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  I could see their development in less visible ways. Their mind voices were changing, taking on weight and confidence, communicating more deliberately and clearly. I had made a real effort to stay out of the way, so to speak, while they were being taught to be sha’um—but they had not allowed it. Like children looking over their shoulders to assure themselves they had an audience, they had drawn my awareness with them into the process of watching, scenting, waiting, stalking.

  I had learned something from those lessons. The first time the cubs had watched Yayshah bring down a wild glith, their minds had erupted and carried me, breathless, into a maelstrom of fierce, predatory excitement. Tarani and I had been strolling; I had wrenched myself away to awaken flat on the ground, with Tarani kneeling beside me, nearly panicked by my sudden collapse.

  Raw power ran through the minds of the cubs, a product of the incautious enthusiasm of youth. While I treasured their desire to share their every experience with me, I had learned to be prepared to disengage from the more intense experiences.

  The problem had changed as Koshah and Yoshah had become more verbal and less … primal. While they had been two distinct individuals from the start, I had thought of them together as “the cubs.” They diverged rapidly into separate, equally demanding presences. Each cub was constantly discovering something new and trying to tell me about it. I wanted to encourage their enthusiasm for talking, so I ruthlessly suppressed my occasional—and inevitable—“What is it now?” attitude and responded with interest and approval. The practice was teaching me to balance the three warm presences and fine-tune my end of the communication, so that I could speak to any one of the sha’um directly and privately.

  Koshah trotted over to greet us, squeezing himself between Tarani and me so that he could rub against both of us. When he had passed through, Tarani knelt. The male cub went up to her, rubbed his cheek against hers, and let his chin rest on her shoulder while her hands stroked his head and the longer neckfur that could lift into a mane. Koshah closed his eyes and enjoyed it, as only a cat can enjoy being petted. Tarani smiled softly and enjoyed it, too.

  Soon all the sha’um were awake. Yoshah demanded the same kind of treatment from me, and I obliged until Keeshah said: *Go soon?*

  10

  We traveled south from Omergol and around the tip of the range, marked by a mountain that shot up unexpected from the foothills: Mount Kadahl. As had been true throughout the trip, more time was spent in hunting than in moving. The adult sha’um could store food (and water, for that matter) for long periods. They hunted to teach and feed the cubs, who were never not hungry. What they ate seemed to turn directly into growth. They had added inches in length and height since Raithskar, and had begun to look so scrawny that Tarani and I discussed the possibility that the travel was harming them, and slowed the pace even further.

  Our fears were unfounded. During the seven days between Omergol and Thagorn, the up-and-out growth process gave way to a thickening of muscle. By the time we sighted the Sharith scout, each cub was about the size of a full-grown tiger, and their birthfur was almost entirely gone.

  Yoshah, whose sense of smell seemed keener than the others’, was the first to lift her head alertly. The announcement of the newcomer was a growly noise in her throat. To me she said: *Strange sha’um.* The ruff of gray fur around her neck fluffed out, and her tail stopped its miscellaneous movement, only the tip twitching from side to side.

  *It is a friend,* I said to Yoshah, broadening the message to include Koshah, as well. The cubs heard me, but waited tensely for the newcomer to appear.

  They were going to be disappointed.

  “As we agreed?” I said to Tarani. She nodded.

  *Stay here* I told the cubs, and to Keeshah I said: *Let’s go meet the Rider.*

  Keeshah moved out, only to be halted by three impatient sha’um voices—two, as I could tell, wanting to go along, and one trying to stop them. Keeshah turned back and added his command to Yayshah’s, and I reached with my mind to soothe the cubs’ indignation at being left behind. Tarani rode Yayshah skillfully as the sha’um lunged forward and used her nose to try to force Koshah away from us. The male cub snarled and twisted quickly, and brought a paw up (claws sheathed) to knock his mother’s head out of the way. For that, he got a swat against his side that sent him tumbling.

