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Ceremonies of the Horsemen
    â€œThree hands of horses were offered.” Chakthi flung out his fingers in emphasis. “Prime stock, every one.” “No doubt, for the blood of the Tachyn herds is the envy of us all.” Juh of the Aparhaso spoke mildly, his tone a gentle contrast to Chakthi’s venom. Racharran smiled faintly: the old man was ever a keeper of the peace. “But still the decision rests with the girl.”
    Chakthi’s hand sliced air, dismissive.
    â€œWho chooses Rannach,” said Yazte of the Lakanti. “Whose bride offer was accepted by Nemeth.”
    Beyond this inner circle of akamans and wakanishas, Racharran heard a nervous shifting and guessed that was likely Nemeth. The man had courage, he thought, to defy the Tachyn leader. He wondered if Nemeth and Zeil might not soon come seeking the shelter of the Commacht lodges: it was theirs for the asking.
    â€œRannach offered only ten.” Chakthi pressed his point, his lupine features painted sharper in the firelight. His pale eyes flashed a challenge. “Ten against Vachyr’s fifteen. How can that be right?”
    â€œOur women are not beasts, my friend.” Juh frowned, his wrinkles spreading like sun-cracks over the ancient clay of his face, but still his tone was mild. “They are not bought and sold like horses. Arrhyna has a say in this.”
    â€œAnd tells Rannach yes.” Yazte spoke with studied calm, only the barest hint of contempt in his voice.
    Does this all come to war, we’ve an ally there, Racharran thought. Yazte’s no more liking for Chakthi than I. He turned his attention to the others, wondering where their allegiances would lie. Juh, he thought, would seek to hold his Aparhaso aloof from any conflict. He looked to Tahdase of the Naiche but the young man’s face was veiled, as if he’d not yet cast his stone. Racharran could not blame him: Tahdase was not long akaman of his clan—this was his first Matakwa as leader—and, sensibly, he sought no enmities. Even so, Racharran thought, Chakthi forces this to a vote, and then Tahdase must make his choice.
    He returned his eyes to the Tachyn akaman as Chakthi spoke again. “I do not say our women are beasts.” Chakthi attempted a placatory smile: it seemed to Racharran like the grin of a wolverine. “Only that any sensible father, any sensible maiden, must surely choose the better price. Indeed, the better man.”
    Racharran had promised himself he would play the diplomat in this Council, not invoke Chakthi’s anger, but this was too calculated an insult to ignore with honor. He raised a hand and said, “You say that Vachyr is the better man?”
    Morrhyn’s elbow dug hard against his ribs, but he ignored the wakanisha as he faced Chakthi. The Tachyn smiled stonily and ducked his head. “Vachyr is Tachyn: yes, he is the better man.”
    Racharran stiffened even as Morrhyn’s hand clasped his wrist. None bore arms in Council, but had Racharran worn a blade then … “Careful.” Morrhyn’s voice was a breeze against his ear. “He rants; he seeks to provoke you. Do not rise to his bait.”
    It was not easy. Yazte stared at Chakthi as he might at some night crawler found in his bedding. Old Juh frowned in open disapproval. Even careful Tahdase looked shocked. At their sides, the wakanishas of their clans scowled. Racharran reined in his anger, forcing back the challenge that sprang to his lips. Carefully, measuring his words, he said, “Your opinion is your own to hold, brother. As is mine.”
    A shadow crossed the Tachyn’s face, anger and disappointment flashing an instant in his eyes. In the name of the Maker, Racharran wondered, does he truly look to begin a fight here, now?
    â€œWe are the Council of the People.” Juh’s voice was no longer so gentle; now it was edged with the steel that made him akaman. “It is unseemly that we