“So where are we off to?” Malcolm asked Persephone.
“Well, Suri is a mystic and augur. She’s taking me to an old oak somewhere up here.”
“Mystic?” the big man said. His voice betrayed both surprise and awe.
“Yes. I know she looks young, but she was raised by Tura, a well-respected augur. Tura was ancient. The last time I saw her, she didn’t have a single hair that wasn’t white. She knew everything—or could find the answers for you. She recently died, and Suri says the old oak can answer some of my questions.”
“May I ask what questions you have that would cause you to risk life and limb as you have?” Malcolm inquired.
The thin man had a formal way of speaking that she liked. Even when she was the wife of the chieftain no one had ever said, May I ask. The most surprising thing, though, was that he didn’t find it strange that she was off to talk to a tree. Regardless of how he said it, Persephone was grateful for the door he’d opened. She’d been looking for a means to bring a subject up, and this was the perfect opportunity.
“We’ve recently learned the gods of Alon Rhist might have plans to attack us—all of us. All Rhunes.” She paused, trying to determine how best to present the next part. “I’m looking for an answer, for guidance, a way to save my people. I’m also hoping this tree can lead me to the man named…Raithe.”
This drew the Dureyan’s stare. “What do you want with him?”
“Rumors say he has killed a Fhrey. People are calling him the God Killer.”
“And what? You want to turn him over to the Fhrey? You think that will prevent a slaughter?”
“No, no! Not at all,” she said more loudly than intended, and both Suri and Minna paused to look back. “Some call the Fhrey gods, but it’d be impossible to kill one if that were so. I’ve had some dealings with them, and I know the Fhrey don’t respect us. We’re ants to them, and if an ant bites you, do you seek out that one ant? Or do you set fire to the whole colony to make sure you’re not bitten again? I want to discover if this Raithe really did slay a Fhrey, and if so, how it was done. If one man can kill a Fhrey, others can learn as well. Our only hope might be to fight.”
She caught a look between the two. “Such a hero would be welcomed in Dahl Rhen.”
“I’ve heard rumors about this Raithe person, too,” the big man said. “But I don’t think they’re true.”
“Of course they are.” Malcolm frowned at his associate. “We were at the roadhouse when Raithe told his story.”
“Raithe didn’t tell a story. A rather unpleasant traveling companion of his did. And I’m sure most of that story was lies.”
“Really?” Malcolm replied. “See, personally, I found it to be a beautiful tale. It moved me.”
Another look, this one more irritated than the others.
“Let me tell you something that I know to be true,” the big man said to Persephone. “The Fhrey are deadly. They wear metal and have weapons that can cut through ours.”
“Like the way you cut through Sackett’s spear?”
The Dureyan didn’t respond and merely continued walking along the ridge, looking out at the trees. Talking to him was like fishing. Reglan had tried to teach Persephone. The goal was to get a hooked fish to a net, but if you pulled too hard, the fish would fight back, break the line, and get away. The process was one of give-and-take, letting the fish have time to realize the cause was lost before pulling it in. Persephone decided to skip the topic and let out more line.
“In ages past, during a great flood that threatened to kill our ancestors, a man named Gath united all the clans. He organized everyone in a common cause.”
“You’re speaking of the keenig,” the man said. “The one who wore a crown. The chieftain of chieftains.”
“Yes, and I believe we are facing another similar crisis, but if the clans unite under the leadership of another keenig…well, there are more of us than Fhrey in Rhulyn.”
“How would you know?” the big man asked.
“I told you. I was married to Chieftain Reglan. We visited all the dahls together. I’ve also gone to Alon Rhist for the yearly meetings. Alon Rhist is…” She hesitated, trying to think how to explain.
“Impressive beyond words,” Malcolm helped her.
She smiled and nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t see many Fhrey. I think there are only a few hundred.”
“She’s right,” Malcolm said. “I’d estimate the population at the Rhist to be about three or four hundred.”
Persephone was growing quite fond of Malcolm.
“We have nearly a thousand people in Dahl Rhen alone,” Persephone said. “And there’s twice that in the surrounding villages.”
“But how many men?” the Dureyan asked. “Not boys or the elderly.”
“Three fifty, maybe four hundred.”
“And how many are trained to use a spear and shield? And I’m not talking about hunting, either. Rarely do deer fight back, and bears don’t plan and fortify. How many of your men have more experience fighting than farming? Fifty? A hundred? Any? To win against the Fhrey, in order to be any use at all, a man would have to train for years. And where are they going to get their weapons?” He grabbed the spear from Malcolm. “These are useless against them. What you are talking about is impossible.”
“Maybe,” she said as if a veteran of a thousand battles. Everything she was about to say made sense in theory, but she guessed the man before her didn’t deal in theories. “Yet no one says it’s impossible for men to hunt large game like bears and big cats. A bear is far more powerful than a man, faster too. We win because we hunt in groups. What if ten men fought one Fhrey?
“And yes, there may only be a few hundred good fighters in Dahl Rhen, but there are close to two hundred villages in Rhen alone. And who knows how many more in Menahan, Melen, Tirre, and Warric. We’re talking thousands. And our women could fight, too. I know I could learn to hold a spear butted against a charge. We’d be fighting for our lives, and that’s a pretty good incentive, don’t you think?”
The big man frowned. “Women can’t fight.”
Persephone shrugged. She wanted to disagree, but that was an argument for another time. “Okay, but there are female Fhrey in Alon Rhist, too. So if our women can’t fight, neither can theirs. Is it impossible to think a thousand men can kill a hundred Fhrey? And how many do the Gula have? If we all band together, we could overwhelm them with sheer numbers.”
“Not likely to happen.” The man shook his hairy head. “The clans would never join together. They’re more likely to fight each other.”
She let out more line to her fish. “I see your point. It would take a man like Gath. Someone renowned, someone everyone would agree was the bravest, strongest warrior among them. Someone who all the chieftains could kneel to and not lose the respect of their people. It would take a hero.”
Time to set the hook.
“It would take someone who’d already proved himself by killing a Fhrey,” she said.
Persephone and Malcolm continued ahead but stopped a few steps later. The Dureyan had halted. “You want this Raithe person to be the keenig?” he said.