“For now,” the headman nodded, barely hiding a smile behind his hand.
The incident was soon forgotten, and shortly afterward Alanna decided to approach Ibn Nazzir on behalf of Kara, Kourrem, and Ishak. She had not crossed verbal swords with the shaman in days, and she hoped his rage had cooled. Leaving her weapons and her cool burnoose behind, wearing a sleeveless tunic and breeches (so the old man could see clearly she was unarmed), Alanna went to beard him in his tent at noon.
As always Faithful accompanied her, a coalblack, complaining shadow. This is a fool’s errand, he warned her as they approached the shaman’s home. He will scream and call you names, and probably he’ll try some spell he knows nothing about.
“I have to try,” Alanna muttered as she stepped onto the wide bare spot before the tent that served the tribe as temple and as the shaman’s home. She stood a discreet distance from the covered opening, spread her hands wide so all could see they were empty. “Akhnan Ibn Nazzir! I have come to you in peace, with open—”
The ground before her exploded, knocking her and Faithful down and showering them both with dirt and sand.
I told you so, Faithful remarked disgustedly as he began to wash.
Alanna got to her feet, brushing herself off as she fought to hold on to her temper. “That was stupid!” she yelled. “Someone might have been hurt, and it wouldn’t have been me! I came to you willing to make peace—”
“You will make nothing among us but war and famine!” came the muffled scream from the tent. “You corrupt Halef Seif with lust; your vile words have bewitched the Voice of the Tribes!”
“Men and women can be friends without lust!” Alanna yelled back. “The only person who’s bewitched around here is you, bewitched by your own jealousy and stupidity!” She stopped to wipe sweat off her forehead, trembling with anger. Her tolerance for fools had always been slight, and she was losing the little she had.
Still the old man refused to come out, although the exchange was drawing the rest of the village.
“You carry the eye of a demon around your throat!”
Alanna put her hand to her throat and touched the ember-stone. “It is not the eye of a demon!” she cried with fury. “It is a token given me by the Great Mother Goddess, from Her own hand!” Those listening drew back, awed and frightened. The Mother was as well known and worshipped here as she was in the north; none of them would use Her name lightly. Those who followed the shaman began to wonder if they had made a very bad mistake.
“I want an apology for your insult to my Goddess!” she yelled, her voice getting hoarse. “I demand it right now! Come out and make it!”
There, she thought with satisfaction, balancing on the balls of her feet. That ought to settle the old coward.
Faithful was facing the shaman’s tent, his ears pricked forward. Suddenly his tail began to twitch. He’s not going to apologize, he warned as the tent flap stirred. He’s going to—
But Alanna could feel it as well as the cat. There was just time for her to throw up defensive walls as yellow flame roared from the tent, surrounding her and Faithful. She flinched as it struck, holding her mind fixed on her own spell. Angry—with Ibn Nazzir’s ignorance and lack of control, a bystander could have been hurt or killed—she seized the last bit of fire and threw it back. The tiny flame rushed into the shaman’s tent and chased the old man outside before vanishing.
Alanna glared at Ibn Nazzir, thinking rapidly. He was wearing the crystal sword; the sight of it sent cold fear down her back. Not only was she concerned about anything that reminded her of Roger of Conté, she knew the shaman had been a rider once. Doubtless he could use a sword. Unless she was mistaken, she was more than his match as a sorceress, but his fencing skills were a dangerous unknown, particularly since she was unarmed.
“You insult the Goddess who shows me favor,” she said when she had his attention. “You attacked me twice without provocation and without fair warning. I’ve been more than patient with you. Tell me why I shouldn’t demand your life, as is my right as a member of this tribe.”
Akhnan Ibn Nazzir drew the crystal sword and rushed Alanna with a yell.
She dodged and circled away, deaf to the furious shouts from the tribesmen at the shaman’s disregard for honor. Ibn Nazzir, at the end of his sanity, was also deaf to them. His mouth set in a crazy grin, he rushed Alanna again, wielding that deadly blade with both hands.