Science Fiction and Fantasy
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He gestured toward the benches that circled the fire. Anderle recognized the clan chiefs from Amanhead and Oakhill, Carn Ava and Belsaira and the rest, and wondered. She knew that Galid of Amanhead, for instance, had recently lost his family to one of the illnesses that periodically swept the land, and floods had drowned their fields. Did their chieftains still believe in the luck of the old bull?
They see you growing old, and your sister without a son…Anderle lowered her eyes. She felt Durrin stiffen protectively beside her and laid a hand on his arm. There's none so deaf as the man who refuses to hear.
"They have been content to follow me for twenty winters and more," Uldan went on. "The plain is the heart of our land. How could it be ruled from Amanhead or Carn Ava or Oakhill?"
"We guard the great henge and the ancestral mounds," Irnana said proudly. "This is the sacred center of Azan."
"Does anybody still care?" Anderle asked bitterly. "You and I are descended from the People of Wisdom who raised the Henge, and we were brought up on tales of its power, but what does it mean to the clan mothers of the Ai-Zir? Who cares about grave mounds when our people bury the ashes of their dead in pots in the soil? If they did, Carn Ava might challenge you—their circle of stones is just as holy as the Henge. But from them I believe you safe. I only hope that you know the other four clans as well as you think you do."
"Peace—" Durrin's soft voice took the sting from his reproof. He smiled at Irnana, and the other woman sat back with a sigh.
Durrin had that effect on most women, Anderle reflected, trying to suppress bitterness. When they came together in the ritual, she had carried the power of the Goddess as he did that of the God, and now she carried his child. But would he have even looked at her if she had not been the Lady of Avalon?
"Surely you know your own people best…" he went on, and the tension faded from the air.
Perhaps, Anderle thought grimly. I must speak with Zamara. It did not bode well that the queen had not come to the welcome feast. She was older than her brother and would bear no more sons. To continue the royal line, Uldan had to hold on to power until Mikantor was old enough to lead the warriors for Zamara's daughter. To keep track of the shifting stresses and alliances within the tribe was the job of the queen. Unless grief for her son had completely overwhelmed her, Zamara would know where any danger might be.
"Enough of such talk." Irnana spoke into the silence. "I refuse to be frightened by such vapors when it is clear that the plain has been blessed by the gods. You must walk out with me tomorrow and see how this year's heifers have grown!"
As if in agreement, the child in Anderle's belly kicked strongly. Irnana noted Anderle's flinch and laughed. "Do you have another warrior in there who will spar with my Mikantor?"
Anderle shook her head. The priestesses had assured her that the child was a girl, a daughter to inherit the leadership of Avalon, though what use would that be if the tribes destroyed each other? We should strive to leave our children a better world, she thought unhappily as her cousin rattled on.
"You have spent too much time at your prayers, Lady of Avalon. No doubt the babe will appreciate the motion if you take some exercise."
She gestured to the girl who had brought the ale to continue onward, and Anderle did the same, but Durrin and Uldan both held out their beakers to be refilled. Perhaps that was just as well. If they drank together, Durrin's charm might accomplish what Anderle's authority could not.
"Shall we go, cousin? Let the men drown their wits if they will. They will regret it when morning comes." Irnana rose.
"Indeed, if you mean to drag me all over the plain tomorrow I had better get what rest I may." Anderle managed a smile.
