Clan Politics

Despite the Switftwind Shaman's words, Dem was whisked away from his meal with Ai, Tam, and Yena before he was able to give them a complete accounting of the evening hunt.

Ai smiled widely at Dem when he paused at the tent's entrance. "Good job, Dem. My dasai is best."

Dem returned her smile before following the Huntmaster. The three women would enjoy a peaceful meal together; perhaps Telo would join them later. "He definitely owes me after this."

The two tribals walked side-by-side toward the Bearclaw camp, located on the outskirts of the gathering. Several pairs of eyes spotted the unlikely duo. The Huntmaster walked with a long stride, leaning forward slightly at the waist while his corded arms swung in an exaggerated movement. Oddly enough, his companion seemed to move much slower but kept pace without falling behind.

"Do you think you could teach this knife fighting style of yours?" Dern asked.

Dem considered the question for a moment before nodding. From his position in the shadows of Thaigmaal, he had sat in on several beginning courses and was familiar with the training method. "Eight weeks of daily work to learn basic competence; anything after that will be based on individual motivation.

Dern nodded; the newest Swiftwind member understood training. "Teya Bearclaw recently began to show signs of the earth element."

Dem glanced sideways at the Huntmaster, his expression confused. "Earth magic?"

"Exceedingly rare, Dem. Tribal magic isn't powerful; our bloodlines are too diluted. So her abilities are probably fundamental."

Dem understood the mission perfectly. "I'll find out what I can."

Dern smiled at the young street rat; Dem was difficult to read. "Don't be intimidated by her size."

Dem shrugged in response. "Everyone is bigger than me, so it doesn't affect me."

They stopped at the entrance to a square tent that was obviously a personal residence. A tribal warrior, nearly twice the size of an average person, stood with his arms crossed in front of him. "Is this the lucky winner?" The guard's voice was so deep it sounded like it came from the bottom of a well.

Dern nodded. "This is Demetri Swiftwind. He's here to accompany Teya Bearclaw."

The large man leaned forward slightly, his tanned face and bushy brows threatening. "Be on your best behavior, Swiftwind."

Dem nodded. "Of course."

Dem patted down his short hair before straightening his shirt; a moment later, he stepped into the warmth of the Bearclaw lodge.

Two younger girls stood at the serving table stationed in one corner. The floor was covered in thick furs; the air held the slight scent of smoke combined with the spiced roast on display. Teya sat comfortably on a floor cushion with her legs crossed beneath her.

"It's fine, don't get up," Dem said when his dinner companion started to rise. "I'd like to sit and talk for a bit before we eat."

"Okay," she gestured shyly toward the cushion across from her. "I was surprised to hear that Demitri Swiftwind found my circut."

Dem seated himself before looking up. She wore another sleeveless shirt, but this one had been embroidered by someone who knew needlework. "How would you know my name?"

Teya's hair hung halfway down her back, streaked liberally with red; it was wavy as if it had recently been in a braid. She had warm brown eyes, much lighter in color than most tribals, and delicate features despite her size. "I won money on you earlier."

"You bet on me?" Dem asked, the surprise evident on his face. "You must have got good odds."

Teya's full lips curved in a smile. "Very good," she agreed. "I don't care about the coin. Seeing those two humbled made a lot of people happy."

Dem stood long enough to slide his cushion much closer. Then, he leaned back comfortably, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Want a second cushion?" Teya offered.

Dem laughed and shook his head. "I could have three or four, and it still wouldn't make a difference. I'd still be looking up."

Teya raised an eyebrow, staring for an instant before her tanned face darkened. "I didn't mean because you are small. I want to make sure you are comfortable."

"You think I'm small?" Dem had to focus on keeping a smile on his face.

"What? No, I didn't mean..." She stopped speaking when he grinned. "Teasing me? So, you're a rascal... "

An hour later, Dern appeared at the tent entrance, where he could hear the sound of laughter. He stepped in, immediately becoming the center of attention.

The two teens sat at the table with Teya's arm looped through Dem's.

"How did you know he was there? I didn't hear anything?" Teya asked.

"He soaks his hands in cow urine every morning to toughen them up; the scent follows him like a stray cat you just fed."

"HAHAHAHA," Teya laughed loudly, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Is that true, Huntmaster Dern?"

Dern rolled his eyes. "Absolutely not. Horse urine works best."

