must have been a very strong wind,’ the farmer Omago said.
‘Not quite that strong,’ Longbow replied with a grin. ‘Red-Beard and I gave it a bit of help. Then the next morning we put on long faces and told the men of the tribe that tree-limb lodges weren’t strong enough to stand up in “windy-village”, and we suggested sod instead. The men grumbled a bit, but they went on out into the meadow and started digging up sod for all they were worth, while the women came along behind them planting beans and other things that are good to eat. Nobody was offended, and nobody will starve to death this coming winter.’
‘You two are a couple of very devious people,’ Omago’s wife Ara observed.
‘One should always do one’s best when the well-being of the tribe’s involved,’ Red-Beard replied sententiously.
The pretty lady actually laughed.
‘Pushing on, then,’ Dahlaine continued. ‘There are a few herds of those various deer near the western mountains in Matakan, but the most numerous creatures in Matakan are the bison. They’re quite a bit larger than deer, and they have horns instead of antlers. Since the winters are very cold in my Domain, the bison have dense fur, and their hides are quite a bit thicker. Arrows might penetrate that fur and hide, but spears seem to work better.’ Dahlaine went on to describe the Matans’ ‘spear thrower’ again.
‘Something like that would be very difficult to aim, it seems to me,’ Rabbit said.
‘The Matans practice a lot, and they’re good enough to bring home a lot of bison meat.’
‘That’s what counts,’ Longbow said. ‘Their spearheads are stone, aren’t they?’
‘Of course,’ Dahlaine replied. ‘The only metal we have anything to do with here in the Land of Dhrall is gold – and I don’t think gold would make very good spearheads.’
‘I’d say it’s almost time for me to go to work again,’ Rabbit added with a glum sort of look.
‘About all that’s left now is “crazy land”, right?’ Red-Beard suggested, being careful not to smile.
‘Does he always have to do that, Zelana?’ Dahlaine asked his sister.
‘Do what, dear brother?’
‘Turn everything into a joke.’
‘It keeps him happy, Dahlaine, and happy people are nicer than gloomy ones. Haven’t you noticed that before?’
He gave her a hard look, but she just smiled.
‘All right,’ Dahlaine continued. ‘The nation on the east of my Domain is Atazakan, and as our friend who hasn’t yet learned how to shave just suggested, the ruler of that region is fairly insane – which isn’t really his fault, since the last five generations of his family have also been crazy. The current ruler of Atazakan has taken crazy out to the far end, though. He’s absolutely convinced that he’s god. He goes out to the public square in the city of Palandor every morning and gives the sun his permission to rise. Then, late in the afternoon, he goes back to the same place and permits her to set.’
‘She’ll do it without his permission, won’t she?’ Rabbit asked skeptically.
‘Of course she will,’ Dahlaine replied with a faint smile, ‘but that absurd business makes “Holy Azakan” feel more goddish.’
‘I don’t think there’s such a word as “goddish”, Dahlaine,’ Zelana suggested.
‘You understood what I meant, didn’t you, dear sister?’ Dahlaine asked her.
‘Well, sort of, I suppose.’
‘That means that it’s a word, doesn’t it?’
‘Not one that I’d ever use.’
‘You’re a poet, Zelana, so your language is nicer than mine. Anyway, crazy old Azakan desperately wants divinity. Whether he truly believes that he has it might be open to some question, but his subjects – or maybe worshipers – have learned to accept his announcement that he’s a god, because their very lives depend upon it.’
‘Is there anything at all resembling an army in that part of your Domain?’ Sorgan asked.
‘Not really,’ Dahlaine replied. ‘Azakan has a goodly number of guards that call themselves “the Guardians of Divinity”. Their primary duty involves intimidating the populace of Palandor so that they’ll applaud and cheer each time the sun rises or sets at Azakan’s command. They carry poorly made-spears and clubs, but they don’t really know how to use them. I’d say that their primary contribution to a war with the creatures of the Wasteland will involve staying out of the way.’
The Seagull and the rest of the Maag fleet sailed on past the narrow channel that opened out into the bay of Lattash without bothering to stop, and Red-Beard heaved a vast sigh of relief – touched with just a faint hint of shame. He was fully aware of the fact that he was evading certain responsibilities, but he knew that the tribe would survive without Red-Beard of Lattash serving as chief.
As they moved on farther north it became more and more obvious that summer was coming to a close. There were aspen trees and birch scattered among the pine, fir, and spruce, and the leaves of those particular trees had begun to turn, spattering the evergreen forest with patches of red and gold. Autumn was the most beautiful season in the forest, but it also gave a warning. Winter was not far away, and only fools ignored that silent warning.
It was about three days after they’d passed the bay of Lattash when Longbow advised Sorgan Hook-Beak that he was going to paddle his canoe ashore so that he could speak with Old-Bear, the chief of his tribe. ‘If anything unusual is happening up in the land of the Tonthakans, Old-Bear will have heard about it.’
Sorgan seemed to be just a bit surprised. ‘Are your people really that familiar with the natives of Lord Dahlaine’s territory?’ he asked.
‘I’ve gone up there a few times myself,’ Longbow replied. ‘It’s always a good idea to get to know the neighbors. There are a few restrictions, of course, but we can usually step around them. As nearly as I can determine, we won’t need the archers of Zelana’s Domain up in her brother’s country – unless the creatures of the Wasteland attack in millions, but it’s probably a good idea for us to stay in touch with Chief Old-Bear. If an emergency comes along, he’ll be able to pass the word to the other tribes. Help will be there if we happen to need it.’
‘I’ll lend you a skiff, if you’d like.’
‘Thanks all the same, Sorgan, but I’m more comfortable in my canoe.’
‘Could you use some company?’ Red-Beard asked his friend. ‘Boats are nice, I suppose, but I’d like to put my feet on solid ground for a little while.’
‘Ships,’ Sorgan absently corrected.
‘You missed me there, Sorgan.’
‘We
