The Ambassador

Garion sat in his laboratory, cudgeling his brain. This report of the Drasnian Intelligence was very interesting, but here was Riva. He simply didn't have enough qualified people.
The door opened noiselessly. It was Geran, of course.
"Father, I had a dream."
"Oh no, not again," Garion groaned.
Geran laughed. "Not one of those dreams, father. It was Eriond. He told me to go to Morindland. He didn't bother to explain any details, but it seemed to be important."
A few dozen things clicked together in Garion's mind.
"Yes, we need an ambassador there. One of their chiefs seems to have gained leadership. Somehow several tribes lost their magicians. He submitted to Eriond to get his protection from the demons of their neighbors. Some of the chiefs followed him, others hesitate. If we established an official relationship, this would probably increase his weight in this game. Maybe more tribes would join him."
"This definitely makes sense. You are the Godslayer and Overlord of the West. I think it makes a difference to have a diplomatic relationship with us."
"But you've never been in Morindland before. It won't be easy."
Garion remembered his journey throughout this country. He wasn't alone, then. Belgarath and Silk accompanied him, and both seemed to know the customs there. And Silk was in Riva right now. Eriond could be rather obvious sometimes.
"You should ask Silk. He knows the Morindim. But read this report first."
Geran studied the document thoroughly. It was a more detailed account of what his father had told him about the latest events in Morindland.
"Ten magicians died within a few weeks, and only one of them was killed by the demon he raised. All others were found with their hearts cut out," Geran read aloud. "In three cases, a black-hooded woman was seen shortly before or after the magician was killed. She was described as an Angarak of uncommon beauty."
"I'm sure you have the same idea as I - this could be only Ka," Garion said.
"It's something she would do," Geran agreed. "But she can't kill all magicians. And even if she could - the Morindim without magicians convert to Eriond. I can't imagine why she would want that."
"It might be an unwanted side-effect. She hates demons," Garion remembered.
"Maybe you're right, father. I don't think Eriond will be happy about such help - not with such methods."
"It works, though," Garion objected. "And he wants you to go there to take advantage of the situation. Did he say when you are supposed to go?"
"As I understood - immediately. We still don't know how much time we have left, and we don't want to lose it."
Garion wasn't happy about that, and he was sure Ce'Nedra wouldn't like it, too. It was only two years after Geran returned from the Vale.
"And how long are you supposed to stay there?"
"He didn't tell me. I'll stay in contact with you - we'll decide this later."
"As an ambassador, you'll need some official document, and an escort."
Geran seemed amused. "Are you sure the Morindim can read? I'll have Riva's sword. It sort of documents who I am. And an escort would only slow me down. I asked Wolf to come along."
"Maybe you're right. It's against all traditions, of course. On the other hand, there is no tradition of a Rivan ambassy in Morindland."
"I'll ask Silk now to tell me more about the Morindim."

Silk looked at Geran incredulously. "A Rivan ambassador in Morindland? I'd never thought that something like this would ever happen. It seems I'm getting old."
He was getting old, indeed. His hair was grey, and there were lots of wrinkles in his face. However, his mind was still quick, and Geran wouldn't say that he was already sixty-seven.
"We don't know very much about them," Silk said. "They used to dislike strangers, probably because the Karandese merchants swindled them, and the Nadraks stole their gold. Many of the spies we sent up there didn't return. It seems that Erionds gentle missionars have changed this a bit, even though I didn't hear about conversions until recently. Your pretty Grolim did a nice job, even though I don't understand why she helps Eriond."
"Hardly this was intended; she plays her own game. Why did you call her mine?"
Silk grinned. "You saved her life, didn't you? I saw the neat scar around Garion's wrist, and asked him about it. He told me the whole story - reluctantly."
"Let's return to the Morindim, Silk. You must have at least some information - you were there."
"Yes, but most of it is of no use for you. You don't have to disguise as a Morind. I didn't live with them. When I was there, the men were under the control of the magicians. They didn't seem sane to me. By the way, our word 'clan-chief' is a misconception for Morindland. You shouldn't use it there, they would laugh. The Morindim are more primitive, they define their clan by their mother. A male clan-chief would be an absurdity for them."
"But they have male leaders, Silk."
"Yes, but they are responsible only for things concerning males - hunt and war. They call them war-chiefs. Until recently, the real power over all men lay in the hands of the magicians. The converted tribes lost their magicians, and this obviously increased the weight of those war-chiefs. The clans are ruled by the Mothers. The women seem to be more reasonable; they follow the Path of the Moon."
