Clans of Luteri Bk. 02 Ch. 01-02

Hey, Everyone. So here are the first two chapters to Book 2. I have to put it in or there will be too much of a delay posting it, so I won't get your answer whether you are interested in the second book or not until after that. -Harp

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The Five Clans of Luteri

Book II: Luteri

Chapter One

Aslin rode in front of Kane on his Luterian warhorse, Shaol. Another horse, small like the ones in Alveria but stocky and with long hair, trudged behind them, a rope connecting the two horses, carrying their bags.

They had disembarked the ship in the morning, coming down the gangway, land strange under her feet. Kane had purchased the small packhorse in Minsk, prudently loading their bags onto its back before releasing Shaol from the hold of the Tinook, the ship that had brought them here.

Shaol had exploded out of the hold, rushing straight up the gangplank toward land, huge, his thick coat black from nose to the tip of his tail. Metal for fighting tipped his front hooves. He was a third larger than the largest Alverian horse, enraged, weeks confined on the ship. People had scattered as Kane hung on to the reins in grim, struggling silence, keeping himself from being dragged, his feet sometimes leaving the ground. Aslin had stood well back, the hood of her cloak up so nobody would see her.

Upon spotting the smaller horse, Shaol had screamed in outrage and lunged at it immediately, murder in his eyes, his clacking teeth met with curses and simple brute strength as Kane got between the two animals and drove the warhorse back, snapping the leather reins at him as Shaol attempted to circumvent him.

The smaller horse, whom Aslin had named Barley—Kane giving her a puzzled look—had reacted, understandably, with terror, bolting repeatedly from the warhorse, only the fact that his reins were tied to a metal ring set in the ground for that purpose stopping him from fleeing the area altogether. Barley had ranged the semicircle of possible movement, his hind end down, his front legs stiff, scraping gouges in the dirt as he attempted to retreat. The bags on his back swayed perilously.

Several other people joined Aslin to watch the spectacle. These were not Luterians in Minsk. Kane had explained to her that they were Siblin, a seafaring people who administered the port city that opened to Luteri in exchange for the profits from a tax on imported and exported goods. It was an old relationship, Minsk having been a permanent port for Siblin ships for a thousand years.

The Siblin she saw didn't seem to be too curious about them, being a secretive, private people themselves. They lived in the colorful ships docked on the western side of the harbor, a whole population of them, nomadic, their ships coming and going.

It was an exhausting process getting Shaol saddled. By the time Kane was standing in front of her, covered in dust, Shaol's froth on his cloak, his face tense and furious, Aslin had simply stepped into his laced hands without comment and let him put her on Shaol. She could tell from the haste with which Kane mounted behind her that he still didn't trust the Luterian stallion not to do something hateful.

Kane turned Shaol and headed him forward through the main road of the port city, the packhorse following. The way was clear, it was straight, it was wide, relatively quiet as they moved away from the chaos of the harbor, the clatter of crates, the rattling of carts. They passed a tavern, a few shops.

But then they passed a Siblin blacksmith working in front of a forge, his face lit oddly with the fire, who pounded his hammer on metal, a muffled clang that sent Shaol into an explosion of startled fury.

Handling the animal in grim silence at first, one arm around her waist to make sure she didn't fly off, Kane grunted as Shaol went sideways, sideways more as if he was going to fall over altogether, Aslin trying to lean the other way, then straight backward until he almost hit Barley behind him, who reared his head and backed up himself. Then Shaol surged forward, coming to the end of the rope between them, dragging the packhorse briefly, Shaol throwing his chest into it. Shaol's peeling call rang in the streets as Kane battled him, abandoning silence.

"Contrary fucking cock of a horse—," Kane spat in Luterian as Aslin closed her eyes behind the cloak's hood.

He finally got Shaol moving in the direction he wanted. Aslin thought about how it was only the fact that the smaller horse was behind Shaol, out of his immediate line of sight, keeping the stallion from falling on Barley now, bags and all, and stomping him to death.

They moved roughly forward—and sideways, and sometimes backward, strange diagonals as Shaol lurched down the street in stubborn rage—Siblins keeping a wary distance. Kane fought the animal all the way through the port city and to the huge iron gates rising far above her at the end of that road. At the top of the gate, bars jutted that ended in sharp points like spears.