  Keeshah jumped into the act. He brought his head down against his daughter’s side and half-threw her back toward Yayshah. She got up and stalked forward, her ears flattened, and thought better of it when Keeshah bared his teeth and crouched.

  *Want to go,* Koshah told me, still trying to edge around Yayshah to get to us.

  *Stay here,* I repeated to both cubs. *We’ll be back in a little while*

  *Other sha’um close,* Keeshah said, and the information was confirmed by the sounds of movement through the brush. I caught a glimpse of the crown of a hat, above a clump of wild dakathrenil.

  “Hello the sentry,” I called. “Please stay where you are; I will join you shortly.”

  The hat stopped and rose, revealing first the round, flat brim and then the eyes of the face underneath it.

  “As you wish, Captain,” the man answered. The voice was unfamiliar.

  *You’re going to stay put, right?* I asked the cubs, and received a grudging agreement. Keeshah whirled and launched himself in a long, loping stride around the tree tangle. In seconds we were face to face with the Sharith Rider.

  “Welcome to Thagorn, Captain,” the man said formally. “I am Innis, and this is Wortel.” He drew his hand along the left jaw of the sha’um he was riding.

  We had met before, of course. I had met each of the Riders on the occasion when Dharak had declared me Captain, the first in Gandalaran history since Serkajon had left Kingdom and Sharith in order to remove the power of the Ra’ira from the Kings. But there were nearly a hundred Riders. I appreciated the man’s reintroducing himself and his sha’um, and repaid the gesture by performing the formal introduction for Keeshah.

  The Rider was young, barely in his twenties. The roving patrol guarding Thagorn was usually the assignment of the older Riders. Seeing so young a man on this duty brought remembrance and concern sharply into focus.

  “How many sha’um, Innis?” I asked urgently.

  He hesitated, as if he would have suggested I wait and ask Thymas, but he must have read the need for answers in my face.

  “Twelve more since you and the lady Tarani left, Captain,” the man said. “All of them in the first seven-day; none since then.”

  I forced my shoulder to relax and sighed. Twelve more, I thought. That brings the total to thirty-four sha’um who returned to the Valley early, solely because Yayshah came along and reminded them they were males. And roughly a seventh of the sha’um were already in the Valley, responding to the natural mating cycle. I felt my chest tighten with grief and sympathy for the Riders whose sha‘um had broken contact and reverted to their animal state. I had been through that myself, recently—it was no picnic. It felt as if a part of your brain had been surgically removed. You couldn‘t think or see or feel. You were not complete. You were alone.

  “Uh, sir?” Innis prompted hesitantly.

  “Yes, Innis,” I said, coming back out of my reverie. “I was just thinking—nearly half of the Riders must be suffering.”

  “Sir, Lieutenant Thymas has made it clear that you are not to blame for the situation. His instructions to the sentries are always the same—to offer you welcome and the hospitality of Thagorn. And I”—he cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, “I am proud to do so, sir.”

  “Thank you,” I said, more unnerved than I let on. Even under the stress of the early departure of his sha’um for the Valley, Dharak had taken the trouble to write the appointment for his son. “Lieutenant Thymas,” I thought.

  “Tell me one more thing, Innis—how is Dharak?”

  The man’s face told me all I needed to know, and I did not wait for him to say it out loud.

 
“Please wait here for a moment,” I said.

  “My instructions, sir,” Innis said, as Keeshah turned back in the direction from which we had appeared, “are to offer welcome to the lady Tarani, as well.”

  “Tarani joins with me in wishing no further disruption to the Sharith, and has chosen not to enter Thagorn,” I told him, looking back over my shoulder. “But I will convey your welcome, Innis. It will please her greatly.”