"What does that mean?"
"I have no clue. Men are not supposed to know that."
"Are you trying to say that you never sent a female spy there to find out? The curiousity of the Drasnian Intelligence is legendary."
"Of course we did. But she didn't return."
"The Morindim killed her?"
"That's what we thought at first. We don't like it when our spies are killed. I went up there myself to take steps - and I met her. As it turned out, she liked her life there and decided to stay. She told me that it's a very hard life, but very free. She didn't want to return home to Northern Drasnia, where it's almost as cold in winter anyway."
"And you didn't ask her about that Path of the Moon?"
Silk shrugged. "Of course, I did. She answered that men are not supposed to know that."
Geran sighed. "You're a lot of help, you know."
Silk laughed. "You will be there as an ambassador, as a guest. They will explain their customs to you, if you ask - at least those concerning men. Just one warning, Geran - respect their customs. Some may seem strange to you, but it's not a good idea to show that. The Morindim can get very nasty if you do. But I'm sure you will do just fine. Trust me!"
Geran was certain that this would be a mistake. However, there wasn't much he could do. He simply didn't have the time to seek out one of Erionds missionars and to ask about more details.

One month later, the two wolves reached the plain of Morindland. Geran had a few dreams specifying the direction in which they had to go. And now he recognized the place he saw in his first dream - a fairly large area covered with tents. As three thousand years ago, several tribes had gathered again. This time they were under the protection of Eriond.
"One suggests that you should stay out of their sight," Geran said.
"One is not interested in the affairs of those man-things," Wolf agreed.
Geran blurred into his own form. Then he went toward the tents. When he came closer, some Morindim noticed him. They had their bows ready. Geran stopped. He took out his sword and greeted them. The sword burst out in a bright blue flame. There was only one such sword in the world, and Geran was positive that the Morindim knew about this by now. When he put his sword back into the sheath, the Morindim put away their bows. Geran continued his approach.
"I'm Prince Geran. My father is Belgarion, King of Riva and Overlord of the West - the Godslayer," Geran introduced himself. "I come here as the Rivan Ambassador. I'm looking for a war-chief named Edensaw."
The Morindim greeted him respectfully. "Welcome, Prince Geran. The priest of Eriond told us that you would arrive today. Edensaw is waiting for you already. We'll lead the way."

Edensaw's tent wasn't much different from the others, just slightly larger. One of the Morindim went in, and then Edensaw came out to greet him. He was accompanied by a girl.
"Welcome in Morindland, Prince Geran! We are honored by your presence. I'm Edensaw, and this is my daughter Ainoukh," the Morind said warmly.
Silk's words about not very sane Morindim certainly didn't mean this man. His eyes showed intelligence. Of course, he looked uncommon, as all Morindim. It wasn't so much the clothes. The Morindim were hunters, and it was only natural that they wore leather. It was far less natural that tattoos covered all of their faces and made them more similar to hideous masks. Geran thanked the Gods that the designs were different - he'd have had difficulties to tell them apart otherwise.
However, the chief had more feathers in his hear than the others. His clothes seemed to be of another sort of leather and showed some colored ornaments. He wasn't exactly fat, but he was working on it.
"I'll call together the other chiefs now, and we will talk and eat," Edensaw said. "Ainoukh can show you where you'll live during your stay here. I'd be glad to have you as a guest in my house. But probably you'll prefer to have your own home, so that you can invite guests yourself."
Geran definitely liked the idea. He wouldn't feel comfortable living in the house of another man for a long time.
"That's very generous, I'm grateful," he thanked Edensaw with a polite bow.
"Come with me, Prince Geran," Ainoukh invited him, "I'll show you the way."
Only now he looked closer at her. One couldn't call her pretty - she was too different from the girls of all races he knew. Her black hair was plaited in many thin braids. Her skin was darker than that of Tolnedrans. The tattoos were clearly visible, though - they were inky black. They didn't cover all of her face. There were just three symbols on the left side of her forehead. The look of her narrow brown eyes was very open. She seemed to be curious about this tall red-blond stranger.
"I hope you had a pleasant journey, Prince Geran. It's a very long way, I've been told. Probably, you had to leave your horse in Drasnia. They don't like the food they find here."
"I didn't come by horse at all, Ainoukh."
