On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [87]
“You are quite the philosopher, Melaan,” Jashemi observed.
“I have seen much, my lord,” said Melaan.
Deciding to be daring, Jashemi pressed, “Have you seen armies from another land?”
The uncomfortable silence told him more than any words. Propping himself up on his elbows, Jashemi continued, “I’ve heard rumors. I know some of what your scouts are reporting. I am the son of a khashim, as are all here save you, and you are Terku’s Second. I have a right to know what you know.”
Melaan did not reply at once. Raka, the youngest, quipped, “Be careful with Melaan, Jashemi! His bad dreams sour his temper some days.”
A shiver ran through Jashemi. Bad dreams?
“If I have bad dreams,” drawled Melaan, “it is only when I think of either of you leading the Sa’abah Clan.”
The two brothers laughed. They were indeed young; their eldest brother had been killed in the same raid that was Jashemi’s first, so long ago. There were times when he wondered if his was the hand that had dealt the deadly blow to his future brother-in-law; times when Jashemi wondered if they wondered that, too.
“We have done battle with men who do not call themselves members of any clan,” Melaan admitted. “We have never been able to take prisoners. They seem somehow to be able to imbibe poison once they realize they have lost.”
“Sometimes,” said Kelem, the more sober of the two youths, “they have not lost.”
Again a silence fell, so profound Jashemi could hear the sa’abahs snuffling on their leads in the distance.
“I know,” he said slowly, “that you think of me as an outsider. Perhaps even as an enemy. My clan has ridden against yours more than once, and there have been deaths on both sides.” He could sense them listening, and wondered if he dared utter what was in his heart—that he wished that there could be an end to all the fighting, between all the clans. He decided that now was not the time.
“But our clans are now allies through marriage. I am a warrior and the son of a warrior. What concerns my wife’s clan concerns me. I would have you confide in me, so that I might be able offer what help I could.”
No one spoke. Jashemi suddenly felt embarrassed and was grateful for the caress of the night air that cooled his cheeks.
“It is difficult for us to trust,” said Melaan at last. “Too much is at stake. You could tell your father what we tell you, and lead a raid against us.”
“I would not slay the father of my wife!” Jashemi was indignant, and the words were the truth. Not even in self-defense would he do such a thing.
“She’s just a woman,” Raka said casually.
The anger that shot through Jashemi turned his vision red, and before he realized what he was doing he had seized Raka and was shaking him as a hound worries a hare.
“She is your sister!” he cried. “Think you so little of her?”
Melaan and Kelem pulled Jashemi off the startled Raka, and shoved him hard into the baked earth. The air went out of him with a whoosh and he braced for the beating.
It did not come. Melaan towered above him, a dark figure against the starlit sky, and Jashemi saw that he had extended an arm to hold Kelem back.
“Either you are more cunning than you appear, or you speak truly,” Melaan said. “Terku adores his daughter, woman though she be. That you come so quickly to her defense, even against her blood brother, speaks well of you. I will talk with my khashim. Perhaps it is indeed time for you to be permitted into the inner circle of advisors.”
The next day, Jashemi was summoned to Terku’s tent. He was the last to arrive, and as he entered, several men looked at him with varying degrees of mistrust etched plain on their faces.
One of them spoke. “Great khashim, I say again, the boy from the House of Four Waters may be no friend to us.”
Terku raised his hand. “I have heard your words, Baram, and given them the attention they deserve. Cease repeating yourself. I have made my decision. Jashemi-kha-Tahmu, will you swear to be my man?” The eyes that peered out of the wrinkled face were bright.
Jashemi sensed a trap. He stood up straighter. “I am the son