Winged Magic by Mary H. Herbert Page B

unknown to all but a few of the most trusted members. They are well organized, well supplied, heavily armed, and very dangerous.”
    Kelene was both fascinated and alarmed. “But I thought the Shar-Ja was respected by his people. Have the tribes done anything to stop these rebels?”
    “Our sources tell us the tribes are too busy trying to survive themselves.”
    “Our sources?” Kelene chuckled. “Sounds so mysterious.”
    Gabria’s fair face lit with a gleam of humour. “It’s amazing what you can learn from caravan drovers, travelling bards, merchants, and traders. They love to talk when you bring them in off the cold plains and give them a hot meal and a dry bed. We learned much this winter about the Fel Azureth and the tribes’ troubles.” She shook her head, and the humour faded from her green eyes. “They haven’t had good rain in two years. The land is dry, and the rivers are low. The Shar-Ja has done little to help. The tribes grow so desperate, even this extremist group looks promising to some.”
    “And you and Father think this Fel Azureth may have something to do with the attacks on our people?” Kelene suggested shrewdly.
    Gabria nodded. “That was one reason why he asked for this council, to spur the Shar-Ja into some sort of action against these fanatics before their raids lead us into war.”
    “Then perhaps we’ll see some reaction today at council,” Kelene said. “Peoren is going to have his say about the attack on his clan. He has been very patient so far, but I think he’s about to explode.”
    “Just be careful of Zukhara,” said Gabria with motherly fervour.
    Kelene’s eyes narrowed as a new thought occurred to her. “Do you think he has some connection with the Fel Azureth?”
    “No one knows. But as Demira pointed out, there is a taint about him.”
    Across the river a horn blew a sonorous note to call the clans and the tribes to council. Another meeting was about to begin. Demira’s ears swept forward as Eurus, Tibor, and Afer cantered by to meet Lord Athlone, Rafnir, and Sayyed. The little Hunnuli nickered impatiently while Kelene gathered her combs and brushes, restored them to the carry bag, and handed them to Gabria.
    Kelene took leave of her mother and trotted Demira down to the river to join the clan chiefs. This time she paid close attention to Counsellor Zukhara when he arrived with the Turic delegation. Just as Demira described, while other Turics admired the magnificent Hunnuli, Zukhara held well back, keeping the Shar-Ja and Bashan between himself and the black horses.
    Interesting, thought Kelene. Was he afraid of them? Or was he just not interested? Did he know of the Hunnuli’s intuitive ability to read human character?
    Keenly aware of Zukhara, Kelene followed the men into the council tent. She noted that he seemed to avoid the Shar-Ja and his son, as if he did not want to associate with them. He refused to sit but stood aloof, his hands clasped behind his back, his long legs apart and braced for a lengthy wait. The other tribal leaders were deferential to him, yet Kelene saw many of them eye him with subtle wariness or shift their gaze away from him completely.
    The sorceress pursed her lips in thought while she poured and served refreshments as usual. The wine was good this time, a light crisp fermentation from the Khulinin’s own reserves, and the Turics appreciated it.
    Only Zukhara turned it down. When she came to him, he grasped her tray in both hands, forcing her to stop in front of him. He was so tall she had to lift her eyes to see his face, and when she did so, with a bold, angry glare, he curled his lips in that condescending smile that so rankled her, “What, no mead today, my lady?” he said softly. “Not even for me?” His long fingers suddenly grasped her right wrist and twisted it upward to expose the diamond splinter that lay beneath the skin of her forearm. He studied it, tracing his finger along its glowing length.
    The splinter was a