A smaller gate—smaller only in contrast, it was still wide and tall enough for five horses to walk side-by-side—was in its center. A moon pattern with five stars was woven delicately into the iron on the inset.

"The pattern in the gates is for Luteri, for the Five Clans, honoring Shai," Kane said through clenched teeth behind her, dealing with the horse.

Shaol, who had never stopped his other-than-forward motion, chose this moment to rush forward briefly and give a truly impressive hop straight up into the air, all four feet leaving the ground, his back bowed under them. For a moment, they floated. She heard Kane curse behind her.

"Hold on, Corsaire," he grunted, pulling her tighter.

Aslin felt their momentum shift downward, Shaol moving in midair so his front hooves crashed first with a sharp jar into the ground that rattled her teeth, throwing her forward, only Kane's hold keeping her from cracking her face on the horse's neck, and then Shaol's back end arrived.

"No more, Shaol!" Kane roared, completely out of patience. "I will have you gelded, you wicked creature!"

Shaol responded with a series of short peeling cries punctuated with back kicks of his legs, again startling the packhorse, Kane getting him moving forward again.

They finally approached the huge high iron gate. Kane dismounted, pulling her down with him, Shaol so tall, setting her on her feet. When he was sure she was steady, he dropped the reins, sending the stallion a disgusted glare, and approached the gate.

Shaol turned his head and looked at her with one roaming eye, completely maddened, sly and evil. Aslin stepped away from the horse and out of biting range, which was a long way, watching him warily as Kane banged on the metal gate, setting up a dull thudding sound.

"Bartok!" Kane called.

"Like we didn't know you're there, Tavishi," a voice came in Luterian, laughing. "Like we couldn't hear you crashing and banging up the Minsk road. Yes, you've entirely snuck up on us. Declare yourself."

"You know me, Bartok," Kane sneered back, glaring through the bars. "I've come through this gate a dozen times. How can we trust you to defend the gates when you're so stupid?"

"Kiss my Noëthe ass, Kane," the figure answered.

Aslin blinked.

"Well, if you know my name, then declaring myself is redundant, isn't it?" Kane pointed out in a fury. "Do you know that word, redundant? Or is it too largish big for you?"

"You can come through, but your companion has to say who she is."

"She does not have to do so," Kane raged. "You are making it up. Open the gate, Bartok. I've got Shaol, you know what a bastard he is just come off the ship."

"I don't care if your cock is hard and you very urgently need someone to suck it, I'm not opening the gate until I know whom you're bringing into Noëthe territory."

Aslin was very glad for the hood, her cheeks flaming. Kane glanced at her and approached closer to the gate, snarling, his back stiff.

"Why are Noëthe clan so foul-mouthed? So you can offend away any invaders who come to attack Luteri? Is it strategic? A deterrent?"

The man laughed.

"Blow all you like, Tavishi," he said. "It's just warm air this side of the gate."

"She is my oath," Kane said in controlled fury. "That is all you need to know."

The man disappeared. Kane stepped back. Slowly, the gate creaked open, and then wide, a man, long light brown hair and brown eyes, stepping through and opening the other. He was subtly trying to see her.

"There's no need to upset yourself, Kane," the man said. "Tavishi are so excitable."

Kane appeared to swallow a retort, returning to put her on Shaol. The horse tried to dislodge him when Kane began to mount behind her, Kane forced to follow him hopping with one leg down, the other foot in the stirrup. The Noëthe man turned and laughed, watching.

"Evisha nen, Shaol!" Kane snarled—Stop it, Shaol!—the words he'd said to the horse in Alveria so many times now meaningful.

But when the Noëthe man laughed, Shaol suddenly seemed to see Bartok, as if he had only just appeared out of the air. Aslin grabbed the pommel as fury lit Shaol's eyes and the warhorse screamed and lunged at the man, Aslin holding on, Kane abandoning the stirrup and planting his feet, his hands on Shaol's bridle, dragged, still on his feet, behind the horse. Bartok didn't exactly run, but he walked very quickly back through the gate.

"Don't take offense, Bartok!" Kane called, laughing as he fought the horse, finally mounting behind her as Shaol danced, throwing his head. "Shaol hates all Noëthe clan!"

Shaol paused to slide sideways and take a flat-eared swipe at Barley who had been pulled along, the smaller horse blaring and moved sideways.

"Stubborn, wicked animal," Kane snapped.

