“Naffing?”
The boy shrugged. “My father used to say it a lot.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s what he used to do to my mother first thing after coming home from the High Spear, but I guess it means different things at different times because he used to say our sheep were lousy naffs, and Haden Woolman was a crazy naffer.” The boy paused, thought a moment. “Then again, maybe not.”
Raithe laughed; it felt good. Probably the last time. The kid continued to impress him. Not with his mastery of language, but the fact that he was dead-on about Udgar. How can a kid his age see so much? He has a real gift. Maybe he really could be a great warrior, assuming he lived long enough.
Raithe stood up, slamming his heels into place. He grabbed up his leigh mor and looked for the piss pot. “Where’s…” he started, when he saw Tesh leaning out the window so far that his feet were coming up off the floor. “What are you looking at?”
“You can see the docks from here. One of those Dherg ships is coming in.”
—
The Gula keenig had already arrived. Raithe spotted Udgar and his lieutenants in the courtyard. That’s where the fight would be held, a good enclosed space where spectators could sit up on the walls and watch. They weren’t scheduled to begin blows until midday, but already the parapets were filling. The big event had arrived.
This was the inevitable fate of all Dureyans, try as they might to avoid it. The Mynogan couldn’t be denied their blood. Unlike his father, who offered sacrifices before each fight, Raithe had little use for the Dureyan gods of war. Yet it seemed they had a use for him.
His death would have a grand audience, at least. How many could say that, unless they were the guest of honor at a hanging, beheading, or burning. A lot of people died in unremarkable ways, choking while eating, frozen on a hillside, or drowned in a river. When he and his father had crossed to the west, Raithe was certain he’d exit life because of a stupid accident. He would break his leg somewhere in the wilderness, and being alone, he’d slowly starve. Death by Udgar was better. Udgar was a professional. He’d make it quick.
Once again, Raithe recalled the words of his father, the worst that can happen is you’ll die. Might even be a step up. Everyone died. Raithe had already outlived his whole clan.
He hadn’t made a career out of killing like his father and brothers, but he wondered if this one battle would grant him entrance to Alysin. It sounded nice, but if that meant he’d spend eternity with the likes of his brothers, then Rel would be good enough. That’s where his mother and sister would be anyway. What kind of mess is the afterlife when vicious killers are rewarded through eternity for being cruel? His mother and sister were just as brave, just as courageous, and never vicious. They didn’t kill anyone, and for that, the pair were relegated to a lesser reward. Doesn’t make sense.
Since there didn’t seem any point in waiting until midday, Raithe walked out of the lodge. He intended to challenge Udgar right then, just to get it over with, but that was before the three women entered the gate.
—
Roan and Moya followed Persephone into the courtyard of the dahl, having come directly from the docks. She had instructed Brin, Suri, and the dwarfs to take Arion to Padera. Something important was obviously going on, the place was filled with people. All the chieftains were present and dressed in their finest. They sported torcs and fine leigh mors, assuring everyone of their importance. The Galantians clustered on the grass to the right of the gate, and around them remained an open space, an invisible barrier, as no one dared come too close.
Among the sea of faces gathering on the walls, she spotted Heath Coswall sitting next to Hanson Killian. They were with the Bakers and old Mathias Hagger. Their bare feet dangled, sawing back and forth like a giant centipede. Down on the ground near the empty feed bin, she saw Farmer Wedon with a hand on the shoulder of Shepherd Gelston, who looked confused and pale, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in months, but at least he was standing. Even Tressa was inside the walls; she stood alone. Gifford leaned on his crutch and Habet’s left shoulder. Persephone’s heart ached when she saw the bruises, but Padera had been right. Gifford could endure blows better than anyone.
At least they are all here, still alive, still safe.
Persephone spotted Raithe coming down the steps of the lodge. He had a huge grin on his face, and his eyes were wide with relief as he rushed toward her at a trot. He didn’t stop. He grabbed hold of her with both arms and lifted her off the ground.
“I missed you,” he whispered as he swung her in a circle. “I feared you’d never come back.” He pressed his cheek to hers, his black beard scratching her face, a feeling she didn’t mind in the least.
“Of course I was coming back!”
He let her slip down, and she struggled to plant her feet on dirt again. The welcome was appreciated, but she had work to do and needed to be taken seriously. Being flung in a circle like a new bride didn’t project the image she was trying to portray.
When he finally let go, she asked, “What’s going on? Has a keenig been chosen?”
“Not yet.” Raithe sounded giddy and kept staring at her with a big smile.
She sighed. “So you still won’t do it? You won’t lead us because we lack weapons?”
“Well, it’s complicated. You see—”
“Never mind, I have an announcement. I think you’ll want to hear this.” Persephone smiled. “Everyone! Listen to me!” she shouted to the crowd. “I am Persephone, of the House of Gath, chieftain of Clan Rhen.”
Persephone already had a sizable amount of attention after the dramatic embrace Raithe had given her. She spotted Tegan, Harkon, Lipit, Krugen, and Alward standing near one another by the well and focused on them. “Before I left, there was doubt about our success when facing the Fhrey. We had the numbers, but lacked proper weapons. The Fhrey’s swords and armor were considered too advanced.”
She turned. “Moya! Roan!”
The two rushed forward. Moya carried the bow, while Roan carried a blanketed bundle.
“I’ve traveled across the sea to the land of the Dherg, to the ancient city of Neith, and I’ve returned with hope for our future.”
The courtyard was silent except for the bustling of people shifting to see what was wrapped in the blanket. Taking the bundle, Persephone lifted the sword above her head. A communal gasp was followed by a deep silence. The morning sun glared off the mirrored blade. Persephone walked in a circle, displaying the weapon to wide eyes and gaping mouths. She ended her circle at the post where Raithe had embedded Shegon’s sword. The blade was still there, extending out like a tree branch.
Persephone pointed at the bronze blade. “This fine Fhrey sword was placed here by Raithe of Dureya, the God Killer. It’s capable of cleaving any of our weapons. It’s been argued that we stand no chance of fighting the Fhrey because they possess swords like this. Because their metal is so strong.”
She glanced at Roan. The woman stood with hands clasped before her. Persephone took a deep breath and said a quick prayer to Mari. Wielding the sword with both hands, she raised it high and with as much strength as she could summon swung it in a great overhead chopping motion. The shock jolted up her arms, nearly breaking her grip, but she hung on as the dwarf blade struck the Fhrey’s just above the hilt. She felt it give. When she looked up, only half of the bronze blade remained in the post. The handle lay in the dirt near Raithe’s feet.