Read Online Shannivar by Deborah J. Ross - Free Book Online

looked his age. Lines of worry marked his weathered face. White frosted his moustache as well as the hair partly hidden beneath his peaked cap with its chieftain’s feathers. Yet his voice was strong and firm as he commanded the assembly to order.
    Everyone settled into their places, and Shannivar got her first look at the two strangers. Instead of sensible trousers, boots, and jackets cut close to the body, they wore belted knee-length gowns, short cloaks, and sandals, utterly impractical for riding. At first glance, she thought they must surely be Gelon. Their skins were pale, except where the sun had darkened them. Both had unbound dark red curls, the head of one shot with gray. That must be the one called Leanthos.
    Shannivar peered at him, trying to decide if he were very brave or simply very foolish to venture into clan territory. Certainly, he was no match for any Azkhantian child, with his thin arms and knobby knees. Yet as he glanced at the waiting crowd and back to Esdarash, his expression was confident and calculating. Weak he might be, and unskilled at arms, but not a fool.
    The younger man, with his slab-like jaw and beaked nose, clearly deferred to the gray-hair, and he carried himself with the subtle alertness of a fighter. He might be trying to pass himself off as a mere assistant, but no one with sense could mistake him for anything but a man of action.
    Esdarash explained that the strangers had ridden freely into the
dharlak
, their weapons undrawn, bearing gifts.
    Gifts?
A murmur spread through the assembly.
    Two of the younger warriors, Rhuzenjin and another, came forward at Esdarash’s signal and placed the gifts on a blanket. They laid out strings of beads in brilliant colors, jewelry of silver and copper, and several small daggers of Denariyan steel. The craftsmanship of the jewelry and dagger hilts was good, although not as fine as the best Azkhantian work, but the stones—amber, turquoise, coral, and others Shannivar did not know—were of excellent quality.
    Around her, people exclaimed in delight, but suspicion roused in Shannivar’s mind. What was the purpose of such rich offerings? What did these men want in return?
    She turned her attention back to her uncle, who was now explaining how the strangers had journeyed all the way from Isarre, or so they said, to seek an alliance with the Azkhantian warriors. Apparently, they had no understanding of the different independent clans and their territories. They’d traveled east from Isarre, across the Sand Lands, and then north toward the steppe, and so had stumbled upon the Golden Eagle lands.
    The crowd buzzed with astonishment. Everyone knew of Isarre, a nation of seafarers and stone-dwellers. For all practical purposes, they were indistinguishable from their Gelonian enemies. They were not Azkhantian, and they had nothing of value to the steppe dwellers and so were of little interest. Isarre was too distant to present either a credible threat or an opportunity for raiding. Now these men had come all this distance to bargain for help in defending themselves.
    â€œWhat kind of moon-blind fools do they think we are?” one of Shannivar’s neighbors muttered.
    She had no answer. Certainly, the fate of Isarre was of no concern to the Golden Eagle clan. They shared ties of neither blood nor honor. Yet she could not help thinking what a grand adventure it would be, to journey to a country so far and strange. To travel the reaches of sand and ocean, farther than the eye could see or an eagle could fly. Perhaps even to carry war into the heart of Gelon, to see the invaders tremble as their own lands and flocks were trampled beneath the hooves of her horses.
    She did not know if these two men were in truth what they claimed. For a moment, she hoped they were, so that she might go with them.
    Words were all very fine, but those who dwelled in stone could not be relied upon to tell the truth. Their story must be verified by the