"Chief of Animals," he said, "we have given our oath and we will keep it. But our young warriors—who can control the young, when the blood runs hot and passion rules? Are your young any different?"
"There will be attacks on humans, I know that," Garric said. "And I know also that you Coerli will hunt the attackers down yourselves and slay them, though they be the children of your own blood. You will do this because of your oath, and because the kingdom's vengeance will be absolute and implacable if you do not. Is it not so, Leader of the Coerli?"
The Corl spokesman had settled back on his rock after ordering Barog's slaughter. Now he looked first left, then right, meeting the eyes of his fellows in silence. At last he rose to his feet again.
"I am Elphas, the Chosen of the Elders!" he said. His voice cracked when he raised it to make himself heard over the uncomfortable whine of the crowd. "Does anyone challenge my right to speak?"
The whine grew louder, but no Corl dared put his dissatisfaction into words. Garric felt the hair on his neck and wrists rising instinctively at the sound.
"Then I say this, Leader of the Animals!" Elphas continued. "We do not fear your threats, but we will keep our oath because we are Coerli!"
"
Aren't they afraid, do you think?
" Carus mused. "
I think I was as brave as most men, but I didn't want to die
."
The chieftains at least would rather die than back down
, Garric decided after a moment's consideration.
But they're afraid of their clans and their whole race dying. They know that'll happen if they don't accept my terms
.
"Very well," he said aloud to the Coerli. "Send six of your clerks—"
The Corl word was closer to "counter" than "clerk" but the concept was the same. A city of ten thousand couldn't exist without some sort of administration, though the Coerli version was crude by the standards of a human village.
"—into my camp to meet with Lord Tadai—"
Garric paused. Tadai bowed. He'd heard his name though all the rest of Garric's oration was gibberish to him.
"—and the clerks under his direction. They will explain what the kingdom requires of the Coerli and will arrange delivery of the kingdom's gifts to its new Corl subjects."
He grinned. The catmen were more aware than humans of subtle shifts in expression and body language. By now all the Elders would understand the meaning of a smile. They weren't as good at making verbal connections as humans, however.
"For example," Garric said, making his point explicit, "they will determine how and where we should begin delivering hogs to you."
The sound of the assembled Coerli changed again, this time to a hopeful keening. It was just as unpleasant to a human's ears as the threatening growl.
Tadai already employed Coerli from keeps that'd surrendered earlier. They and the human clerks they worked with were trying desperately to learn one another's language, but at present only Garric could address and understand the catmen clearly. That was a last gift from a friend, an ageless crystalline Bird, in the instants before the Change; and it had come to Garric alone.
The Shepherd knew that bringing the catmen into the kingdom was going to be hugely difficult even with the best will on both sides. Garric didn't expect exceptional good will, knowing the Coerli and knowing men even better.
"
Aye, lad, but as scouts and skirmishers for the army
. . .," Carus said. The king's image set its fists on its hipbones and laughed openly. "
There've never been humans to match them for that. Maybe your Lady Tenoctris is right
."
"Coerli, you have heard my commands," Garric said. "There will be further decrees in coming days, not because of my whim but because they are necessary. Men and Coerli must stand together against the dangers that will otherwise destroy us all. Remember that!"
Garric poised to step down. He'd told the truth when he said he didn't think the catmen would attack him and his companions . . . but the sound and smell and sight of thousands of angry warriors pressed close would've made a rock uncomfortable.
"
Or a dead man
. . .," said the ghost of Carus, smiling in knowledge as well as humor.
"Leader of the Animals!" said the Elder to Garric's immediate left. His fur had originally been beige but age had sloughed much of it away; the skin beneath was the clammy white of a salamander in a deep cave. "I am Keeger. Elphas speaks for me and for all, because he is the Chosen—but may I ask you a question?"
"Speak, Keeger," Garric said, looking down at the Corl. Keeger hadn't risen, perhaps knowing that doing so would've further emphasized the bulk of the tall, armored human.
"You talk of right and the good of all," Keeger said. "But tell me, animal: do you dictate to the Coerli by any right save that which steel and fire give you?"
