Karsa set his sword’s point down and leaned on it. ‘Yet she was the maker of the Jhag horses.’
‘ A small role, Karsa Orlong. From my blood came their longevity. The Jhag horses breed infrequently, insufficient to increase, or even maintain, their numbers, were they not so long-lived. ’
‘I know, for the Teblor-my own people, who dwell in the mountains of north Genabackis-maintain herds of what must be Jhag horses.’
‘ If so, then I am pleased. They are being hunted to extinction here on the Jhag Odhan. ’
‘Hunted? By whom?’
‘ By distant kin of yours, Thelomen Toblakai. Trell. ’
Karsa was silent for a moment, then he scowled. ‘Such as the one known as Mappo?’
‘ Yes indeed. Mappo Runt, who travels with Icarium. Icarium, who carries arrows made from my branches. Who, each time he visits me, remembers naught of the previous encounter. Who asks, again and again, for my heartwood, so that he may fashion from it a mechanism to measure time, for my heartwood alone can outlive all other constructs. ’
‘And do you oblige him?’ Karsa asked.
‘ No, for it would kill me. Instead, I bargain. A strong shaft for a bow. Branches for arrows .’
‘Have you no means to defend yourself, then?’
‘ Against Icarium, no-one has, Karsa Orlong. ’
The Teblor warrior grunted. ‘I had an argument with Icarium, which neither of us won.’ He tapped his stone sword. ‘My weapon was of wood, but now I wield this one. The next time we meet, even Mappo Trell’s treachery shall not save Icarium.’
Both Jaghut were silent for a long moment, and Karsa realized that Phyrlis was speaking to Cynnigig, for he saw his expression twist with alarm. Ochre eyes flicked momentarily up to the Teblor, then away again.
Finally, Cynnigig loosed a long sigh and said, ‘Karsa Orlong, she now calls upon the nearest herd-the lone herd she knows has come close to this area in answer to her first summons. She had hoped for more-evidence, perhaps, of how few Jhag horses remain.’
‘How many head in this herd?’
‘ I cannot say, Karsa Orlong. They usually number no more than a dozen. Those that now approach are perhaps the last left in the Jhag Odhan. ’
Karsa lifted his gaze suddenly as the noise of hoofs sounded, rumbling through the ground underfoot. ‘More than a dozen, I think,’ he murmured.
Cynnigig clambered upright, wincing with the effort. Movement in the valley below. Karsa swung around. The ground was shaking, the roar of thunder on all sides now. The tree behind him shook as if struck by a sudden gale. In his mind, the Teblor heard Phyrlis cry out.
The horses came in their hundreds. Grey as iron, larger even than those Karsa’s tribe had bred. Streaming, tossing manes of black. Stallions, flinging their heads back and bucking to clear a space around them. Broad-backed mares, foals racing at their flanks. Hundreds into thousands.
The air filled with dust, lifting on the wind and corkscrewing skyward as if to challenge the Whirlwind itself.
More of the wild horses topped the hill above them, and the thunder suddenly fell away as every beast halted, forming a vast iron ring facing inward. Silence, the dust cloud rolling, tumbling away on the wind.
Karsa faced the tree once more. ‘It seems you need not worry that they near extinction, Phyrlis. I have never seen so many foals and yearlings in a herd. Nor have I ever before seen a herd of this size. There must ten, fifteen thousand head-and we cannot even see all of them.’
Phyrlis seemed incapable of replying. The tree’s branches still shook, the branches rattling in the hot air.
‘You speak true, Karsa Orlong,’ Cynnigig rasped, his gaze eerily intent on the Thelomen Toblakai. ‘The herds have come together-and some have come far indeed in answer to the summons. But not that of Phyrlis. No, not in answer to her call. But in answer to yours, Karsa Orlong. And to this, we have no answer. But now, you must choose.’ Nodding, he turned to study the horses.
‘ Karsa Orlong, you spoke earlier of a wooden weapon. What kind of wood? ’
‘Ironwood, the only choice remaining to me. In my homeland, we use bloodwood.’
‘ And blood-oil ?’
‘Yes.’
‘ Rubbed into the wood. Blood-oil, staining your hands. They can smell it, Karsa Orlong -’
‘But I have none.’
‘ Not on you. In you. It courses in your veins, Karsa Orlong. Bloodwood has not existed in the Jhag Odhan for tens of thousands of years. Yet these horses remember. Now, you must choose. ’
‘Bloodwood and blood-oil,’ Cynnigig said. ‘This is an insufficient explanation, Phyrlis.’