“Is she really that innocent?” Narasan asked with some surprise.

“She’s been somewhat isolated for a long time,” Longbow replied, glossing over a few realities that Red-Beard was sure Narasan wasn’t ready to accept just yet.

“We’ve got a problem, gentlemen,” Narasan said with a slightly worried frown. “Sorgan gave me his word that he’d bring his people down to the southern part of Dhrall to help me in the war that I’m getting paid to fight, but he won’t leave Lady Zelana’s Domain until she pays him. I think I’m going to need him down there, but the way things stand right now, he won’t move until he gets paid for this war.”

Longbow scratched thoughtfully at his cheek. “Why don’t you just sit here and wait, then?” he suggested.

“I didn’t quite follow you, Longbow,” Narasan admitted.

“We need somebody who can persuade Zelana to come back here and pay Sorgan, right?”

“That gets right to the bottom of things, yes.”

“Zelana’s brother needs you to go fight the war down in his Domain, doesn’t he?”

“That’s what he’s paying me for,” Narasan conceded.

“If you don’t arrive there when he expects you, he’ll most likely come here to find out what’s delaying you, won’t he?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Veltan’s probably the only one who’ll be able to persuade his sister to do what she’s supposed to do, and if we all just sit here and refuse to move, he’ll have to go find Zelana and drag her back here. Then she’ll pay Sorgan, and the Maags will celebrate a bit. Then, when they sober up, they’ll join your fleet and you can all sail south to fight Veltan’s war for him. That should just about solve all of our problems, wouldn’t you say?”

“You can be a very devious fellow when you set your mind to it, Longbow,” Narasan observed.

Longbow shrugged. “Whatever works,” he replied.

“Then all we really have to do now is practice sitting still,” Red-Beard said.

“Only after we’ve moved your tribe to their new home, friend Red-Beard,” Longbow reminded him. “We’d better go back to Lattash and see if your uncle’s come to his senses yet. If he hasn’t, we might have to rearrange a few things.”

“Is Chief White-Braid sick or something?” Narasan asked.

“I don’t know if ‘sick’ is the right word,” Red-Beard replied. “Those fire mountains have dried up the river that comes down through the ravine, and if they happen to spout out more of that melted rock, Lattash—and the whole tribe—will get cooked in the same way the snake-men did. Longbow and I found a safer place for the tribe to live, but we’ll have to get my uncle’s permission before we can start moving people, and I’m not sure that he’ll agree.”

“Is there any way that I can help?” Commander Narasan asked.

“No, thanks all the same,” Longbow said. “I think Chief Red-Beard here can take care of it.”

“Will you please stop that?” Red-Beard growled.

“Probably not,” Longbow said. “You’d better start getting used to it, my friend. I think ‘Chief Red-Beard’ is something you won’t be able to dodge much longer.”

3

One-Who-Heals was the shaman of Longbow’s tribe, and he’d always made Red-Beard a little nervous. An ordinary shaman could deal with broken bones and treat minor ailments with assorted herbal concoctions, but One-Who-Heals appeared to have a much greater knowledge than the average shaman, and he was not above a certain amount of experimentation.

Darkness had fallen over the village of Lattash when Red-Beard beached his canoe, and then he and Longbow went up through the quiet village to the lodge of Chief White-Braid. One-Who-Heals was there, and he was sitting beside the fire pit in the center of the lodge, carefully watching the sleeping chief. He touched one finger to his lips when Red-Beard and Longbow entered. “Don’t wake him,” he whispered.

“Is he sick?” Red-Beard asked quietly.

“Not exactly,” the old shaman replied. He rose to his feet. “Let’s go outside,” he suggested. “There are some things you should know.”

They all went on out of the lodge and walked a few yards away. “Your chief’s been having some problems, Red-Beard,” One-Who-Heals said gravely.

“I’ve noticed that. Can you make him well again?”

“In time, perhaps, but not immediately. Some things happened during the recent war that your chief can’t accept. The village of Lattash is a part of him—so much a part that its loss is more than he can comprehend.”

“I know. Is there any way . . . ?” Red-Beard left it up in the air.

“There’s a powerful potion—a mixture of certain roots, leaves, and a rare mushroom—that dulls the awareness and quiets the more powerful emotions. I seldom use this potion, but it seemed necessary this time. I made certain suggestions to him before he went to sleep—and several others after he dozed off. The burden of leadership will be most unpleasant for him when he awakens, and he’ll willingly hand over his authority to someone he knows that he can trust—you, most likely. He trusts you, so you’re the obvious choice.”

“You planned this all along, didn’t you, Longbow?” Red-Beard demanded accusingly. “That’s why you kept throwing ‘Chief Red-Beard’ in my teeth, wasn’t it?”

“The choice was fairly obvious, friend Red-Beard. It’s time that you grew up anyway. You have talent, but you’ve been trying to conceal it in order to avoid responsibility. Your tribe needs you, and you can’t turn your back on that need.”

“That’s a rotten thing to say, Longbow,” Red-Beard flared. “You’re jamming duty right down my throat.”

“You might as well swallow it, my friend,” Longbow replied, “because I’ll pick it up, dust it off, and stuff it back down your throat every time you spit it out.”

“I hate you!”

“No, you don’t. You’re just a bit grouchy because your childhood’s over now and you’ve grown up. It might take you a while to get used to it, but you’ll probably do all right. If it’ll make you feel better, I can stand behind you and cuff you across the back of the head when you do something wrong.”