"
In a thousand years they might get enough discipline to face a human army with sticks and nets
," Carus said with a snort. "
Maybe in a thousand years; not less
."
Garric drew his long horseman's sword and held it high; the pattern-welded blade danced in the sun like a snake writhing. "Do you wish to bow to a conqueror rather than work with an ally, Keeger?" he said. "So be it! And Keeger?"
The ancient catman stared up at him, his lips drawn back.
"Never doubt that if the Coerli break their oath, they
will
have men for conquerors," Garric said. "But those conquerors will have no more mercy than the Coerli themselves would have. There will be nothing left of your keeps but ashes drifting over the bones of your dead!"
"
Garric and the Kingdom!
" Waldron shouted, drawing his own sword and holding it aloft.
"Garric and the Kingdom!" cried the Blood Eagles, clashing their spears against the bronze bosses of their shields. "Garric and the Kingdom!"
Garric stepped down. "Lord Attaper," he said, putting his lips close to the guard commander's ear flap. "March us out!"
The massed Coerli warriors stood in sullen silence, but no one objected as the human delegation stamped and splashed its way through the muck of the catmen's only city. Garric sheathed his sword as he stepped out of the Assembly Field, but the Blood Eagles continued to cheer and rattle their weapons all the way to the gate.
* * *
"Big fella, isn't he?" Karpos said, straightening and backing against a pilaster. He hadn't drawn his bow, but the broad point of his arrow was pointed at the spine of the man on the floor.
"Yes, he is," Ilna said tartly as she knelt beside the stranger. Though there was nothing overtly threatening in Karpos' tone, Ilna knew that a big man looking at another big man is always thinking about a fight. Her brother Cashel had generally been the biggest man in a gathering . . . .
The stranger groaned again. His face was turned slightly toward her; his moustache quivered as he breathed, and he had a short black beard as well. She'd guess he was about forty—old enough for a peasant, but this one hadn't been a peasant. His hair and nails were neatly trimmed, and his skin was smooth except for the scars—a cut above the right eye, a trough in the right forearm that could've been made either by a blade or a claw, and a puckering from a sharp point below the left shoulder blade.
A hard smile touched Ilna's mouth: this one was a warrior. She guessed that if she rolled him over, she'd find the mate to the pucker somewhere in his upper chest where the point'd gone in. Why he lay here naked and unconscious while the priests outside had died fighting the catmen was a question to ask as soon as the fellow could speak.
"Karpos, get some water," Ilna said. "I don't see any injury but there's something wrong with him."
"Asion!" Karpos shouted to his partner. "We found somebody! Fetch us water!"
Ilna frowned but didn't object. The hunters were her companions, not servants. Karpos was afraid to leave her alone with the stranger. His concern was misplaced, but it was a harmless mistake.
Ilna only wished that her own mistakes had all been so harmless. If she hadn't made a particularly bad mistake, she'd have a better reason to exist now than the hope of killing every catman in the world; though killing catmen seemed to be enough.
The floor of this temple was of simple stone flags instead of the designs in tile or mosaic that she'd seen elsewhere. The stranger brushed them with his palms, feeling for a purchase. His eyes remained closed.
"Here!" said Asion, striding swiftly out of the sunlight with a dripping mass in his left hand; the knife in his right pointed toward the ground, not a threat but assuredly ready for any trouble that arose. "I didn't see a gourd around so I soaked some cloth in the fountain."
"Off one of the bodies?" his partner said. "You're no better than a dog sometimes, you know, Asion?"
"Hey, I cut off the skirt," Asion said defensively. "There wasn't any blood on that part. Who's the guy?"
Ilna took the sodden linen from the hunter. She was more than a little inclined to agree with Karpos, but Asion had done what'd been requested. Since she hadn't told him what means to use, she had no right to complain about how he did it.
While she considered whether to daub the corner of the stranger's mouth or perhaps to mop his brow, he lifted his head slightly. His eyes opened, but only a slit. Bracing his arms, he raised his torso and brought his knees up under him.
