Rebel Ice by S. L. Viehl Page A

waited for her to focus on his features before he gave her some water from a skin to moisten her mouth. "Tell me your name."
    A line formed between her dark brows, and her lips pressed together, opened, and then closed again. The way she regarded him seemed to indicate that she did not understand his speech.
    "Do you not speak Iisleg?" What a foolish question. She was an offworlder; of course she did not. It only made the situation that much more frustrating. The only manner in which he might communicate with her would be through a language translation device, such as those the windlords used, but the Iisleg were not permitted such things.
    He tapped his shoulder. "Hurgot." He repeated the gesture and his name several times, and then nudged her shoulder and gave her an expectant look.
    The ensleg appeared more confused and now perhaps a little afraid.
    "Do you not remember?" The head wound she had suffered in the past had been grievous; he had known men with such wounds to lose all knowledge of themselves, their tribe, and the world. Some had been reduced to a perpetual state of infancy, unable to control their limbs or bowels. Those who were unable to care for themselves were removed from camp during the night and taken to the nearest jlorra cavern.
    "Dahktar." The female struggled to sit up. "Dahktar."
    The word held no meaning for him, but was uncomfortably close to Raktar . "Be still. You will only lose your wits again if you try to stand." He pushed at her scrawny shoulders with his hands to emphasize the words.
    The ensleg peered up at him and pointed at his shoulder. "Hurgot."
    "Yes."
    She pointed at her shoulder and looked expectantly at him. It was a perfect mimicry of what he had done, but she wasn't mocking him. She was making the same request of him.
    "I don't know who you are." He saw a flicker of disappointment cross her features, but that was the sole reaction she showed. The few ensleg he had encountered during his lifetime had been male slavers, but like other windlords they were as children and flaunted their emotions. It was one reason the Iisleg regarded their former masters with complete contempt.
    He turned to see another woman standing inside the flap of the tent. Would the camp's females begin pestering him for a look at the oddity? "I am occupied."
    "Even for word from our rasakt?" The female dropped her face wrap, revealing the vivid, sensual features that had once enchanted every male permitted to see them. Over time lines of petulance and malice had scored the beauty, but Sogayi was still considered the loveliest of women. Of course being taken by Navn as kedera had only made her seem more desirable; the headman had his pick of women for first wife, and had paid Sogayi the ultimate compliment of never taking a second.
    Hurgot was more interested in being politic than being pulled under the spell of a female, particularly one with as much influence over Navn as Sogayi possessed. "Never, Kedera. How may I serve?"
    Sogayi stayed where she was and let her gaze drift over him, lingering on his white hair, wrinkled face, and gnarled hands before she made a rude gesture toward the ensleg. "The rasakt would know the state of this thing."
    An answer to be carefully considered. If the headman wanted her to die, Hurgot could arrange such, but Navn would not have sent his woman to make such a request. Also, Sogayi showed little affection toward members of her own gender. The phrasing she used might have come from her own distaste and not Navn's.
    He decided to be cautiously honest. "The female is malnourished and dehydrated, and suffers from moderate snowbite and exhaustion. If it pleases the rasakt to provide for her needs, she will live."
    This did not please Sogayi, whose eyes measured the length of the ensleg's hair. "We do not need women who ape men in this camp."
    "No," Hurgot said. To point out that Sogayi herself wore her hair to her shoulders, and in other ways often stepped beyond the bounds of