A Princess of the Chameln by Cherry Wilder

journey. Aidris took her new fur cloak, Bajan’s gift, from where it lay on her saddlebag and put it around Sabeth’s shoulders.
    â€œYou will be cold, later . . .” whispered Sabeth.
    Aidris took up Ric Loeke’s short riding cloak of dressed russet leather. It fitted well enough; she had already buckled on her sword.
    â€œI will hurry,” she said. “Keep up the fire.”

Chapter Three
    Before Sabeth could answer, Aidris ran off down the path. She dared not think of their helplessness. She turned aside to go round the head of Lake Tulna; the pointed spruce grew right down to the water’s edge. There were no shallows, only a bed of sharp stones, shelving into icy depths. Aidris pushed into the trees, fought through their ranks and was driven out by bundles of thorns set between the trees. She crawled and scrambled around the barricade of trees on the very edge of the water.
    Beyond lay a wide clearing where the forest had been thinned. The trees grew in clumps among the forest grasses, and there were thickets of berries: blackberry, blueberry, cranberry, beside a path. She was certain that this was the land of the Tulgai; there was an enclosure of undressed logs beside the path, but it was empty.
    â€œWhere are you, brave warriors?” she called.
    There was no answer, not even a rustle in the trees ahead. She hurried on down the path and came to a second rustic enclosure where six milch deer were grazing, with their fawns.
    â€œWarriors of the Tulgai — I need your help!” she cried again.
    There was a flurry of movement in a tree, a burst of sound: bird-calls echoing over the quiet lake. She passed the second enclosure and saw ahead a grove of trees curiously shaped. Before she could call again, Aidris was surrounded. A ring of Tulgai warriors, swart and strong, appeared in a breath. Their long curled manes of hair glistened; they advanced with very long metal-tipped spears held shoulder high by two men.
    â€œStranger! Keep out!” cried a voice in the common speech. It was a gnarled old woman with a milk pail.
    â€œ I need the help of the Tulgai,” said Aidris keeping to the Old Speech and holding her ground.
    A warrior laughed, and with his companion brought his spear very close.
    â€œYou are a longshanks woman!” he shouted.
    Aidris felt a thrill of righteous anger; she struck the spear aside.
    â€œReceive me in peace then!”
    â€œWhy should we?” shouted the little man. “You must fear us in this place. You have invaded our sanctuary.”
    He gestured, and the ring of warriors began to grimace and to jump up and down. It was ridiculous and frightening.
    â€œStop!” cried Aidris.
    She drew her sword and flourished it. A beam of watery sunlight caught the blade, and it flashed fire.
    â€œDo you read these runes? I am Aidris, Heir of the Firn!”
    The movement stopped in mid-bounce; the Tulgai reacted, always, with a swiftness that was unnerving for a kizho , a longshanks. The hideous grins were frozen on their faces for a split second, then wiped away or transformed into timid smiles. The leader who had taunted her ran up to Aidris, glanced at the sword and stared into her eyes.
    â€œForgive me!”
    He fell on his knees, but she quickly raised him up.
    â€œForgiven,” she said. “No ceremony.”
    She held up the sword to the ring of warriors and said, “Dear warriors of the Tulgai, I come in an evil hour, travelling into exile. I will have no rejoicing, only help for my journey. I will sheath the sword until a happier day when I return.”
    She returned the sword to its sheath, and a ripple of sound, a sorrowful murmur, was drawn from those watching.
    â€œWhat shall I call you?” she asked the leader.
    He was a youngish man, about thirty years old, so far as she could judge, with hair of rusty black confined by a bone clasp then falling in long curls to his boot heels. He had a broad, handsome brow