Chapter 6

“Shukuan!”

The voice was almost ululating in elation, as it screamed the name, rising above the thuds of an all too familiar galop. The Warbred turned, her calm, rugged face brightened by a smile, but did not return the greeting, for she was telling the tale; the third time this morning. She never tired to do so, word for word as she had heard it, some few weeks ago, in Talethirst. What amazed her was that her people did not tire of hearing it either.

The rider yelled the name again, then noticing the taletelling, she quieted, allowing her raptor to slow to a canter, for the remainder of the distance, before she brought it to a halt. By that time, the tale was over and Shukuan was on her feet, stretching her back, as a Taleteller of Famine took her place and was getting ready to repeat it.

“Bhokali-sister,” she smiled as she leaned to hug the newcomer before the huntress had a chance to jump off her raptor even. Bhokali chuckled, returning the hug and patting the Warbred’s broad shoulders happily. “You return,” Shukuan said as she pulled back, hand on the huntress’ shoulder still but eyes meeting squarely and shining happily. “I feared.”

“I return and bring word,” Bhokali smiled back. “From the Awlers,” she hurried to clarify, seeing hope kindle in Shukuan’s eyes. The Warbred nodded, sadly, and made way for the huntress to dismount. “They are interested to hear the Song,” Bhokali said as she slid off the raptor’s back and worked on the reins, “but we are not welcome in the Awlery yet.”

“Where then?”

“Somewhere neutral, away from the Paths,” the huntress replied. “They spoke of a place, two days’ walk from where Snake-in-Sand meets the Lady’s Reach. It is close to them and they will decide if we will be allowed to disturb the Awlery after they hear us.” Shukuan remained silent, thoughtful. “It is good, Shukuan!” Bhokali said. “It is more than we feared.”

“It is close to Huenantli. And to Her path. Trap?”

Bhokali shook her head. “I don’t think so. Lie to ease, that is what the Cult of Death says, is it not? They would have refused us, I think, if they weren’t interested. Or they would have invited us to the Awlery, if it were a trap. Bait us in with hospitality where the Ukunfazane’s Scions could wait in hiding in the caves.”

Shukuan shook her head. “Invite Him and He will take more than you offered, they also say. No. They do not like to invite Death in their caves. They only welcome it when it comes. They would dislike a fight if we did not surrender.”

Once more, Bhokali was ambushed by Shukuan’s capacity for eloquence, her education and her thinking. It was hard, she realized, with some shame, to overcome the stigma imposed upon the Warbred, and which she herself had been placing on them, without thought, simply by habit. Perhaps that was why they were their most eager listeners, so far.

“That makes sense,” she said in the end. “We could ignore them. Or send a Taleteller. It would be a little dismissive but we could explain why we did so. Can we afford to alienate them, though?”