Kane's arm came around her tight, pulling her to himself, and then he swung and slapped Shaol on the haunches with the reins, smart cracks that echoed on each side of him, the horse reacting with outrage and combusting into furious movement in what felt like every direction all at once, abandoning himself to it.

Aslin held on, figuring she wouldn't fall off unless Kane did, and Kane didn't fall off. Shaol gave one last wrenching leap and straightened his gait abruptly, sullen, his ears flicking straight back, walking forward. Kane steered him through the gate, Barley following miserably.

Aslin looked as they passed Bartok outside a small stone house, another Noethe man with his knife out, sharpening it. The Noëthe men watched her and Kane with just their eyes, expressionless, as they passed. Kane ignored them and the men didn't say anything.

They rode in silence, Aslin's hood still up. They came, eventually, to a small wooded path leading up into strange trees with ridiculously large leaves as big as Alverian dinner platters. At the top of the rise was a clearing, a field of tall grass, a path leading into the distant trees beyond its expanse, winding up into the mountains. It was sunny, autumn coming, the leaves on the mountain slopes already turning, the wind up.

"We have just passed out of Noëthe clan lands," Kane said. "Are you well, Aslin?"

"Yes," she said warily.

"Don't mind them," Kane said.

"They are my first Luterians to meet besides you."

"And it'd have to be Bartok with his filthy mouth," Kane complained. "Don't take the measure of Luterians from that Noëthe dog."

"Are they enemies to Tavishi?" she asked.

He laughed.

"No, Aslin. We'd exchange much more than friendly banter if we were. Noëthe is neither enemy nor ally to us. They are allies to Prash clan. Prash clan are also neutral, although they've been friendly to Tavishi and we trade with them. Tavishi and Corsaire are in feud, and Duellan keep to themselves in the highlands, mining their rubies and pretending sheep-farming is beneath them."

"That was friendly banter?"

She felt him shrug behind her.

"It is another clan, Corsaire."

She heard that word differently—Corsaire—so meaningless in Alveria, sounding resonate and ominous here.

"So it is Tavishi clan, and Corsaire, and Noëthe, and Prash and Duellan?" she said.

"Yes. We will reach the edge of Corsaire territory soon. Prash clan territory is in the eastern midlands. They have the largest sheep farms. Noëthe hold the eastern lowlands and Minsk is on their border, the gate leading to the path that allows passage through their territory, and all the clans pay them for the right. Up ahead of us is Corsaire territory, which typically we would go around, adding a day of travel to get to Tavishi lands. Then Tavishi Hold is in the mountains beyond that, and finally, Duellan clan lives above Corsaire and Tavishi, deep in the highlands."

Kane stopped Shaol, swinging down off the horse. When he reached the ground he pulled her down. Shaol's ears were still back, still angry.

"I cannot see you and I don't like it," Kane said.

He drew back her hood. He looked at her for a long moment and then his eyes went to her mouth. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, her hands gripping his upper arms. By the time he was done her cheeks were hot and she was breathing faster and her hands were in his hair and he was hard, his hand moving to her bottom over the skirts, pressing her to him so she could feel it. He drew back, breathing.

"I promised myself I'd kiss you once we were in Luteri."

His eyes were a changing color in the light, green now more than gold, his hair falling across his cheek. She felt a wash of feeling, attraction for him. There was so much to him, so many ways he drew her. But they weren't just going to meet his family. They were going to meet his clan, and she was Corsaire, her clan their enemy for over three hundred years.

"How long until we reach Tavishi Hold?" she asked him.

Something came into his eyes, shadowing them. He seemed to hesitate and then he took a deep breath.

"I've been thinking about that, Aslin. I think we should ride to Corsaire Hold instead of going around your clan's territory."

"Why?" she said, alarmed.

"Because you are my oath and my bond, but Kavini is your father and by Luterian traditions I shouldn't pass Corsaire lands without bringing you there," he said. "It's an opportunity, Aslin, a beginning, and I think you will want to see your father Kavini and that he will want to see you."

She stared at him, her eyes searching his face. She knew the possibility of peace between their clans was the reason Kane had given her his oath when she was a child, the reason for their arranged marriage. But Kane hated Corsaire very much, and she assumed Corsaire hated him, and Tavishi, as badly. She still didn't see how being married to her would change that.