Asion backed away, wiping his left hand on his rawhide breeches. He raised the knife to his waist with the point forward.
The stranger stood and opened his eyes. He glanced at the two hunters and smiled faintly. Then he looked at Ilna; the smile vanished. He'd risen smoothly, but his body swayed for an instant after he'd found his feet.
Ilna's face tightened in slight irritation. The man couldn't have been as old as she'd thought, not and carry so little fat. She'd mistaken the flaccidity of unconsciousness for softness. Now that he was alert, the flesh was molded tightly over his bones.
She handed him the wet cloth. "What's your name?" she asked.
She sounded peevish. She smiled a flash of self-awareness:
I spend most of my life in a state of slight irritation, punctuated by moments of extreme anger. It's as well that I don't like being around people, because I wouldn't be very good company
.
The stranger wiped his face, squeezing out runnels of water that splashed on the floor. When he'd finished with his face, he began to rub his shoulders and chest. The rag was by now merely damp.
He smiled at Ilna. "What is your name?" he said. His words were clear and audible, but his voice had the odd, echoing intonation of a gong speaking.
Ilna glared at him. "I'm Ilna os-Kenset," she said, because it was quicker to give an answer than to argue that that she'd asked him first. "What is
your
name?"
"And what're you doing in this temple?" Karpos said harshly. He'd backed two steps and now had drawn back his arrow enough to spread the bowstring into a flat V. Ilna suspected the hunter wasn't aware of what his fingers were doing. He was dangerously tense.
The stranger looked at Karpos and smiled again. It wasn't an ingratiating smile, simply one of amusement. He dropped the rag on the floor and stretched, raising his arms to their full height. His fingertips came impressively close to the crossbeams of ancient timber supporting the roof trusses.
"Answer me!" Karpos shouted, drawing the bowstring a little farther.
Turning to Ilna again, the stranger said, "My name is Temple?"
She thought she heard a question in the words, but the tone might have deceived her. She glared at Karpos. She'd taken the hank of cords out of her sleeve and was knotting them without paying conscious attention to what her fingers were doing.
"Karpos, put that bow down
now
," she said in a voice that could've broken rocks. "Put it down or I'll leave you here! You'll be no good to me."
Asion stepped between his friend and the stranger, murmuring reassuring words. Karpos let the arrow rotate parallel to the bow-staff, holding both with the fingers of his left hand alone. "What kind of name is Temple?" he shouted to the back wall.
"What is a name?" Temple said; softly, slowly. He still sounded amused, but he looked at the two hunters with a gentleness which Ilna hadn't expected.
Ilna grimaced and began picking out the knots from the pattern in her hands. "What happened here? Why were you spared when the catmen attacked?"
"Was I spared?" Temple said, looking down at his naked body. He was certainly big—as tall as Garric and even more muscular. Temple wasn't a broad plug of a man like Cashel, but he gave the same impression of tree-like solidity. Softly, barely whispering, he went on, "It's been a long time. Very long."
"Answer me!" Ilna said.
He met her angry gaze. "The Coerli didn't attack, Ilna," he said. "Others did. I do not know them, but it was the others."
Then, scarcely audible, "Very long."
"I didn't think it was the cats neither, mistress," Asion said in a tiny voice. He was staring at his right big toe as it drew circles on the stone floor.
Ilna spat out a short, bitter laugh. The cords in her hands gave her the power to kill or compel; she could drive Temple mad or make him say anything she wanted to hear.
And none of that was the least use to her now. She didn't know what it was she wanted, and she needed a better reason to kill than the fact she was—as usual—angry and frustrated.
"All right," Ilna said to the hunters. "There's no point in our staying here. There'll be food in the huts. We can milk the goats before we leave, too. I'd like a drink of milk."
"What about the bodies, mistress?" Karpos said quietly. "Do we leave them, or . . .?"
The dead were merely meat of a sort that other men didn't eat; they didn't matter. But—
"We'll put them in one of the huts and block the door with stones," she said after a moment to consider. The cold smile touched her lips again. "I suppose that makes it a mausoleum. The sort of thing rich people have . . . when they've become dead meat."