Teya smiled at Dem, standing when Dern motioned for him. "He has to go already?"

Dern nodded. "Yes."

Teya gripped Dem's shoulder before he could move away. "We could walk together sometime."

Dem squeezed her hand and nodded in agreement. "Of course."

The Huntmaster fixed his young companion with a measured glance after they exited. "Well done. The two of you seemed friendly."

Dem nodded in agreement. "We share the same challenge. Other folks treat us differently because of our size."

The Huntmaster's serious face remained unreadable, but secretly he was impressed by Dem's ability to find common ground. "Next will be Ravyn Frostridge..." His words filtered when Dem stopped suddenly and looked to the northeast.

"Something is wrong." Then, without saying anything further, Dem broke into a sprint, cutting directly through the compound.

"SOUND THE ALARM!" Dern shouted to the Bearclaw perimeter guard, who was completing his rounds. Then, hefting his spear, he followed Dem, hardpressed to keep the surprisingly fast street rat in view.

Dem ran low to the ground, quickly weaving through the different clan areas with his knife held in one hand. Death hung in the air, black tendrils that rippled in the night breeze floated in front of his vision.

"Calm yourself," the Huntmaster warned. He could feel the air thickening around them, indicating that Dem's beastmaster blood was activating.

Moments later, they arrived in a small clearing near the river; matted grass and liberally splattered blood indicated that a fight had taken place.

"Here!" Dem followed the trail a few meters downstream, where a tribal lay with his body half in the water. He held his spear in one hand; the other clutched at his abdomen, where blood seeped through his fingers. A second deep wound on the middle-aged tribal's face exposed several inches of his stark, white jawbone.

"I killed one of them," blood bubbled from the grotesque facial injury when the wounded man spoke.

The Huntmaster knelt beside the victim, removing his hand to examine the stomach wound. He produced a wadded cloth from his pack that served as a makeshift dressing for the more severe injury. Dern crossed glances with Dem; the younger man's blood was still throbbing, evidenced by his glowing eyes. "Calm yourself, Dem. Find us a trail."

Dem nodded and moved upriver a few meters before walking clockwise; he found more blood within seconds. The street rat cursed when he saw the body, a bloody hole where the corpse's shoulder and neck met indicated the cause of death. Having seen plenty of bodies, this one stood out as someone he was familiar with. "Not good; I've seen this man before."

Dem's sharp nose caught the scent of horses. A quick search revealed their hiding place behind a small stand of elder brush. Tracks of four animals headed east in the direction of Thaigmaal.

Two more guards and the red-painted Shaman were tending to the wounded man when Dem returned. "There's a city-dweller body on the other side of the river. Where did Huntmaster Dern go?"

"He's gathering a hunting party." The Shaman spoke without looking up.

"Is he taking part? Dem asked." The man being tended was obviously a Frostridge. Usually, any security issue would be addressed by the clan involved.

The Whitehill Shaman nodded; her clan and the Frostridge enjoyed close ties. "This is the Frostridge Huntmaster, and we lost ours to illness before the migration."

Dem knelt beside the Shaman, watching as she stitched the wound and started mixing a poultice. "I can take care of the jaw wound."

The Red Shaman nodded slightly. "My Swiftwind counterpart did mention that you were uncommonly proficient at stitching wounds."

Dem raised an eyebrow at the mention of the White Shaman. "Did my dosu say anything else?"

"HAHAHA," the Red Shaman flashed him a smile. "She says you call her dosu..."

Since the words were true, Dem let the comment pass. Although he was only supposed to use the term when no one else was around, Dem ignored the stipulation and did it all the time. "I like it here," he said as if that explained everything.

A few minutes later, Dem was informed that he was joining the search team along with Dern, three tribals from the Frostridge Clan, and the Swiftwind Shaman. The latter sat comfortably on her horse, the only one in the group without a spear besides the Street Rat.

"You've seen the corpse before?" Dern asked.

Dem nodded truthfully. "Quite a few times, he's from Thaigmaal. He runs security on merchant caravans. His name is Hokum."

"Why would he be here?" Taigon asked. Unexpectedly, the Frostridge Clan Leader was part of the group; he had insisted but was purposefully vague on the reason.

Dem studied the trail while the rest of the group sorted out last-minute details. It was odd that Taigon decided to accompany them. "No idea; this isn't a caravan route."