"You walked the whole way up here? That certainly took several moons, Prince Geran."
"One moon, actually. Please, do me a favor, Ainoukh - drop that 'prince'. I'm here to speak for the Rivans, not for me," Geran asked her.
"I'm glad you said that, Geran. We don't have kings or princes or princesses here. I was afraid I'd forget that 'prince' some day, and you'd be offended," she answered smiling. Geran liked her smile.
Then she remembered what he had said before, and her eyes grew wide.
"One moon?! That's impossible, Geran! No man can run that fast. You'd have trouble getting here from Drasnia that fast, and I was told Riva is much farther."
Geran sighed. He didn't want to beat the Morindim over the head with it from the very beginning, but now he had to. He didn't want her thinking that he was a liar.
"I didn't run as a man, Ainoukh. I took the form of a wolf, as I usually do travelling over land in the North. I'm a sorcerer, like my father. The God Aldur taught me how to use this talent properly. He's a very good teacher."
Ainoukh looked at him with awe. This was a very strange young man. His father had killed a God, his teacher was another God, and the priest of Eriond had told her that Geran was a friend of the new God. He could turn to a wolf - and he didn't want to be called 'prince'.
They had arrived at a tent standing somewhat apart from the others. It was made of the hides of musk-oxen as all the others, though.
"This will be your home, Geran,' Ainoukh said.
He looked inside. There wasn't any furniture - only heaps of hides to sit or sleep on them. It would do, of course.
"Do you need some rest now after your journey?" she asked.
"No, I'm not very tired," Geran answered. He didn't want her to go away yet.
"We from the South don't know much about the Morindim. I'm here to learn about your life and your customs." He looked around critically. "Do you live in those tents even in winter?"
Ainoukh laughed. Then she apologized. "Sorry, Geran, I didn't want to offend you. You haven't seen a winter up here, I take it. It's very cold, and it's dark. You'll never be able to fully understand our life without having seen that. We can't live in tents in winter. We build huts of snow, when we are longer in one place. We call them iglu.
"Aren't they very cold?"
"Snow isn't nearly as cold as the air outside. We use hides to keep our warmth away from the snow walls. You could say we have the tents inside the iglus. It's warm there, believe me," Ainoukh explained.
Geran looked at the tattoos on her forehead. "Are those pictures painted on your skin?"
Ainoukh laughed again. "I should not laugh, I know. But it's funny to hear a question that every child here could answer. You are not from here, you can't know. I'll try to avoid laughing."
"Please, don't, Ainoukh. I like your laugh, it sounds like silver," Geran said.
How nice he was to say that, Ainoukh thought. She knew approximately what silver was, but she hadn't seen many metallic objects in her life.
"These pictures aren't just painted, Geran. It would wear off immediately, I couldn't even wash my face. It's more complicated. You must paint it not on, but under the skin - with needles."
"Isn't that painful?" Geran wondered.
"It's unpleasant, yes. But it's worth to suffer a bit to be more beautiful. It is beautiful, right?" she asked. To his own surprise, Geran agreed. It was some sort of ornament, although it was unusual to his eyes at first.
"Yes, it looks good. Does it have a meaning? It resembles the signs in some old Ulgo books - signs standing for whole words."
"No, not in this sense, I guess. I've seen books, and the priest of Eriond tries to teach some boys how to read and write. These symbols bring luck, health and such things - that's their meaning. And this one means that I'll be a very good wife." She pointed at one of the symbols.
Geran decided not to comment on that - he didn't know the customs, and he felt on slippy ground here. He returned to another remark of hers.
"You mentioned washing. I'd like to wash after that journey. Some people in the South think that the Morindim don't wash at all - but I didn't believe that," he hurried to add.
"It's partially true, Geran. We can't wash in winter. Only a child would ipagak, and we'd chide it, of course," Ainoukh answered seriously.
Geran didn't understand. "Ipagak? I've never heard such a word. What does it mean?"
Ainoukh looked baffled. "How to explain with other words... play around with water when it's freezing. There are lots of streams here, and they aren't frozen in the beginning of winter. It's very dangerous."
"I don't know - I've got wet in winter sometimes," Geran answered dubiously.
"That was your winter, Geran, don't try that here - you'd die. Water is your enemy in the cold. It draws the warmth out of your body, and you'll freeze in a few moments," she warned him very seriously.
