, clearly expecting to be followed. Tavi glanced around them at the young warriors, who watched him with studied disinterest and fingered their weapons. Tavi moved his eyes to where a couple of older Marat women were chatting to one another and piling up wood beneath a roasting spit. One of them turned to Tavi and squinted at him, holding up a weathered thumb, then compared it to the length of the spit.
Tavi swallowed and hurried up the hill after Doroga, Fade close at hand.
At the top of the hill stood a dozen huge stones the size of a small house, arranged in a loose circle, some leaning upon others. They were rounded, any rough edges filed away by the winds and rains and seasons, but had obdurately resisted the elements, with no cracks apparent in their surfaces.
At the center of the stones was a pool with seven white stones spaced around it. Upon two of the stones sat Marat.
Tavi was struck at once by the difference in their appearance. Doroga, huge and solid, paced around to one of the stones. On the way there, he passed a lean Marat woman, her pale hair shaved on the sides to leave only a long, silky mane atop her head. She, too, wore only a loincloth, though, more than her nakedness, Tavi noted an Aleran cavalry saber riding a Legion-issue belt at her hip, and three badges, tarnished silver falcons, which spangled the belt. Her skin was shades darker than most of the Marat and seemed weathered and tough, and her dark eyes were cool, appraising. As Doroga passed her, she lifted a hand, and the Chief of the Gargant Clan lightly rapped his knuckles against hers.
Doroga settled on the next rock, folded his hands, and glowered at the third Marat on the hilltop.
Tavi turned his attention to him. The man was of moderate height and lean build. His hair, though Marat-pale, grew in a wild, bristling mane that fell to his shoulders and continued to sprout from his skin down past his ears and
along the lines of his jaw. His eyes were an odd shade of pale grey, almost silver, and he held himself with a slow, restless tension. The Marat caught Tavi looking at him and narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth. Tavi blinked to see huge, ripping canines, more properly called fangs, in the Marat's mouth. A snarl bubbled from his throat, and the man half-rose from his stone.
Doroga rose and spat, "Will the headman of the Drahga-ha defile the peace of the horto?"
The fang-toothed Marat glared from Tavi to Doroga. His voice came out as a bubbling growl, low, harsh, hardly understandable. Could a wolf speak, Tavi thought, it would sound like this. "The headman of the Sabot-ha has already defiled its sanctity with these outsiders."
Doroga smiled. "The horto welcomes all who come in peace." His smile widened a touch. "Though perhaps I am mistaken. Do you believe that this is the case, Skagara?"
The woman said, without rising, "I believe he thinks you mistaken, Doroga."
Skagara snarled toward the woman, his eyes flickering warily between her and Doroga. "Stay out of this, Hashat. I need neither you nor the Kevras-ha to tell me what I believe."
Doroga rolled a pace toward Skagara. The big Marat flexed his hands with an ominous crackling of knuckles. "This is between you and I, Wolf. Do you believe me mistaken?"
Skagara lifted his lips away from his teeth again, and there was a long and tense silence on the hill. At the end of it, he let out a spiteful growl and looked away from Doroga. "There is no need to bring this matter before The One."
"Enough, then," Doroga said. He continued staring at the other man and settled slowly back down onto his stone. Skagara mirrored him. Doroga then murmured, "We come before The One at this horto." He turned his face up toward the sun, eyes closing, and murmured something in his own tongue. The other two Marat did the same, speaking in a pair of distinct-sounding languages. Silence reigned on the hilltop for the space of a score of heartbeats, and then the Marat together lowered their eyes again.
"I am called Doroga, headman of the Sabot-ha, the Gargant Clan," Tavi's captor said in formal tones.
"I am called Hashat, headman of the Kevras-ha, the Horse Clan," stated the woman.
"I am called Skagara, headman of the Drahga-ha, the Wolf Clan." Skagara rose, impatiently. "I see no need for this horto. We have captive enemies among us. Let us partake of their strength and go to battle."
Doroga nodded soberly. "Yes. These are our enemies. So has spoken Atsurak of the Sishkrak-ha." He turned his face to Tavi. "And none have spoken against him."
Tavi swallowed and stepped forward. His voice shook, but he forced the words out, and they rang out with clarion strength among the great stones on the hilltop. "I am called Tavi, of Bernardholt, in the bridge valley. And I say that we are no enemies of the Marat."
There was a startled silence for the space of a breath, there at the hilltop. And then Skagara leapt to his feet with a howl of rage. From down the hill came the sudden angry shouts from dozens of throats, male and female alike, overridden by a chorus of the deep, ringing howls of direwolves.
Doroga came to his feet at the same time, eyes blazing, and though he remained silent, the sudden basso bellows of dozens of gargants rolled like thunder through the winter sky, in tandem with the more distant screams of uncounted horses.
