For a moment Coram received the full power of Mukhtab’s eyes as the Bazhir opened them wide, examining him from top to toe. Oddly, the burly man turned red. “She’s Trebond,” he said as if answering a question. “Smythessons have served Trebond for generations.”
“You have always been blessed in your friends,” Ali Mukhtab said to Alanna. “I suppose by now you are aware of it.” Alanna nodded, blushing herself. “And so you are a knight, and you have told all that you are female. But you are not happy?”
Alanna fiddled nervously with the ember-stone around her neck. “I have a few things on my mind.”
She didn’t object when the man reached over and picked the ember from her fingers, examining it. At last he sighed and let her tuck it back beneath her shirt. “The favored of the gods always have much on their minds,” he admitted. “The shaman says I am an unnatural leader because I will not order you slain. He thinks you have bewitched me. Is this so?” He was smiling. Suddenly Alanna felt as if a burden had been taken from her. This enigmatic man was still her friend, for whatever reasons.
Coram snorted with derision. “And when did she have time to do that?”
Mukhtab nodded. “I asked the same question, but received no satisfactory answer. When I inquired how the Voice of the Tribes may order the slaying of a member of the tribe without full cause under law and a just hearing before the fire, Ibn Nazzir told me the Nameless Gods would have my soul for their enjoyment.” The Bazhir shrugged. “The law is the law; he knows this as well as any.” His eyes were serious as he looked at Alanna. “He wants you dead, Alanna of Trebond.”
“He had his chance when Hakim fought me,” she replied carelessly. “I don’t understand why he’s making a fuss now.”
“You are a terrifying creature,” the Voice told her solemnly. “You do not take your place in your father’s tent, letting men make your decisions. You ride as a man, you fight as a man, and you think as a man—”
“I think as a human being,” she retorted hotly. “Men don’t think any differently from women— they just make more noise about being able to.”
As Coram chuckled, Mukhtab said, “Have you not discovered that when people, men and women, find a woman who acts intelligently, they say she acts like a man?”
Alanna could find no answer to this. She glared at the guffawing Coram.
“Many of those who take the shaman’s leadership are women,” Mukhtab went on. “You frighten them. You are too new; you are too different. Will they have to behave differently, now that you are of the tribe? Better that you die and become a legend. Legends force no one to change.”
“This is too silly for words,” Alanna snapped. “Why have you brought this history to me?” She waved at the bundled scrolls.
“Six years ago Prince Jonathan indicated he would be interested in a written history of the Bazhir,” Mukhtab explained. “Since your return to the North, my people and I have labored long on just such a written record. Our tribes are very old. These scrolls tell all our story, from the time before we left our farms across the Inland Sea. We ask you to see that the Prince get them, as soon as possible. It is—vital.” He looked at Coram. “May I speak with her alone?”
Coram struggled to his feet and left.
Alanna watched him go before asking, “Why is it vital? I hadn’t planned to return to the palace for a long time.” If ever, she thought with a terrible feeling of homesickness.
“It is vital,” Ali Mukhtab whispered, leaning close, “because the end of my life draws near. Before I complete my last illness, Prince Jonathan must become the Voice of the Tribes.”
three
Bazhir Shaman
For a moment Alanna stared at the Voice. Finally she tried a weak grin. “You’re joking, of course.”
“I have never been more serious.”
Alanna shook her head. “I think you had better explain it to me.”
“Certain tribes have been at war with the King in the North for two generations,” Mukhtab began. “The cost has been great for both sides. Among our people there is bitterness between those who accept your King and those who do not. And in the end, the Northern King must win.”
“How do you know?” Alanna wanted to know.
“A small Gift of prophecy is given to each Voice,” was the reply. “Your King will win if we continue to fight, because this time the Balance is weighed in his favor. Conquered, my people— our people, now—would be driven from the desert that is mother and father to us. All those things that enable us to make war against the King and against the hillmen who are our enemies would be taken away. The tribes would be scattered; we would be one people no more.