"But we bathe a lot in summer. I like it to swim, it's fun. I'll show you where we can bathe, it's near. Let's take these hides to dry off after," she proposed.
Geran was a little confused. We? She seemed determined to bathe with him.
Ainoukh misunderstood his confusion. "Don't worry, father won't call us very soon. The preparations for those gatherings of war-chiefs always take forever."
While they went to the river, Ainoukh found it funny to expand on that.
"Men talk a lot. They can't do anything without extended discussion. They speak for hours about their dreams. Sometimes I wonder how they get anything done. After a hunt, they always make a big gathering. There, they hunt another time, with words. This second hunt takes twice the time of the first one. And the animals are twice as large than the ones they brought." She laughed. Then she realized that she was speaking to a man. "I mean the Morindim men, of course," she hastened to explain.
Now Geran laughed. "Are you sure? I noticed this custom of hunters in other parts of the world, too. It's typical for humans. A wolf wouldn't speak about a hunt that's over."
Ainoukh didn't know what to answer. She found it confusing that Geran could see things from another, non-human perspective.

They had reached the stream.
"Here we can bathe. It's deep enough, and the drift isn't too swift in this place," Ainoukh said. She pulled off her leather clothes.
Geran looked at her in surprise. Obviously, this was not Sendaria. Of course, people looked at those things simpler in Algaria and Tolnedra, too. And if it was the custom here - he remembered Silk's advice. Of course, he had to take off his sword first. It was safe to leave it on the beach for a short time - nobody could take it, anyway. A warning was in place, though.
"Never touch my sword or the Orb, Ainoukh. It can burn you, as it burned Torak."
"It's that sword," Ainoukh whispered.
"Why don't we bathe?" Geran didn't want to boast. He pulled off his clothes, too.
"The water probably is a little cold. It comes from the mountains," Ainoukh warned him.
This turned out a gross understatement. But after a while, he got used to the icy water. It was a pleasure to swim. He noticed that Ainoukh swam very good - probably better than he did. She wasn't nearly as slender as his mother or his sisters, but she slid through the water like an otter. Of course, Geran could take the form of a real otter, but this would be mere showing off. He didn't swim very fast in his own form because he did it only for fun, as now - and there was no need to hurry. Ainoukh seemed to enjoy it that she swam faster, she laughed a lot. And Geran really liked her laugh.
After the bathe, Geran hurried to dry off and to pull back on his clothes. He did it not only because the water really had been very cold. The curious look of her brown eyes didn't make him feel comfortable.
Ainoukh didn't hurry. He saw that she had other tattoos on her body. The turtle on her right shoulder probably indicated that she belonged to the turtle clan. But the strange symbol on her belly...
"This one can't be an ornament," he pointed at it, "It's normally not visible."
Ainoukh smiled. "The man whom I'll choose will see it rather often," she objected. "It has a meaning, but I can't explain it - it's taboo for men."
"Sorry, I didn't know that," he apologized.
"It's not forbidden to ask - you just aren't supposed to know that."
When Ainoukh had dressed, she looked curiously at the Orb again.
"It looks like an ordinary stone. But I've heard that the Angaraks call it Cthrag Yaska - the burning stone. And you told me it burned Torak. But I can't see any burning."
"It burns when it gets excited - from joy or anger," Geran answered.
"It can feel such things?" Ainoukh asked incredulously.
"Yes, it's rather intelligent - for a stone. It can be a good friend, but it is a little simple.
"It must be a man, then," Ainoukh teased him.
Geran laughed. "Thank you very much. No, it's more like a child. But it likes my father and me, and if we take the sword, the whole blade is like a blue flame. The men who met me saw it."
"Yes, they told father about it. But it's probably more fun to see it than to hear about it. Can you show me, please?" she asked him.
Geran decided that it wouldn't be exactly boasting after she asked. He was wrong there. The Orb seemed to understand that this was going to be a demonstration. It wanted to be helpful. The flame was almost as high as a medium size tree. Ainoukh was impressed.
"It exaggerates a bit sometimes," Geran excused it.
"Are you sure it isn't male, Geran?" Ainoukh giggled.

When they returned to his tent, Ainoukh apologized that she had to leave.
"I'll have to look when this meeting will be," she said.
"I'm growing hungry, indeed," Geran admitted.
"Oh, the food is probably ready. Women can work with their hands while they are chatting. Only men seem to have problems with it," Ainoukh declared.
