crossed the charm-ringed circle to touch them for the gifts had still not been cleansed of Outfolk sorcery by Ratharryn’s priests. Hengall talked with the elders and sometimes asked questions of the priests, though it was mainly with Gilan that he talked. The priest had now made two visits to Cathallo and he spoke urgently with Hengall who listened, nodded and finally seemed convinced by whatever Gilan urged on him.
The sun was sliding down to its western home when Hengall resumed his place, but custom demanded that any man in the tribe could have his opinion heard before Hengall pronounced a decision. A few men did stand and most advised accepting the Outfolk’s payment. “The gold is not ours,” Galeth said, “but was stolen from a god. How can it bring us good luck? Let the strangers have their treasures.” Voices murmured in support, then Lengar beat the ground with his spear staff and the murmurs died as Hengall’s son stood to address the crowd.
“Galeth is right!” Lengar said, causing surprise among those who thought that the two men could never agree. “The Outfolk should have their treasures back. But we should demand a higher price than these scourings from their huts.” He gestured at the goods piled in front of the strangers. “If the Outfolk want their treasures returned, then let them come from their far country with all their spears and all their bows and offer themselves to our service for a year.”
Haragg, the Outfolk interpreter, whispered to his companions, who looked worried, but Hengall shook his head. “And how are we to feed this horde of armed Outfolk?” he asked his son.
“They will feed from the crops and cattle that they capture with their weapons.”
“And what crops and cattle are they?” Hengall asked.
“Those that grow and graze to the north of us,” Lengar answered defiantly, and many in the tribe voiced their agreement. The tribe of Sarmennyn was famous for its warriors. They were lean, hungry men from a bare land and they took with their spears what their country could not provide. Such feared warriors would surely make brief work of Cathallo and more of Hengall’s folk raised their voices in Lengar’s support.
Hengall raised his vast club for silence. “The army of Sarmennyn,” he said, “has never reached this far into the heartland. Yet now you would invite them? And if they do come with their spears and their bows and their axes, how do we rid ourselves of them? What is to stop them turning on us?”
“We shall outnumber them!” Lengar declared confidently.
Hengall looked scornful. “You know how many spears they muster?” he demanded, pointing to the strangers.
“I know that with their help we can destroy our enemies,” Lengar retorted.
Hengall stood, a sign that Lengar’s time of talking was over. Lengar stayed on his feet for a few heartbeats, then reluctantly squatted. Hengall spoke in a loud voice that reached the outermost part of the crowd. “Cathallo is not our enemy! Cathallo is powerful, yes, but so are we! The two of us are like dogs. We can fight and maim each other, but the wounds we would inflict would be so deep that neither of us might live. But if we hunt together we shall feed well.” The tribe stared at him in silent surprise. They had expected a decision about the gold lozenges and instead the chief was talking of the problem of Cathallo.
“Together!” Hengall shouted. “Together, Cathallo and Ratharryn will be as strong as any land in this earth. So we shall bind ourselves in a marriage of tribes.” That news caused a loud gasp from the crowd. “On midsummer’s eve we shall go to Cathallo and dance with their people.” The crowd thought about that, then a slow-growing murmur of agreement spread among them. Only a moment before they had been eagerly supporting Lengar’s idea of conquering Cathallo, now they were seduced by Hengall’s vision of peace. “Gilan has talked with their chief and he has agreed that we
The sun was sliding down to its western home when Hengall resumed his place, but custom demanded that any man in the tribe could have his opinion heard before Hengall pronounced a decision. A few men did stand and most advised accepting the Outfolk’s payment. “The gold is not ours,” Galeth said, “but was stolen from a god. How can it bring us good luck? Let the strangers have their treasures.” Voices murmured in support, then Lengar beat the ground with his spear staff and the murmurs died as Hengall’s son stood to address the crowd.
“Galeth is right!” Lengar said, causing surprise among those who thought that the two men could never agree. “The Outfolk should have their treasures back. But we should demand a higher price than these scourings from their huts.” He gestured at the goods piled in front of the strangers. “If the Outfolk want their treasures returned, then let them come from their far country with all their spears and all their bows and offer themselves to our service for a year.”
Haragg, the Outfolk interpreter, whispered to his companions, who looked worried, but Hengall shook his head. “And how are we to feed this horde of armed Outfolk?” he asked his son.
“They will feed from the crops and cattle that they capture with their weapons.”
“And what crops and cattle are they?” Hengall asked.
“Those that grow and graze to the north of us,” Lengar answered defiantly, and many in the tribe voiced their agreement. The tribe of Sarmennyn was famous for its warriors. They were lean, hungry men from a bare land and they took with their spears what their country could not provide. Such feared warriors would surely make brief work of Cathallo and more of Hengall’s folk raised their voices in Lengar’s support.
Hengall raised his vast club for silence. “The army of Sarmennyn,” he said, “has never reached this far into the heartland. Yet now you would invite them? And if they do come with their spears and their bows and their axes, how do we rid ourselves of them? What is to stop them turning on us?”
“We shall outnumber them!” Lengar declared confidently.
Hengall looked scornful. “You know how many spears they muster?” he demanded, pointing to the strangers.
“I know that with their help we can destroy our enemies,” Lengar retorted.
Hengall stood, a sign that Lengar’s time of talking was over. Lengar stayed on his feet for a few heartbeats, then reluctantly squatted. Hengall spoke in a loud voice that reached the outermost part of the crowd. “Cathallo is not our enemy! Cathallo is powerful, yes, but so are we! The two of us are like dogs. We can fight and maim each other, but the wounds we would inflict would be so deep that neither of us might live. But if we hunt together we shall feed well.” The tribe stared at him in silent surprise. They had expected a decision about the gold lozenges and instead the chief was talking of the problem of Cathallo.
“Together!” Hengall shouted. “Together, Cathallo and Ratharryn will be as strong as any land in this earth. So we shall bind ourselves in a marriage of tribes.” That news caused a loud gasp from the crowd. “On midsummer’s eve we shall go to Cathallo and dance with their people.” The crowd thought about that, then a slow-growing murmur of agreement spread among them. Only a moment before they had been eagerly supporting Lengar’s idea of conquering Cathallo, now they were seduced by Hengall’s vision of peace. “Gilan has talked with their chief and he has agreed that we
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