The third meeting began in the same chairs, and Persephone wondered if the servants put them in the same places each day, or just left them in the courtyard all night.
The gathering began with Tegan again. “I would like to open this meeting by nominating the obvious person for the task: myself.” He said this while arching his back and placing his palms on his chest in a noble, yet humble, gesture.
Persephone expected reactions of disapproval, but no one so much as coughed. The other chieftains sat patiently, listening.
“I am Tegan, chieftain of Clan Warric, son of Egan the Stone, son of Hagen, son of Gan. My bloodline traces back to Bran of Pines, Shield of Gath of Odeon, who slew Orr the one-eyed dragon on the Banks of Wailing. I have the blood of heroes in my veins. My lineage is undisputed. Warric is a great and fierce clan with hundreds of experienced spearmen.” He held out his own spear, a fine seasoned shaft with a beautiful jade point. “We mine the stone for these tips in our mountains, and my people are never wanting for meat.”
Tegan went on discussing the virtues of Clan Warric, and his own personal prowess in battle, bringing up a fight he’d won seven years earlier against a challenger in which he’d outsmarted the younger man, who was also bigger and faster. He talked for a long time before finally sitting down. He did so with a grin on his face, as if they would all cheer and agree that he should be the keenig.
They didn’t.
Instead, Harkon stood up and said, “Well said, Tegan. Your lineage and abilities are formidable indeed, and I think you might make a fine Shield when I am appointed keenig.” Harkon then went on to explain why he should be made leader of the clans and pointed out that he was descended from Melen himself, the founder of his clan, who was said to have been a giant who slew an army of goblins with the trunk of an oak tree.
Persephone wasn’t at all surprised when Krugen stood up next and also nominated himself. This was why no one had complained about Tegan. They each planned on doing the same, and they did. Next came Alward, who, oddly enough, given his recent appointment to chieftain, managed to trace his lineage back to a demigod hero who helped Rasra, the patron god of Clan Nadak, defeat the West Wind.
They took their turns while going around the circle, and when it was Lipit’s time, he took advantage of his role as council host to impress the others with a demonstration. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a cohort of several hundred men who entered the courtyard and surrounded the chairs. Each was tall and naked to the waist, lean muscles on display. They carried large wooden shields and fine spears. Their faces were painted with fierce streaks of white and red that made them look ferocious. Lipit raised his hand and the crowd of men clamored spears against shields and shouted, roaring at the sky. They stopped when he lowered his hand.
Then it was Persephone’s turn, but the eyes of the chieftains skipped over her and turned instead to Raithe.
Persephone stood up.
This incited strange looks. For an instant, she considered nominating herself just to watch their faces, and to see if they would extend her the same courtesy they had provided one another. But unlike the rest, Persephone wasn’t there for political gain. She didn’t want to be keenig. She wanted to win the war.
“I nominate for keenig…Raithe of Dureya.” She said it simply, without drama, and didn’t bother to explain who his father or grandfather was, or what great ancestor he might have had. She merely pointed at him. “He knows how to kill them. He’s the only one who has proven he can. No one else can claim that. And that’s what we really need. His clan is gone, and he doesn’t have any existing treaties or alliances that would incite jealousy. As such, he can be fair and impartial. But most important, while each of you might be descendants of heroes and legends, he is one.”
She sat back down, folding her hands on her lap and waited.
They all looked at Raithe again. Unlike with the other nominations, she saw surprise and even a degree of affirmation in their eyes. Krugen and Alward—whether they knew it or not—were nodding.
“While I appreciate Persephone’s vote of confidence, there’s only one problem,” Raithe told them. “I refuse to be keenig.”
The chieftains looked puzzled.
“What do you mean?” Lipit asked.
Harkon said, “Being keenig is the greatest honor a man could have. It comes with absolute power. Your word will be law in all the clans.”
“Don’t want that,” Raithe said.
“I thought you desired to build something,” Persephone said. “Here’s your chance to build a nation.”
“Wars don’t build anything.”
“You know you’re the only one for this task,” she said. “You are the God Killer, and that doesn’t just mean that you killed a Fhrey. You killed the very idea that they are gods. You’ve already won that first great battle all by yourself. Just by existing, you give the rest of us hope. Hope that we can survive, that we really can win this war. Who else can claim that?”
“That’s why I won’t do it.” Raithe ran a hand over his face. His sight focused on the dirty patch at the center of the ring. “I refuse to give false hope. I won’t be the one everyone blames when we fail.”
“Fail?” Tegan stared. “Are you saying you don’t think we can win?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He looked squarely at him. “At Dahl Rhen, if it hadn’t been giants, if it had been Fhrey, Nyphron and his Galantians wouldn’t have stopped them. They don’t fight their own kind.”
“But Nyphron can teach us to—” Persephone began.
“Teach us what?” Raithe pulled the broken copper and held it up. “This was my father’s sword. A metal weapon, envied by every Dureyan warrior. Yet when I fought Shegon, he cut through it as if I held a dead twig. Yes, I killed Shegon. I killed a Fhrey, but I did so while he lay unconscious, knocked out by Malcolm, who’d hit him from behind with a rock.” He paused to let this sink in. “You’re right. I’m the only one to kill a god, and I only managed it while he was lying unconscious on the ground.”
“And Gryndal?” she challenged. “He was a Miralyith, master of the Art. And you killed him as well. He wasn’t unconscious.”
“And do you think I could have defeated him if I didn’t have Shegon’s sword? Or Arion’s help? When the Fhrey didn’t consider us a threat, we could get close, but that advantage is gone. They will be on their guard and won’t underestimate us now.”
Persephone’s eyes shifted while she thought. “You also battled Nyphron at Dahl Rhen’s gate. You fought him sword-to-sword and won. So I think you are understating your abilities.”
He nodded his agreement. “Yes, we did fight, sword-to-sword. I used Shegon’s and would have died without it. What weapons will the men in our army wield? Will stone spears prevail against the Fhrey’s bronze swords?” Raithe got up. He drew Shegon’s blade and advanced toward Lipit. Two of the soldiers stepped forward to intercept. Raithe sliced the heads off both spears.
The men fell back. Others rushed forward, but Raithe turned and strode to the middle of the courtyard, to the thick wooden post that held up the courtyard’s central brazier. He swung down, cleaving into the grain so that the blade wedged deep. He left the sword and turned back to the circle of chairs.