Geran smiled. He had heard such remarks in other countries already.
"I'll miss you," he said, "it was nice to talk with you."
"Oh, I'll be present during your gathering," she answered.
"I thought there were taboos for women, too," Geran wondered.
"Of course there are," Ainoukh replied. "But I don't suppose you'll talk about hunt or war - then I'd had to leave, naturally. I won't be there to speak much, but to listen. Your mission here is important for the whole tribe. It's not appropriate for the Mothers to participate in a meeting of war-chiefs, of course. I'm Edensaw's daughter, that's different."
Geran couldn't follow that, but he hoped to understand it later. He was prepared for a long waiting time, even though he didn't like the notion. Geran really wanted to eat now. Fortunately, he was wrong. After a short while, two men called him.
"Edensaw and the other war-chiefs are awaiting you, Prince Geran."
This time, Geran was not distracted by talking or listening when they went through the camp. He saw many pregnant women - maybe even more, than in Cherek. However, there were far less children, and only a few adolescents. Most Morindim he met looked at him with undisguised curiousity. This wasn't surprising - he was very different from them.

When Geran entered Edensaws tent, the war-chiefs were waiting for him standing. Edensaw introduced them to him, but he had difficulties to memorize their names. Then Edensaw invited them to sit down. Ainoukh and some other women brought the food - a very large plate with meat, some bowls with berries and roots. Of course, they put some vessels with beverages between the men, too. Geran had already noticed goblets. Some of them were earthen, others were carved out of bone, as it seemed.
Ainoukh sat down beside her father, the other women left the tent.
The liquid that was poured into Geran's goblet first he knew from smell and color. "Othlass?" he asked in surprise.
"Yes, it's Othlass. The Nadraks bring it up here, and we pay for it with otter skins," Edensaw answered proudly. "It's rather costly."
Geran could imagine that. Without any doubt, the Nadraks swindled them outrageously.
"May our meeting bring forth wisdom," Edensaw said, and they drank to that.
Then, Edensaw took the best piece of meat from the plate, and obviously intended to put it into Geran's mouth. This was so unanticipated that Geran choked back.
Edensaw looked hurt.
Ainoukh saved the situation. "Geran can't know this custom, father. He's a stranger, I'm sure he didn't want to offend you. Allow me to explain it to him." She sat down beside Geran. "You're the most honorable guest here. The custom of feeding you shows our respect. If a guest rejects that, it means that he doesn't need our respect - if a Morind did that, it would start a war."
Geran swallowed hard. "Sorry, Edensaw, I really didn't know that." Now he remembered Silk's advice again.
"I can take care of it as well, I'm your daughter," Ainoukh told her father. She took the meat out of his hand, and Geran opened his mouth obediently. This promised to be a very peculiar meal. However, he felt better when Ainoukh fed him, because he knew her already.
She didn't help him drinking, fortunately. However, as soon as he looked at an empty cup in front of him, she poured some other beverage. Geran felt obligued to taste it. It was sourly and prickling, and he rather liked this drink. It seemed to be only mildly alcoholic, about as ale. Ainoukh understood the mute question in his eyes. "It's called 'pia'," she told him silently.
"It's a very old custom," Edensaw said chewing. He didn't seem to mind that the duty of feeding Geran had passed to his daughter. He ate very much.
"The custom is really very old. Long ago, the Morindim even chewed the food for their dearest guest. But this older form fell into disuse already before the burning of Etchquaw," Ainoukh added, while she put another piece of meat into Geran's mouth.
Geran tried not to imagine that. The meat was good, and he was hungry. But he definitely preferred to chew it himself.
"These old customs could revive," one of the chiefs said thoughtfully. "The Morindim didn't have honored guests for a long time. Now this is likely to change, because we'll have much more peaceful contacts with our neighbors."
Geran began to sweat. "Please, have in mind that I'm only an ambassador, esteemed Holata," Geran hastened to say. He was glad that he remembered the name. "I speak here for my king, who happens to be my father, and for my God, who happens to be my friend, but I'm of no particular moment myself."
"If your God were our guest, he'd deserve the honor without any doubt," Edensaw remarked.
"Gods don't eat," Geran assured him. Porridge certainly didn't count, and you don't have to chew it very much, after all.
"Your father, however, is the Godslayer, and I don't think we could deny him the honor, when he visits us," Holata said.
Geran was almost positive that his father would be too busy for a visit during the next few centuries.
