them in your languages. We call them—.” He growled a few syllables that were so unintelligible to Haft that he thought he’d never be able to repeat them.
The nomads ate with such gusto that it wasn’t long before everybody but Haft and the Bloody Axes were through. At a loud clap from Nagusi, the servers rose from where they’d been eating and bustled about collecting bowls. They even took bowls from the Skraglanders who hadn’t finished eating yet. As soon as the remains of the meal were cleared away, the servers came back. In the center of the clearing, they ripped off their light skins, rendering themselves naked except for loincloths. The hidden drums and flutes started up again—joined this time by the unmistakable strains of a sothar.
With the beginning of the music, the servers became dancers. They formed lines, young men in this, young women in that, which twined around, weaving in and out, line to line, reaching for each other yet never touching. The lines straightened and faced each other, and the dancers stamped their feet in time with the beating of the drums. Their arms waved, their hands tracing graceful lines in the air. The lines slowly approached each other, then passed again without touching. They broke apart, and men and women faced each other in pairs, twirled about, paraded side by side, faced away from each other and brushed their backs together before spinning to face one another once more. Back in sinuous lines, they wove patterns that didn’t touch, and finally ran off, men this way and women that. The music stopped.
“Was that Alyline’s sothar player?” Balta whispered in Haft’s ear when the roars of approval died down.
Haft shook his head. “I don’t know. Even if it wasn’t so long since I heard him, I don’t think I can tell one sothar player from another.”
Nagusi rose to his feet and spread his arms with hands forward, demanding silence. He began talking, and Itzuli translated.
“We have among us as our guest one of the greatest warriors of the outside world. Some who have visited us in the past have made the claim that those warriors are our superiors at fighting. We do not believe that such is possible. But we now have one of those warriors in our camp, and we will find out. I present to you, Haft of the Rampant Eagle Axemen!”
Rough hands grabbed Haft from behind and jerked him to his feet. They propelled him into the center of the clearing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The instant they saw their leader being thrust into the center of the clearing, the Bloody Axes surged to their feet and went for their weapons. Just as fast as they moved, three nomad warriors readied weapons for each of the Skraglanders; one with a sword, one with a long spear, and one with a drawn bow.
“Hold!” Haft shouted, holding up his right hand to arrest his men’s action. They froze, half of them looking at their commander, half eyeing the warriors who were daring them to make a move.
Haft half turned to face Nagusi. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“Your axe marks you as the best of the outside world,” Itzuli translated. “We will learn if you are truly as good a warrior as we are.”
“Show your axe so that all may know!” Nagusi commanded.
At first hesitantly, then defiantly, Haft drew his axe and held it up, turning it around so that everyone in the circle could see it. The axe had a two and a half foot long haft made of ironwood. Its halfmoon blade projected a foot beyond the end of the shaft, and an equal distance down its length. A thick spike opposite the blade tapered to a sharp point. A rampant eagle adorned the face of the blade.
“I’ve always thought this damn thing would get me in trouble some day,” Haft muttered. “I should have left it at home.”
The nomads ate with such gusto that it wasn’t long before everybody but Haft and the Bloody Axes were through. At a loud clap from Nagusi, the servers rose from where they’d been eating and bustled about collecting bowls. They even took bowls from the Skraglanders who hadn’t finished eating yet. As soon as the remains of the meal were cleared away, the servers came back. In the center of the clearing, they ripped off their light skins, rendering themselves naked except for loincloths. The hidden drums and flutes started up again—joined this time by the unmistakable strains of a sothar.
With the beginning of the music, the servers became dancers. They formed lines, young men in this, young women in that, which twined around, weaving in and out, line to line, reaching for each other yet never touching. The lines straightened and faced each other, and the dancers stamped their feet in time with the beating of the drums. Their arms waved, their hands tracing graceful lines in the air. The lines slowly approached each other, then passed again without touching. They broke apart, and men and women faced each other in pairs, twirled about, paraded side by side, faced away from each other and brushed their backs together before spinning to face one another once more. Back in sinuous lines, they wove patterns that didn’t touch, and finally ran off, men this way and women that. The music stopped.
“Was that Alyline’s sothar player?” Balta whispered in Haft’s ear when the roars of approval died down.
Haft shook his head. “I don’t know. Even if it wasn’t so long since I heard him, I don’t think I can tell one sothar player from another.”
Nagusi rose to his feet and spread his arms with hands forward, demanding silence. He began talking, and Itzuli translated.
“We have among us as our guest one of the greatest warriors of the outside world. Some who have visited us in the past have made the claim that those warriors are our superiors at fighting. We do not believe that such is possible. But we now have one of those warriors in our camp, and we will find out. I present to you, Haft of the Rampant Eagle Axemen!”
Rough hands grabbed Haft from behind and jerked him to his feet. They propelled him into the center of the clearing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The instant they saw their leader being thrust into the center of the clearing, the Bloody Axes surged to their feet and went for their weapons. Just as fast as they moved, three nomad warriors readied weapons for each of the Skraglanders; one with a sword, one with a long spear, and one with a drawn bow.
“Hold!” Haft shouted, holding up his right hand to arrest his men’s action. They froze, half of them looking at their commander, half eyeing the warriors who were daring them to make a move.
Haft half turned to face Nagusi. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“Your axe marks you as the best of the outside world,” Itzuli translated. “We will learn if you are truly as good a warrior as we are.”
“Show your axe so that all may know!” Nagusi commanded.
At first hesitantly, then defiantly, Haft drew his axe and held it up, turning it around so that everyone in the circle could see it. The axe had a two and a half foot long haft made of ironwood. Its halfmoon blade projected a foot beyond the end of the shaft, and an equal distance down its length. A thick spike opposite the blade tapered to a sharp point. A rampant eagle adorned the face of the blade.
“I’ve always thought this damn thing would get me in trouble some day,” Haft muttered. “I should have left it at home.”
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