Outside, the wild clatter of hooves continued as more and more horsemen arrived. More stunning than the sound of horses being drawn to a halt outside the pavilion was the event that followed it. The music, the ever-present din that had pressed against my ears and body since we arrived at the encampment, rattled to a halt and then ceased. There were shouts of confusion outside and cries of fear and anger. Suddenly the tent flap was torn away and one of Dasie’s lieutenants shouted to her, “We have halted the dance, Great One! We are already in the process of finding those stolen from our kin-clan. Are you in command inside the pavilion?”
“I am!” Dasie called back to him. “Proceed as we planned. Fight only if anyone resists you. Even then, refrain from killing if it is possible. Enough of the People have already been killed for this dance. I do not wish the blood of my own people to be on my hands.”
As the young man strode away, Dasie spoke to those of us still inside. Her voice shook at first, but as she went on, she seemed to gain strength. “As you have heard, I do not wish to harm anyone. All I want, at this moment, is to free those stolen from their lives to dance for Kinrove. If everyone does as we say, all will go well. None of the People will be injured. Resist, and Kinrove may die. I do not want to be pushed to that extreme! So, all of you, please move over and stand near the tables of food. Go now. Go. Yes, I mean all of you, feeders included. Your Great Ones will have to manage for themselves for a short time.”
I watched her through Soldier’s Boy’s eyes. I could see that the iron bothered her; it bothered Soldier’s Boy even more, for the heavy blade hovered not a handspan from his heart and the man who held it was flinty-eyed and smiling. Yet, “Go. Obey her,” he told Olikea, and when Likari clung to him, whimpering, he shook the boy free and said harshly, “Take him with you.” Olikea seized her son by the shoulder and steered him away. The boy looked back over his shoulder, agony in his eyes. Soldier’s Boy couldn’t as much as nod to the boy. The presence of the iron was a crawling sensation, as if stinging ants swarmed over his entire body.
I assessed our chances. “If he lunges at you, move to the right, drop to the ground, and roll. It may buy you a few moments. He doesn’t hold that weapon as if he knows how to use it.”
I offered him the thoughts and felt his irritated response: “I see no advantage to being stabbed while rolling about on the ground as opposed to sitting in a chair. Be quiet. Don’t distract me now.” He was focusing every bit of his self-discipline to remain still and not react to the stinging of the iron. He had begun to sweat. He’d used magic to defend himself and already his body was clamoring for food to replenish it. He pushed his hunger aside.
I took his advice, mostly because I had no other ideas to offer. Dasie had risen from her throne. She stalked the room, her feeders to either side of her. She took short, savage puffs from a pipe, and puffed the smoke from her lips in explosive little bursts. I think she listened, as I did, to the confusion of sounds from outside. There were shouts of joy and also wild weeping and a clamor of questions as her men sorted through the dancers looking for their stolen loved ones. She walked over to me and stood behind the shoulder of the man who held the sword. Her eyes were not kind. Earlier she had urged Kinrove to kill me. I had no reason to think she had changed her mind. She had said she did not wish to shed blood. I wondered if her forbearance would extend to not shedding my blood.
Kinrove suddenly spoke. His hands were still and his words seemed to lack power. “You. You are not of Dasie’s kin-clan. You are Clam Grounds clan. Why are you here, obeying her orders?”
He asked his question of the young man who menaced him with a sword. I could not see the warrior’s face but his voice was steady and calm as he replied, “I am here to fetch my sisters home to our kin-clan. I would follow any Great One who offered me the opportunity to do that.”
Dasie abruptly turned aside from me and strode up to Kinrove, stopping well away from the iron. “I have tried to tell you and you would not listen. Do you think it is only my kin-clan who are heartsick for their stolen ones? No. Our weariness of your futile magic extends through many kin-clans. When we leave, our relatives go with us. I do not think you will have enough dancers left to protect your pavilion, let alone work your great magic. If you are wise, after we depart, you will let the others go back to their homes. Perhaps with that act you can buy yourself some goodwill from those your magic has so long betrayed. Perhaps once you have freed those you enslaved, you will no longer need to use the magic of the People to shield yourself from the People’s anger.”