"Is it really a good idea to revive half-forgotten customs?" he asked. "They exist for a reason, and they die for a reason. The meeting of our cultures is an important event. But should it change our traditions? They reflect our different ways of life, which are not likely to change very much."
Ainoukh was astonished. The Mothers would be glad to hear these words.
"It is a big change that we don't worship demons any more," Holata objected. "Our traditions were guaranteed by the fear of demons. They would have punished everybody who violates our laws."
"Did this happen often?" Geran asked.
"It never happens," Edensaw answered. "It's sufficient for people to know that it would happen - and they obey. Holata raised an important point, I think. Will people continue to obey our laws? Your Eriond doesn't seem to be fearsome."
"He dislikes violence, that's true," Geran admitted. "But he can be very firm if he has to. Have you ever met him?"
"Not personally, no. Some of my people have seen him when he sent back a demon threatening us," Holata said. "They told me that he must have great power, but he is very friendly. Nobody will fear him."
Geran realized that there seemed to be a problem here.
After a short moment of reflection, Geran decided to contact Eriond. This mission was important, as he understood it, and he hoped that Eriond wouldn't be too busy. Of course, he sent out his thought very cautiously.
Eriond replied instantly. "I can see the problem. I think it's better if I speak to them myself. Please, warn them before that you'll call me - you know why."
Geran could feel Eriond's embarassment. They both didn't like those little games, but they knew that it was necessary sometimes.
"I think that my God can explain this to you more convincingly," Geran said. "I'll call him now." He rose to his feet.
"You can do that?" Edensaw asked. "Are you a priest of Eriond?"
"I'm not a priest, I'm a friend of Eriond," Geran corrected him. Then he concentrated and said simply "Eriond, I need you!" His voice wasn't loud, but the men didn't doubt that it reached very far. The God appeared immediately. His presence filled the tent. There was no doubt that this was not just a young man. He looked very serious this time, almost stern. The men stumbled to their feet. Ainoukh stood up slowly, too.
Eriond greeted Geran only with a nod. Then he looked at every one of them. They all understood immediately that these blue eyes looked very deep inside them. There was no chance to hide anything. Eventually, Eriond turned to Holata. "You asked an important question, Holata. I don't wish to change your customs - except one. You don't worship demons any more. They are too dangerous for my world. You don't lose anything - you know that they don't love you. Instead, they hate the will that enslaves them. I propose love and protection to you. This extends to your customs and laws as well. I know that some important ceremonies included calling a demon as a witness. Call me instead in those cases. My priests know how to do that. And if somebody thinks he can violate your rules now, call me, too. I'll speak to him. Do you suppose I'd be able to get his attention, Holata?"
Holata nodded. He didn't trust his voice, and he trembled visibly. Eriond's voice had been very soft, but they were told later that it was audible in the whole camp.
Geran didn't think that Eriond exaggerated here. The God offered protection, and it wouldn't hurt to show that he was strong enough to give it.
Eriond looked at Ainoukh, and now he smiled. "I see there's a second ambassador here. Please, tell the Mothers that I'll correct the mistake of my first disciple Pelath. I'll send to you some of my priestesses, too. They'll obey your Mothers, they'll learn to live your life, and they'll teach you only what you'll wish to learn. - Now excuse me, I'll have to leave. A magician of the weasel clan tries to raise a demon. It's better for him if I arrive before Ka."
After these words, he vanished as suddenly as he had come.
They sat down again. The chiefs were visibly impressed. Ainoukh was merely surprised.
"Who's Ka?" Edensaw asked. "I've never heard of a God with that name."
"She isn't a Goddess," Geran answered. "She's a Black Grolim, a follower of Torak - she wants to revive him. Ka is a powerful sorceress, and she hates demons. It seems that she takes it as a personal insult when a magician tries to raise them. She has a very sharp knife, and the habit of offering cut out hearts to her dead God. And she is beautiful."
One of the chiefs went deadly pale - for a dark-skinned Morind, at least. "I think I've met her! I wanted to ask our magician about something, and I saw a black-hooded young Angarak woman standing in front of his tent. I thought she was a priestess of Eriond, and I told her that I thought the priestesses of Eriond wore white. She smiled at that charmingly, and then she answered that she thought so herself. I found her answer confusing, but I didn't have the time to question her more thoroughly. When I entered the tent of the magician, he was dead, and his chest was cut open. Then I left the tent hurriedly to ask her if she had seen or heard anything, but she was gone. I heard only the cry of a crow."
