“Perhaps I could lend clarity,” said Nyphron. “May I say something?” He stepped out from behind Persephone’s chair and into the center of the ring. No one moved or replied. The Galantian’s long golden hair flowed off his shoulders. His face, unblemished and unscarred, was the perfect canvas for his dazzling blue eyes. The morning light enhanced the yellow metal of his armor.
Nyphron didn’t wait for the permission he’d requested. “I am Nyphron, leader of the Instarya tribe, commander of the famed Galantians, and the legitimate lord of Alon Rhist. I’ll bear witness to what Lady Persephone asserts. A single death didn’t launch this curse upon your people. Shegon’s death was an excuse. The Fhrey have long planned to remove the Rhunes from Elan, and now their campaign has begun.”
As he spoke, he rotated slowly and made eye contact with each chieftain. “Our fane has decreed that your kind has grown too numerous. Your very numbers are seen as a threat. Your success upon this land, your mere existence, is the cause of your doom. The fane fears a growing horde of Rhunes as numerous as the stars, and he wants you gone. All of you.”
He paused, but remained in the center of the circle.
“If that is true,” Tegan was the first to find his voice, although not the same as he used before. It lacked the loud, brassy bellow it once had. “Then why is the lord of Alon Rhist here? Do you come to parley our surrender?”
“You are Tegan, chieftain of Clan Warric? Your people are great traders of jade from the eastern hills of Galesh along the western banks of the Galeannon River. I’ve heard your people are great drinkers and speakers, but I wasn’t aware that Clan Warric also possessed such wisdom, for that is a very good question.” Nyphron paused, making them wait, making them wonder if he would answer at all. “While I am the true lord of the Rhist, sadly the rest of my people, including the fane, don’t see it that way. I was cast out for refusing to butcher Rhune women and children. I wasn’t able to stop the slaughter of Dureya and Nadak by my brothers-in-arms, but my band and I reached Rhen in time to prevent its total destruction. We defended that dahl first against my own people, and then against a band of Grenmorian giants.”
The word giant was passed around in hushed whispers.
“I stand before you this day to confirm that war with my kin is upon you. I am forbidden by my god, Ferrol, to slay another Fhrey, so I cannot fight this war for you. This is a battle you must win for yourselves, but you do not have to do so alone.”
“Men can’t fight gods,” Lipit said, looking horrified at the very suggestion.
“Why not?” Nyphron asked.
“They’ll strike us dead.”
“If you don’t fight, they’ll kill you anyway.”
“But…” Lipit couldn’t hold Nyphron’s stare, and he faltered. “Men can’t kill gods.”
“This man here”—Nyphron pointed at Raithe—“is the God Killer. He has killed two of my people, one of whom was so powerful he called lightning from the sky and rent the earth with powerful magic. That Fhrey, Gryndal, was one of the most powerful Miralyith of our kind. To you he would truly seem godlike…and yet a Rhune…this one…ended him.”
Once again, Nyphron rotated, rocking from foot to foot, and this time he lifted his gaze to include those who were gathered behind the chairs, and his voice rose to address the whole courtyard. “You will fight. There is no choice in that regard. Your only other option is death…the death of Rhunes everywhere. You can fight separately and die alone, or join together and use your vast numbers. You can become the very thing the fane fears. I will teach you how to win against my people—I will show you how to prevail.
“You need to appoint a single leader,” he went on. “I know your custom is to choose the largest and strongest, the warrior most capable to command your people in battle. But don’t limit your thinking so foolishly. This war will not be won by virtue of one man’s ax, spear, or courage on the field. What if he falls in battle? The clans could break, the alliance falter…and you can’t afford to lose this war. There will be no second chance, no truce possible, no peace. You must select a person capable of leadership, a person who isn’t mired in the petty bickering that might divide you through past grievances. This person does not need to take the field with you, nor do they need to be capable of fighting your enemy with blows. The person you should appoint should be a symbol of unity who can lead with intelligence, wisdom, and strategy. Look for someone above the squabbles. Someone you can put your faith in. Someone you won’t doubt. Someone who can win this war for you.”
Nyphron stopped rotating and stood before them, waiting.
No one spoke.
He glanced at each of them. When he looked at Persephone, she saw impatience in his eyes.
Overhead, gulls cried. Near the lodge a door creaked on a weak hinge.
The Fhrey sighed, and disappointment replaced impatience. Nyphron clapped his hands against his sides. “May all the gods that be, lend you wisdom in your decision.”
With that, Nyphron walked away.
—
The first clan meeting in several hundred years had adjourned for the day after Nyphron’s speech, in order for the chieftains to confer with their advisers and reflect on what had been said.
The next morning, they met again, each sitting in the same chair. Tegan started things off with his own speech. His tone was less pompous, less arrogant. This time he spoke about the necessity of fighting the enemy. Reglan had always thought Tegan was the smartest of the chieftains, and Persephone saw evidence of this in how he avoided the words Fhrey and god.
After him, Harkon spoke, saying much the same, but adding that uniting the clans was essential. Krugen repeated the others’ words and included the suggestion of creating a list of candidates for the position of keenig. This was agreed upon, and the second clan meeting ended to allow the chieftains to confer with their advisers as to the names that would be offered.
Persephone considered going to Raithe. He and Malcolm had made their camp with Bergin, his daughter, Myrtis, and Filson the Lamp. Except for the meetings, she hadn’t seen him since that evening on the beach, probably a good thing. It was easy for her to forget just how young he was. She’d been unfair. Persephone had spent decades immersed in leadership. She was used to looking out for her clan. But Raithe didn’t yet know what it was like to feel responsibility for others. He hadn’t even been a father.
She liked Raithe, respected him, but he wanted more from her than she could give. In her heart, she was still married to Reglan. The memory of her husband had been tarnished by his betrayal and cowardice, but he was still a part of her. She continued to meet him in her dreams, and she was reminded of his devotion each time she fastened her bracken mor with the copper brooch he’d given her. Persephone could still recall the sound of his voice, the smell of his hair. In some small way he was still alive—just away somewhere—and she couldn’t imagine being with another man. The very idea was ridiculous, but Raithe didn’t see it that way. Men viewed the world differently, especially young men. Perhaps it was better that she kept her distance, for his sake as well as hers. What she had to say could be said in the next council meeting.
—