The arguing began, with the shaman speaking next. Alanna wasn’t surprised to hear him accuse her of blasphemy against the gods for her manner of dress and her way of life—some of the priests at the royal palace had said much the same, when her true identity had been revealed. Gammal followed the shaman, once again telling the story of the strange events at the Black City, six years before.
One tall Bazhir named Hakim Fahrar spoke of the penalty owed to any outsiders: death. And others in the tribe asked for moderation, saying that people who did not change with new times were doomed to extinction. The debate went on and on while Faithful took a nap. If her life and Coram’s had not been at stake, Alanna would have been bored by the long speeches. As it was, she felt a growing respect for Halef Seif’s insistence on hearing each man’s opinion. It was not the first time she noticed the great concern the Bazhir people had for the right of all to speak out (in some matters even the women had a say, she discovered later), but it would not be the last.
Only once did they say something to puzzle her. “The Voice gave her and the Blue-Eyed Prince honor when they returned from battle with the Nameless Ones,” Gammal told the shaman hotly.
“The Voice also says we must decide her fate ourselves, Gammal,” Halef warned. “Be still. Justice will be done.”
Alanna frowned. Ishak had mentioned a “Moment of the Voice,” now Gammal and the headman spoke of “The Voice.” Did Myles ever tell me of a Bazhir god or priest by that name? she wondered. I don’t think so. I’ll ask Halef Seif about his “Voice”—if I survive the night.
The oldest man of the tribe raised his hand. “There is a way to decide this woman’s status. She bears weapons as a man—let her fight as a man. Give her the trial by combat. If she wins, the tribe is wise to accept her. If she loses, let her servant be killed also.”
The shaman jumped up, screaming, “The favor of the gods to the man who kills her! I swear it!”
“If the favor of the gods is offered,” Alanna asked mildly, “why don’t you kill me yourself?” There was a murmur of laughter, and the shaman whirled to glare at Alanna.
“She mocks our ways!” he cried.
“I mock a shaman who looks at the goods I possess and calls for my death because he says I offend the gods. Can you tell me you have no interest in what I own?” she asked steadily, her eyes never wavering from his staring ones.
Halef rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “One third of what you have goes to him who slays you. One third goes to the headman. One third goes to the priest. It has always been so.”
Alanna smiled angrily. “I thought as much.”
Halef Seif raised his hands. “The men of the tribe will vote on this matter: to grant the Woman Who Rides Like a Man the trial by combat.”
Women passed among the men with bits of parchment, reeds for writing, and ink. They returned to collect the folded papers, and Halef Seif counted them. He took great care to unfold each paper and place it in one of two piles before him, so that no one could accuse him of manipulating the vote. Once again Alanna was impressed with Bazhir honesty.
At last the votes were counted. “It is the combat,” Halef Seif announced.
two
The Bloody Hawk
Alanna stood, nervously rubbing her suddenly wet palms on her tunic. “I accept the will of the tribe. Who will carry it out?”
Hakim Fahrar stood. “The law is the law. I will fight for the tribe.”
Alanna bent to strip away her boots and stockings, examining her would-be opponent. He was head and shoulders taller than she, and his naked torso showed hard muscles in the firelight. He seemed agile enough, but only the fight would confirm that.
Coram tied her hair back with a leather thong, his callused hands gentle. As she began her loosening-up exercises, he knelt beside her. “Be careful,” he cautioned, his voice a whisper. “They fight to the death here.”
Alanna scrubbed her palms with sand to dry them. “I won’t kill if I don’t have to,” she replied quietly, remembering her last duel.
Coram shrugged. “Be that as it may, if it’s a question of ye dyin’ or him, it had better be him.”
Alanna grinned mischievously at her longtime teacher and accepted her dagger from Ishak, who had brought it from her tent. “I won’t argue with that.”
She waited for the shaman to finish exhorting her opponent, fingering the ember-stone. There was no way she could avoid remembering her duel four weeks ago, the one that had ended with Duke Roger on the floor of the Great Hall, dead. Unlike the sorcerer-duke, she did not hate this tribesman. She hoped it would not come to killing tonight.
Halef stood. “Are you ready, man of the tribe?”
Hakim saluted the headman with his dagger. “I am ready.”
“Are you ready, Woman of the Northern King?”
Alanna saluted, her mouth paper-dry. “I am.”
The headman clapped his hands sharply and the tribesmen stepped back. Hakim circled, his eyes sharp.