"It seems to be her favorite form," Geran agreed.
"You seem to know her," Edensaw observed.
"I met her once," Geran admitted.
"Wasn't that dangerous?" Holata asked.
Geran shrugged. "Yes, it was. But I convinced my father not to kill her." He drew the line here - he definitely didn't want to explain in detail how convincing he was. "You probably know that Eriond disapproves of killing. My father and Eriond are friends, but I'm afraid he'd lose Eriond's friendship in such a case. You might consider this if you intend to stay on Eriond's good side - I've heard that killing strangers isn't exactly rare in Morindland," he added cautiously.
"But what else can we do?" Holata protested. "The Nadraks come to the north without so much as asking permission. The merchants aren't really a problem, they bring us useful things in exchange for furs. But there are others, who hunt our deer or catch our animals in traps, or dig our earth, looking for the soft yellow metal. A certain firmness is the only way to get their attention."
"No, it's not the only way," Geran objected. "The Nadraks won't violate the Drasnian border, for instance - they know that this would mean war with Drasnia, and probably with all of Aloria, because the Alorn kingdoms help each other. King Drosda would rather seal his own boarder for his subjects than to risk that. He's very old by now, but he isn't stupid. The threat of a war is more efficient than the actual killing."
"Maybe," Edensaw replied dubiously, "but we don't have an army, and we don't have powerful allies."
"You have - that's why I'm here. I'm speaking for Riva, and Riva proposes the protection of this sword." Geran pointed at the huge weapon beside him. "All of Aloria will follow this sword, if need be - Overlord of the West is not only a title. We could mention it during the next Alorn Council. The ambassador of Gar og Nadrak always was present in the last few years, and my father has a way of getting his attention - usually leaning casually on this sword during those declarations."
Edensaw looked at him with wide eyes. It took him a little while to understand fully what Geran had told them. In his eyes was a question, and Geran was not surprised that it was Holata who actually asked this question. "You are here as an ambassador - at Edensaw's tribe. Your proposal is addressed to this tribe, as I understand it," he said.
Geran knew that this was the most important point. The other war-chiefs didn't seem to feel ambitious, they merely listened. But he certainly didn't need an open rivalry between Edensaw and Holata.
"Our proposal is addressed to all tribes who follow Eriond," Geran corrected. "But Riva is a small kingdom, even though it's the leader of the West. We can't send ambassadors to all tribes. Instead, we'd prefer if the tribes of the Morindim spoke with one voice. As we understood it, Edensaw is this voice now - he followed Eriond, and others followed him. Did we understand this right?"
Geran looked only at Holata. He seemed to be the only one who had doubts if this was the right way. Geran hoped that Eriond was convincing enough. And he was right. Holata considered his words only shortly. Then he nodded. "Yes, I think that's true," he agreed.
Now the other war-chiefs hurried to declare their agreement, too. Geran was aware of the consequences. If these war-chiefs accepted Edensaw's leadership, every other tribe deciding to follow Eriond would have to accept it, too. Edensaw's influence would grow more and more - he would be a chief of chiefs. Geran was sure that Edensaw already realized that. Even sitting, he seemed taller by at least one inch now.
Geran remembered something Holata had mentioned. "Perhaps, you should pay more attention to the soft yellow metal. As I understand it, there is a lot of it in some of your streams."
Holata nodded indifferently. "Yes, but we don't know what to do with it. It's of no practical use."
"The Nadraks would give you more useful things in exchange for it than for your furs. And I think it's not nearly as much trouble just to bow down and to pick it up, if you know where to find it."
"That's probably true," Edensaw said, "we noticed that the Nadraks are very fond of the stuff you call 'gold'. But we don't know it's value. Won't the Nadraks try to give us less in exchange than they should?"
Geran managed to conceal a smile. "Of course, they will. Are you sure they give you equal value for your furs? For all I know, Othlass is not very expensive in Gar og Nadrak. I think you could need an advisor who tells you the comparative worth of you furs and the goods you receive from the Nadraks."
Of course, he had in mind a certain candidate. The Nadraks weren't the worst swindlers, after all. As soon as it would be safe, the Drasnians and Tolnedrans would come to the north. They would expect to meet primitive tribes and to make outrageous profits. The notion that they would encounter people skilled by Silk was very funny. He just hoped that Silk would see it the same way - this would moderate the price for his help a bit.