  When we returned to the group of sha’um (the cubs were pacing about, pouting in mind and mannerism, but silent), I told Tarani what Innis had said. As I had expected, she was very moved. We had left Thagorn at my insistence while Yayshah had been largely and clumsily pregnant, and unpredictably near to delivering the cubs. Tarani, both because she rationally and wholly cared for the female, and because she was mindlinked and a little too closely in touch with Yayshah’s feelings, had resisted that decision.

  After the cubs were born, and Tarani had learned more control of the recently established mindlink, she had been in a unique position to appreciate the magnitude of Yayshah’s effect on the Sharith. She now shared the same kind of bond that had been suddenly and unexpectedly removed from the Riders of the missing sha’um. And she had witnessed and suffered from my breakdown when Keeshah had left me.

  The respect of the Sharith was of immense importance to her, yet she would have accepted their hatred of Yayshah—and herself—without apology. It was a bonus for her that they seemed to understand, as we did, that what had happened was unfortunate but not intentional.

  I invited her to ride with me into Thagorn, but she shook her head. “Let us do as we agreed, and one of us stay with the family at all times, to warn away the other sentries. I would not have another Rider suffer the loss of his sha’um.”

  So I rode alone beside Innis into Thagorn, through the gates of a wall stretching like a dam across a deep narrow opening, closing in a large and verdant valley. On our last visit to the city of the Sharith, Tarani and I had been greeted with a great deal of ceremony. This time, no one had warning of our arrival, so that Innis and I rode in like two ordinary Riders returning from patrol duty.

  That lasted as long as it took for the guards on the wall to recognize me. Then my name was shouted and passed along the length of the valley, and people came running from all directions. At the midpoint of the valley, it was bisected by a strong river. Just this side of the river stood a large, white stone house—the home of the Lieutenant. I headed in that direction, slowing Keeshah to a walk, and pausing frequently to greet people I recognized.

  This crowd was unlike the one in Raithskar. For one thing, they kept their distance, shouting and waving. For another, there was a subdued quality, even to the laughter, and I knew that the sight of me reminded them of the grounded Riders. Yet what Innis had implied was true: There was no accusation here, only great curiosity about the fate of the woman who had broken the ageless men-only tradition of the Riders and the female sha’um who had broken instinct to bear her cubs outside the Valley.

  In the distance, near the white house, I saw a figure come out the front door, mount a crouching sha’um, and ride toward us. The crowd parted to let Thymas pass; he rode up beside me and laid his right hand on my right shoulder. I returned the salute and, mindful of the crowd, held back the questions that tumbled into my head.

  How long have we been gone? I wondered. Two months? Three? Thymas has aged five years in that time.

  I turned partly away from Thymas and spoke to the group of people, most of whom were non-Riders who had been at work at the many tasks necessary to support a settlement of the size of Thagorn.

  “Your greeting honors me,” I said. “Tarani and Yayshah are well, and two cubs have joined us.” A clamor rose at that, the words obscured by the sheer noise of the outburst. The meaning was clear; these people whose lives were so thoroughly intertwined with sha’um, wanted desperately to see the cubs.

  Thymas raised his hand, and quiet settled in quickly.

  “Innis, you know the location of the Lady Tarani?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then kindly return to her. When Wortel scents the female, dismount and send him upwind, and approach Tarani on foot. Give her my greeting, and ask if she and the sha’um will consent to be settled in the clearing prepared for them.”

  The Rider turned his sha’um and rode back through the gates. Thymas addressed the crowd.

  “The Captain and I will consider the possibility of allowing Sharith to visit Yayshah and her cubs in small groups, but if it can be permitted, such visits will not begin until tomorrow. We must give Rikardon and Tarani a night’s rest, at least.”

  The crowd began to dissipate. Thymas turned Ronar, his sha’um, and rode beside me toward the white house.

  “What is this ‘clearing?’” I asked him.

  “Just that,” he said, “a clearing … with a house. It is some distance from Thagorn, but sheltered in the hills, and—”

  “And downwind,” I interrupted, looking at him in surprise. “Thymas, you built a house for us?”

