About three score men—RockChildren and human alike—had crowded into the hall to listen and, as Stronghand had expected, half of them lifted their voices, clamoring to go. They were the ones who sought honor and glory and riches, who gazed on Lord Ediki’s new holdings with envy, or who simply craved the danger.
Stronghand lifted a hand, and the voices stilled.
“Two men will go in each boat. A gold nomia to every man who reaches the sea and our ships. For every ship guided back through the fens to our position here, I will give another nomia.”
They were eager to start out, despite the dreary weather. As the company dispersed, he took Tenth Son outside. Many score soldiers had gathered to hear the council tidings, and they dispersed in groups, heading back to their tents and bivouacs or to make ready for guard duty. Tents had been thrown up within Weorod’s stockade while the rest lay scattered between the stockade and the dike, using wagons and recently dug ditches to create barriers in case they were attacked unexpectedly. Everyone was waiting for the next assault, with varying degrees of patience. As long as the queen lived, she ruled.
Stronghand ducked under the shelter of an empty byre and stood there with Tenth Son as rain drizzled down around them, leaking through the thatched roof, which was not yet repaired after the winter. Although the stalls had been cleaned out, clumps of manure pebbled the floor, and the smell of animal and dung clung to the earth.
“I will take two brothers with me, but I wish you to remain behind, not because I do not trust you, but because I do.”
Tenth Son nodded, accepting the statement—however startling it might be, since the RockChildren never spoke of trust between themselves.
“The standard stays with me. If I fall, then it will be of no use to anyone else. The magic is tied to my life.”
“Yes,” agreed Tenth Son. “If you fall, this army will splinter into a thousand spears, each one striking at the others. Why do you not wait for the ships?”
“If I wait for the ships, then the queen will know I am coming. If I go now, she will not expect a visitor. I will see this crown for myself. I must know what it is they hope to accomplish there. In my dreams …”
He trailed off. He rarely spoke of his dreams because RockChildren did not dream, but he knew that many secrets lay half revealed in the dreams he shared with Alain, more precious than gems and gold.
“What will you do when you get there?” asked Tenth Son.
“I don’t yet know,” he admitted. While most RockChildren would see the answer as weakness, Tenth Son could understand improvisation as a strength.
The rain let up as the gray afternoon darkened toward an early twilight. Clouds hung low and heavy. A child laughed. Nearby, Elafi and Ki squatted on the ground beside a small wicker cage. They had wished to see Stronghand’s camp and the size of his army, and had explored and poked around for much of the day, but now they turned to their own preparations for this night’s journey. Strangely, they were tying scraps of candles to the feet of two squawking pigeons. From the camp he heard the ring of a hammer beating out iron, but it was his companion who interested him most right now.
“Why do you follow me?” he asked finally.
Because they were littermates, Tenth Son was very like to Stronghand in looks, but although he, too, was rather more slender than most RockChildren, he had a hand’s height advantage over Stronghand and more bulk through the shoulders and chest. He was bigger and stronger, as most RockChildren were, but strength wasn’t everything.
“I am not as clever as you are, Brother,” Tenth Son said at last, “but I am clever enough to know that my fortunes rise with yours and will fall with yours. Hakonin and the other chieftains will not march behind my standard. If you die, I am nothing.”
“What is it you want? You have been loyal to me in the manner of humankind. I would reward you, if that is what you wish.”
Tenth Son bared his teeth. Like all warriors, he wore jewels drilled into his teeth to advertise his prowess. “Can you give me anything I ask for?”
“No. I cannot give you the moon or the sun. I cannot give you life beyond the one you are fated to live. I cannot make you anything but what you are.”
Tenth Son nodded, satisfied with the answer. Against the gray afternoon backdrop, his braided hair gleamed as white as bone. “Those things I do not want. I want what even the slaves among the humans possess. I want a name.”
Later, as they glided through the water of the fens, Stronghand brooded.
A name.
For generations the WiseMothers had hoarded names like gold and allowed only the chieftains of each tribe to take a name. The lowest slave among humankind bore a name; why not his own kind? Did the WiseMothers consider their grandsons lower than slaves? Or had there never been any reason for names among creatures who gave little more thought to their lives than did the dogs that followed at their heels?