"Are you sure it's worth the trouble?" one of the other war-chiefs asked. Geran didn't remember his name - it was something long and complicated. "We don't really need very much from the Nadraks. Othlass is all right, I guess, but it's not that important. We can live without the things they propose us."
"Of course you could," Geran agreed, "but sometimes it could be easier. Metallic tips of your arrows and spears would make hunt more efficient, and metallic knifes are sharper and save much time while butchering the animals."
The chief shrugged. "Our women manage fairly well with the knives they have. I think they don't mind if it takes much time - it gives them plenty of room to chat," he added with a grin.
Quite obviously, he wanted to elaborate on that line of thought, but he caught a glance of Ainoukh. It was clear that she wasn't amused, but her situation didn't allow a sharp reply. It wasn't necessary, though. The chief got the message - he should better stay on the good side of Edensaw, and irritating his daughter wasn't exactly the best way to do that. He forgot the rest of his speech immediately. Geran hastened to hide his smirk behind his hand, scratching his nose. However, Ainoukh sat beside him, and she could see it.
"What's so funny?" she whispered.
"I'll tell you later," Geran whispered back.
Edensaw poured some more Othlass. "Let's drink to the alliance between the Kingdom of Riva and our tribes!"
After they drank, he looked at Geran. "I see that our honored guest is tired by now. That's not surprising - it's a very long journey from Riva. We should give him some rest, and use the time to inform our tribes about the results of our meeting."
The other chiefs nodded their agreement, and Geran suddenly realized that this was not just a convenient reason to end their get-together. He felt very tired, indeed, and it was entirely possible that it showed. He tried to remember when he slept the last time, but he gave in soon. It was not easy to keep track of time during the arctic summer.
The war-chiefs bid them farewell ceremonially. Geran hadn't seen their arrival, so he couldn't be sure if their behavior toward Edensaw had changed. It was possible, though - Ainoukh seemed a little puzzled. When they were alone, Geran decided to apologize to Edensaw again for his blunder with the old custom. Edensaw made a negligient gesture. "I'm not offended, Prince Geran. You couldn't know that," he declared with almost regal magnanimity.
"But I really should know more about those customs," Geran insisted. "You told me yourself that misunderstandings can have very serious consequences sometimes."
"Maybe my daughter can tell you more about it. You'll see her rather often in the next time, anyway," Edensaw replied casually. When he saw Geran's surprised look, he explained it.
"You have your own tent, but you don't have your own household. For the first time, we will take care of that, and Ainoukh will bring you food. Of course, you should warn her when you invite guests. I hope you'll accept our hospitality."
Geran assured him that he enjoyed it. Then he bid Edensaw farewell, too.
"You were absolutely right, Edensaw, I really feel tired now."
"I hope you'll find your tent," Edensaw worried, "maybe I should call a few men to lead you the way..."
"I'll show him, father," Ainoukh interrupted him, "I have to go to the Mothers now, anyway."

It wasn't far to his tent, and Geran was drowsy, already. Strangely enough, Ainoukh didn't talk, too - she seemed to wait for something. When they arrived in front of his tent, Ainoukh decided to remind him of his promise.
"What was so funny what Konieschguanokee said? You wanted to tell me later."
"Ah," Geran remembered. He resumed his smirk. "You are learning very fast, Princess Ainoukh." He enjoyed her confused expression. "The other war-chiefs accepted the leadership of your father, and other tribes joining you later will do the same. Already now, he's a chief of chiefs - and this is what we call a king. That makes you a princess, even if you don't use that title. What the guy with the unpronouncable name said, wasn't funny. Honestly speaking, I found it rather stupid. But you stopped him with a single glance - princesses seem to be born with that glance. My sisters are very good at it."
"Princess Ainoukh...," she seemed to savour the words. "It has a certain ring to it, hasn't it?" She gave him a charming smile. "You know, Geran, I'll allow you to call me Princess Ainoukh." She laughed her silvery laugh when she saw his face. "Sleep well, Geran!" And then she run away in the general direction of the tent of the Ancient Mother.
Geran looked after her. He was almost sure that she was joking. Then he sighed. Ainoukh looked very uncommon with her dark skin and her narrow eyes. Now Geran realized that those apparent differences with other girls of other races were deceptive. Ainoukh was just as incomprehensible as any other girl in the world.

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