  We stopped our sha’um and faced each other. There was more sincerity than I could bear in the boy’s voice as he said, “Tarani has proven herself to be Sharith, and you are our Captain. You spared us the shame of asking you to leave us, and I swore that necessity would not arise again. That house may not be in Thagorn, but it is of the Sharith. It will serve as your—and Tarani’s—home, or as a temporary shelter for your visits. That is your choice; the house is yours, whenever it is needed.”

  I was at a loss for words. I urged Keeshah on and we rode in silence, to dismount in front of the Lieutenant’s house. Shola came out, wiping her hands on her apron. She hesitated for an awkward moment, then impulsively hugged me. I returned the hug, and put an arm around Thymas as we went into the house.

  Dharak was in the sitting room, arranged in an armchair, silent and motionless, staring out the window.

  11

  A shudder of tension ran through me and the two people I was touching. Shola said awkwardly, “It is the luncheon hour, Captain, and we were preparing to eat. You will join us, of course?” She was a chunky, hearty woman who could be beautiful when she wished. She was looking up at me with an air of not looking at her husband, and the rounded cheeks seemed hollow, the skin of her arms loose, the goldish headfur thinning noticeably.

  “It has never lasted this long before, has it, Shola?” I asked her quietly.

  She closed her eyes and took a breath. “It will be this way,” she said shakily, “until Doran returns. I am sure of it.”

  I squeezed her shoulder. “Would I pass up one of your meals, Shola? Please go on ahead; Thymas and I will be there in just a moment.”

  She left us, the boy and I, looking at the palefurred man who had led the Sharith for most of a long and capable life. We had found him in nearly the identical position when we had returned from Omergol with the note that Dharak had scrawled and sent to us. It had named Thymas as Lieutenant.

  “Captain,” Thymas said suddenly, stepping away and half-turning his back on me. “Please stay in Thagorn.”

  It was difficult for him to say that, I thought.

  “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” I asked.

  The boy whirled. “That’s wrong,” he said. “I don’t want to be the Lieutenant, not this way.”

  “You knew it would happen someday,” I said. “You hoped for it, didn’t you? How would it be different if Dharak were dead, instead of just … missing, as he is?”

  The words shocked him, but I knew Thymas. It was like the old story with the jackass and the two-by-four; first you had to get his attention. Thymas was either learning discretion, or was getting to know me, too. He started toward me with anger in his face, but stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled wryly.

  “The difference is, I haven’t had the training I expected,” he said. “Oh, I can assign duty and plan sentry patterns and supervise a work crew. If people have to do things, I can see that they work at
it. But I don’t know a thing about how to control the way people feel. And—Rikardon, you don’t know what it is like now. The Riders are all right on the surface, but there’s not a one of them who goes to sleep with the assurance that his sha’um will be there in the morning. The others function, they do their work, but all they think about—they don’t even talk about it, mind you, for fear it will make things worse—is how things have changed, and how they might change tomorrow.”

  Thymas lifted his arms and dropped them, in a gesture of futility.

  “I can direct people,” he told me. “I can’t lead them. I never knew the difference until …” He waved a hand in the direction of his father.

  “How can my staying be of help?” I asked. “And what did you mean by ‘training’? What training have you missed?”

  “I was a cub the last time Doral went to the Valley,” Thymas said. “My father was shocked and upset for a few days, but he came back to himself. He had to step down from being Lieutenant, of course. Only a Rider can lead the Riders. So he appointed someone to take his place temporarily—it was Bareff, in fact.”

  Bareff had been one of the first two Sharith I had met, and had become and remained a friend. I felt a surge of pride for him.

  “Bareff led the Sharith for that year—but not alone, Captain. He did the planning, assigning, and supervising—the same kind of things I can do. But the authority, the settling of arguments, the award of punishment, the … the leadership continued to be Dharak’s in action and responsibility. Bareff worked with him, learned from him.”