Marat sprinted to the stones at the hilltop, though none of them stepped within their circle, pressing close, eyes wide and excited, gripping weapons, crowding to get close to see-and even so, they split themselves into three separate groups: slab-shouldered, heavily muscled Marat of Clan Gargant; Clan Wolf, silent and fang-toothed and hungry-looking; and Clan Horse, tall and lean with their hair shaved into wind-tossed white manes. The isolated hilltop transformed into the center of a seething mob, excited murmurs, brandished weapons, and threatening glances. Tension and violence rode on the air like leashed lightning, pent-up and straining for release.
Doroga moved then, standing atop his stone, and held his arms above his head. "Silence!" he roared, and his voice smothered sound atop the hill. "Silence, on the horto! Silence as a question is brought before The One!"
Tavi stared around him at the reaction his words had caused and discovered that he had turned and pressed his back to Fade. His limbs shook with reaction. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Fade had assumed that same distant expression as before, eyes focused on nothing, though he had clasped one arm across Tavi's chest, fingers gripping the opposite shoulder steadily.
"Fade," Tavi whispered. "Are you all right?"
"Quiet, Tavi," Fade whispered back. "Do not move."
Silence stretched over the hill, the sound of moaning wind the only noise. From the corner of his eye, Tavi could see Skagara, crouched before his stone, staring at Tavi with something very like hatred. Some instinct warned Tavi not to make eye contact, that it would only set the Marat into a killing rage-and that all of Clan Wolf would follow their headman, turning the ring of stones into a blood-spattered slaughterhouse.
Tavi did not move. He barely breathed.
"We-the-Marat," Doroga said, turning in a slow circle. "We are the One-and-Many people, under The One. We prepare to march against the Alerans. We go to war at the words of Atsurak of the Sishkrak-ha. Atsurak the Bloody." His words spat the next words, and Tavi heard the insolent contempt in them. "Atsurak the Whelpkiller."
Snarls bubbled in the throats of dozens of Marat Wolves on the hilltop, and once again came the low, harsh howls of direwolves from somewhere down the slope and out of sight.
Doroga turned to face Clan Wolf without turning away from them, no trace of fear showing in his face. "Our law gives him that right, if none step forward to call him mistaken. To call him to the Trial of Blood." His finger swung to point at Tavi. "This Aleran calls Atsurak mistaken. This Aleran says that his people are no enemy of the Clans."
"He is not of the Clans," Skagara snarled. "He has no voice here."
"He stands accused with his people," Doroga shot back. "And the accused have a voice at the horto."
"Only if the headmen of the Clans decide that they do," said Skagara. "I say he does not. You say he does." He narrowed his eyes and stared at Hashat. "What says Clan Horse?"
Hashat only then unfolded from her relaxed slouch on her stone, rising and facing Skagara without speaking for a moment, the wind tossing her mane out to the side like a banner. Then she turned, took a step into Doroga's shadow, and folded her arms. "Let the boy speak."
Excited murmurs ran through the Marat atop the hill.
"Fade," Tavi whispered. "What is happening?"
Fade shook his head. "Don't know. Careful."
Doroga turned to Tavi and said, "Speak your belief, valleyboy. Bring it out before The One."
Tavi swallowed. He glanced back at Fade and then slipped away from the
slave, standing as straight as he could manage. He looked around the circle, at the Marat all staring at him with expressions of curiosity, contempt, hatred, or hope. "M-my people," he began, and choked, coughing, his stomach fluttering so nervously that he abruptly became certain he was going to sick up again.
"Hah," spat Skagara. "Look at him. Too afraid even to speak. Too afraid to bring what he believes before The One."
Doroga shot the Wolf headman a narrow-eyed glance. Then looked back at Tavi and said, "Valleyboy. If you would speak, now is the time."
Tavi nodded, swallowing a sour taste from his mouth, and straightened again. "I am not your enemy," he said. His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. This time it came out stronger, ringing clear among the stones again. "I am not your enemy. My people have sought no quarrel with the Marat since before I was born. I don't know who this Atsurak person is-but if he says that we want to hurt your people, he's a liar."
The words rang among the stones and fell on an odd and puzzled silence. Tavi glanced over at Doroga and found the Gargant headman staring at him with his head cocked to one side. "Liar." Doroga frowned, and lowered his voice to a confidential murmur. "I do not believe Atsurak has mated with any of yours. If that is what you mean. He does not lie with Alerans."
"No," Tavi said, nervous flutters coming back into his stomach. "A liar. He's telling lies."
Doroga blinked again. Then nodded, as though in sudden comprehension. He raised his voice again and said, "You believe he speaks mistakenly."
"Yes," Tavi said. "Wait, no! No, a lie is different than a mistake-"