The Circling Hawk

Content warning: credible threats of torture and of other intense violence.

Late in the afternoon, on their third day's ride up into the hills, Haneati of Baruteiis and his men -- twelve Chehirainan, all with muskets, their two best shots carrying revolver rifles -- sighted the yurts of the Dappled Stream Clan. They unfurled the flag of the Shining Foxes, their piper played his fanfare, and they rode into the camp.

Chief Thuramai rode out alone to greet them. "Haneati!" he called out playfully, as soon as they were close enough. "How long before the ride to Palanelé? Our young men won't be young forever."

"Give it time!" Haneati called back. "We still have a fleet to build."

The chief fell in with them, and they talked more comfortably.

"What brings you up here," he asked Haneati, "so close to Last Leaves?"

"You know already," Haneati said. "The Circling Hawks and their mischief."

"Mischief of theirs?" Thuramai asked. "Runahei preys on the weak, but he's a friend of mine."

And so a man who proved weak would face the Dappled Stream too. That was how nomads played politics. It was quite a change from the oaths and backstabbing back home.

"Back in the Indoru, we would have gathered sworn testimony of the ways in which his people have harassed us, and read him the list in the presence of neutral witnesses."

"Surely you won't do that here. He'll laugh in your face."

"Of course not," Haneati said with a laugh. He made a mental note to leave the letter in his luggage. "But we've brought a gift for him, and for you as well."

Chief Thuramai raised an eyebrow.

"The cherry brandy of Kaichuaru Sorisé, enough to drink to your heart's content. Along with a small foretaste of the spoils of the enemy."

Haneati reached to his right, and one of his men set a porcelain jug in his hand. He passed it to the chief, who saw the pegasus mark and shuddered.

"The orange brandy of Palanelé," Haneati said. "Don't even ask what it cost me, but the time will come when we drink this to our heart's content. The pegasus will be our quarry, rather than our mortal enemy."

#

Haneati and his men dined well that night. The Dappled Stream killed three sheep, and boiled them up into the hearty stew of the grasslands. It would have been better with mustard and watercress, but one had to meet people where they were.

Haneati opened the orange brandy first, to take with the stew; at one shot per man, most men of the clan were able to drink. After the stew, his men broke out milk custard to accompany the Iradens' oatmeal, and got out cherry brandy afterwards. It was as he had promised; there was more than enough for everyone.

The Circling Hawks were a week's ride to the west. Well fed and pleasantly hung over, Haneati and his men took their time getting moving.

#

After a long ride, delayed a little by hunting, Haneati saw Chief Runahei riding up over a hill. His troublemaking son Chutaurai, and several men of the Circling Hawk, were with him. A scout must have sighted them during the ride.

The two parties approached each other, both sides keeping their guns holstered. They drew up to a comfortable speaking distance. The lower-ranking party always gave the first greeting. Haneati met Runahei's eyes, and was silent.

Runahei glowered, and muttered something about impudent foreigners.

"Let that be our greeting," Haneati said. "I've come to let you choose between two wars.

"Your people and your son are forcing us into battle. If you persist in this course, we will fight rather than pay tribute, whatever may come next. We are Chehirainan. We know how to die."

"In any cause however worthless," Runahei said.

"Indeed," Haneati said. "If you choose to fight us, we will sell our lives dearly, and we will know that while our dreams were dashed, we at least had warrior's deaths."

"And suppose I have you skinned alive?"

Haneati turned on his men with a warning glance, then turned back to Runahei.

"Then the orders I gave before I departed will stand. If I fail to return, snipe at the Circling Hawk at long range. Hamstring their animals. Poison their streams. Sneak into their camps, kill their women and children in their sleep, and take their adult men alive. Every prisoner we take, we will sacrifice as an octopus incarnate."

These were wild breaches of decorum for Iraden warfare, and required a level of covert skill that Iradens rarely had. But they had a deep, ingrained fear of Chehiraineh seihipadan, and Haneati's head seihipati, a master thief named Keishaturi, had already made a name for himself.

Easing back in the saddle, Haneati smiled, watching the gears turn in Chief Runahei's mind.

"Let's hear your other option," Runahei said at last.

"You join us," Haneati said. "You speak on my behalf to other clans. You stop robbing Shihis Rausaré, and you tell them that I told you to stop, so that they will help us build a fleet that will sweep Palanelé from the rivers.

"And when the time comes, and we fall on them unlooked-for and carry all before us, you enjoy the honors that will be yours by right, as the third member of the coalition that crushed the last remnant of the Central Federation."

"The Federation," Runahei mused. "They were your enemies too."

"They were," Haneati said, affecting more passion than he felt. "The Undermountain Republic held us in slavery for three hundred years."

In reality, the Undermountain Republic had cured his people of some of their worst habits, but there was no need to complicate things.

"Then stay tonight," Runahei said. "Let us think. We'll have a decision in the morning."

"Permit me to send my men home," Haneati said. "But as a token of goodwill, I will remain with you tonight, unarmed and under your guard."

Runahei's eyes widened. He bowed in the saddle, in an almost Chehiraineh fashion.

"As a further token of goodwill," Haneati said, "I've brought you something for tonight. A jar of Palanelé's orange brandy, which we will soon enjoy in whatever quantity we please; and all the cherry brandy your clan... your clan..."

Haneati felt a sudden sinking feeling. He twisted around in the saddle. The pack horse carrying the brandy! When he and his men had ridden out hung over, they had left it with the Dappled Stream!

Haneati laughed aloud at his own carelessness. His men laughed. Chutaurai laughed. After just a moment, Chief Runahei laughed, the great bellowing laugh of a man of the grasslands. The alliance was on.