"Isn't it dangerous for you to go into Corsaire territory?" she asked him.

"Typically it'd be death for me, but I'll carry a truce band. It's a request for access to the high lord of any clan. It will grant us an audience with Kavini, although they would probably kill us both after if you weren't who you are."

He stepped back from her, releasing her, raking his hand through his hair.

"I had thought to have you lower the hood of your cloak," he continued. "They would bring us straight to your father when they saw you, but the Corsaire High Lord should know that you live first instead of hearing it from others. Once Kavini sees you and knows you're my oath, he won't touch me, nor will any warrior of Corsaire clan."

It was a great deal to take in at once and Kane's face was tense, lines around his eyes. She swallowed. It would mean she would see her father, her clan. Corsaire clan were faceless figures she didn't remember.

She had come to Luteri to meet them. But she only knew them through Kane, as his enemies. She tentatively touched the bond, but he looked away and didn't open it to her.

Her heart began to pound. She looked down. He was there, cupping her face, the bond wide open, regret, anger—at himself, not her—as he put his forehead against hers.

"I am sorry, Aslin. I didn't want you to feel my reluctance to go to Corsaire Hold."

She felt it from him then. Reluctance didn't touch it. Grief and outrage, pain. The desire to hurt for being hurt, so clear an impulse. The effort he made to control these feelings, rising in him from being here, from familiar people, familiar sights and smells and sounds all around him, familiar attitudes and ideas.

Familiar hate. She looked up at him doubtfully.

"Forgive me, Aslin," he said, knowing she felt it. "My anger is sometimes awakened in me by memories."

She withdrew from the bond, sensing his desire not to share what he felt, his regret that she would feel it from him.

"Are you sure we should go there, Kane?"

He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"I'm sure of you. Have I said you are beautiful today?"

She smiled at him and his eyes roamed her face as if he were deciding something looking at her.

"I think you should see your father, Aslin. It would be the honorable thing for me to do if we weren't in feud, and it will mean something to Corsaire, coming from me. A gesture of respect. He still doesn't know you live."

Even without touching the bond, she saw his struggle. This was difficult for him, but he was trying. He believed it was important. And she would like to meet her father. She had imagined it. She was very nervous about it, but it was her family. And Kane wanted to make this gesture to her clan, believed it would help.

"All right. When will we get there?" she said.

He stepped back again and drew a breath, releasing it.

"We will be to Corsaire territory late in the day, and to Corsaire Hold by dusk," he said, going to Shaol, helping her on.

She drew the hood up. They rode, Barley following.

Kane didn't speak to her most of the morning. They came over a rise and she saw, in the distance, a long swath of green fields, tiny four-legged animals dotting the slopes.

"Are those—?"

"Luterian sheep, yes. They're beginning to move them. These lands are used by various clans to winter the sheep, being warmer and more easily protected from predators in the lowlands."

They stopped in the afternoon, a brief meal, both of them still quiet, separate. It was strange to keep the hood of her cloak up, strange not being able to look him in the eyes and see him looking back. She thought it must be strange for him as well, not to be able to see her.

Aslin looked around as they rode, the landscape tugging at her, the sky ever-changing, smelling so many things. It seemed right, as if Alveria had always been too small, too flat with its gentle hills. Here everything was so much larger, wild, dramatic heights, steep inclines, the expanse of fields, tall mountains, forests in every direction, and with the changing trees so much color.

The day wore on. They went on different paths, Kane guiding them confidently, passing under open sky at times, sometimes through deep forest. They made small stops. Kane was withdrawn all day, seeming to be lost in thought, his eyes shadowed when she looked at him, his gaze constantly roaming the countryside.

She knew he was fighting himself, struggling with feelings that hadn't been so alive to him while he was far away in Alveria. It made her anxious, feeling a distance between them who had been so close for so long.

She finally saw a line of trees appear on the horizon, white trunks, dark markings on the trunks and golden leaves. The sight of them, the smells they brought, stirred something so deep in her, like the Luterian melody she remembered, wordless.

"The Aspen trees mark the entrance into Corsaire territory and are their symbol, growing in the lower altitudes," Kane said tensely behind her, the first words he'd said to her for hours.

She was worried about him. She touched the bond, but he didn't respond. His arm tightened around her briefly, his signal he had felt her request. He didn't want her to know what he was feeling, was asking her not to press it.