Mitra stood beside her aunt, waiting with the women and children for the men to get into position. The entire tribe of warrior nomads was alert and moving, like an army preparing for an inspection. Mitra watched as Lavin unsuccessfully wheedled his father for a place with the warriors. She had tried the same thing with her own father, just hours before. The answer had been a firm NO, of course. Ever since her mother had been killed in battle, four years ago when Mitra was barely ten, Rudur had been overly protective. Fortunately, Mitra’s aunt had convinced her brother to get Mitra armor and let her train for battle with the boys. Most girls didn’t fight, not even Lavin’s older sister, also the daughter of a chief, but Mitra found it exciting. It was so boring to stay in camp all the time. Besides, she wanted to feel needed, to be able to help the Warsong tribe in some way. What else could she do?
Lavin came stomping grumpily over to her.
“Aw, why won’t they let us march with the men? It’s not like we’re going to fight.”
Mitra shrugged.
“They think we don’t look impressive enough. And maybe we’ll fight, if the city sends out their army.”
Lavin scoffed.
“There’s no city army that can beat us!”
Mitra shrugged again.
“They might not want to risk it.”
Rudur and the other two chiefs began shouting orders, and the bristling ranks of warrior nomads moved forward at a trot. The women and children were supposed to stay under the cover of the trees while the rest of the tribe marched up to the city walls.
Lavin stared bitterly after the disappearing warriors.
“Can’t we at least go and watch?” he asked Mitra’s aunt.
Mitra added her pleading gaze to his, and after a moment her aunt softened.
“All right. But stay out of danger.”
“Yes!”
The two started running, circling to the right to get close enough to the city wall to hear. They ended up on a hill, close enough to hear the shouting and high enough to see over the city wall. It was a large city, and seemed to be well armed.
Lavin paled.
“Uh, Mitra, maybe we should head back. Th-that army’s a lot bigger than I thought.”
“They’re not coming out. They’re just assembled in case we try something, and we won’t.” Mitra replied impatiently. Sometimes Lavin got scared about the silliest things.
“Still…”
“Oh, don’t be a coward. Don’t you trust your father?”
Lavin still looked unconvinced. Actually, although he was one of the three chieftains, Mitra didn’t particularly trust Lavin’s father. The tribe relied mainly on the shortest and smartest chief, Vangor, to make the decisions, while Rudur, being the biggest, enforced them. Lavin’s father was mostly there to carry on the tradition of having three chiefs, Mitra thought, but she didn’t say this to Lavin.
“Look, if the army starts to come out, we’ll run back to the trees, okay?”
“Agreed.” Lavin regained some of his color and leaned forward, pointing.
“Look! There are our fathers and Vangor. They’re going toward the city gates.”
Mitra had already noticed them. She was watching a blue-robed official waiting on the city wall.
“Hail, strangers.” The official shouted as soon as the three nomad chiefs were close enough. “Welcome to the city of Eller. Please state your business.”
Vangor spread his hands amiably.
“Thank you, good sir. Our business is very simple. We are the Warsong tribe, warrior nomads who travel about the country from spot to spot. Recently, smaller, weaker tribes which have never posed a threat to us before have been routing us in battle. We believe someone has been providing them with magicians.”
He dropped his hands and hung his head, cleverly portraying both sadness and vulnerability.
“We have been forced out of our usual camping grounds, and we cannot regain them unless we have a magician of our own. Surely such a huge and great city as Eller has more than one magician to protect it?”
The official in blue hesitated. Finally, he gestured to a servant behind him and said,
“We have two magicians. You may ask them if one of them is willing to go with you.”
The young man who stepped up beside the official had dark hair and an arrogant bearing. He looked coldly down his nose at Mitra’s father and the other two chiefs.
Vangor bowed.
“Good magician, if you will agree to come with us and set up your illusions for us, we will pay you well.”
“With what?”
Mitra wondered if he was really considering the offer. He was richly dressed, and even the official in blue treated him with respect.
“With gold.”
“How much?”
Vangor didn’t blink an eye at the magician’s uncivil questions.
He named the amount, and the young magician laughed.
“That wouldn’t be enough for a year.”
“We had hoped for a five-year contract,” Vangor said. “If you agree, any gold we acquire will be given directly to you.”
The magician only sneered and turned away.
“Ah,” said the blue-robed official. “What a pity. Well, there is still old Argval.”
An old man shuffled up to stand next to the official.
“Aw right, den, what’s happenin’?”
“Good magician, we would like to hire you to travel with us.”
“Mire me in an abacus? Well, well, dat’s not very polite. In fact, I don’t see ‘ow it’s possible.”
“No, sir, we wish to invite you-”
“You want ter be polite too? A good thought, a good thought. But-”
Vangor visibly controlled himself.
“Good sir-”
“I’d say you’re not getting a very good start on bein’ polite, young man. Callin’ me a loser won’t get you anywhere.”
Exasperated, Vangor motioned to Rudur, who took a step closer to the wall.
“Venerable magician!” He shouted. The old man cupped a hand to his ear.
“What’s dat? You want a physician?”
“We will give you much gold. . .”
“A cold, you say? No-no, no, I don’t want one, though you meant it kindly, I’m sure. Hm, it is getting a bit chilly out here.”
Rudur’s chest swelled, and he roared at the top of his lungs,
“Will you come with us?”
“Eh, eh, whassat? I can’t stand out here in the cold talking to you much longer, young man. It’s been a pleasure, a pleasure. . .”
“We will pay you well!” Rudur bellowed despairingly.
The old man had already started down from the wall. He waved a hand vaguely.
“Aye, farewell to you too.”
Rudur’s fists clenched. Striding forward, he bawled up to the official,
“If you will not give us a magician, perhaps we will take one!”
“Perhaps, my friend.” The official said calmly. He motioned to the gatekeepers, and the gate swung open, pouring out the city army like water from the mouth of a spring.
“And then, perhaps not.”
Vangor signaled the warrior nomads’ retreat, and they moved defiantly off while the city army glared after them.
Mitra realized with a start that Lavin was pulling at her arm.
“M-Mitra! Let’s go, let’s go. C-come on, they’ve come out!”
She scrambled to her feet and followed him down the hill and back to the trees.
The mission had failed. What could the Warsong tribe do now?