True, towers often modified their songs, tuned them to other towers they crossed paths with, or to human dwellers, or to regions. They were always adding strange variations. The tendency of damaged towers to transform their tunes made tracking them difficult.
“Mostly Peacock rhythms, though?” Psal’s ivory dagger leaned against a large thatched basket. He picked it up. “The towers are their own clan. They would rather avoid each other than meet while some dispute still persists. So why is this tower here? It should not be here in Wheel Clan lands.”
Ephan hauled himself to his feet and walked toward the door. “Why pay attention to level two night-tossed Peacock towers? No one cares about them. And since the war began, few communicate with them. They’re useless in war.”
Lan entered, rubbing his eyes. “Watchmen,” he asked, “what of the night?”
“The Qerys tower lies fainting at the end of this region,” Psal told him. “And—contrary to all common sense—a strange Peacock tower has arrived in our fields.”
“The Qerys?” Lan frowned. “Shall I go to them?”
“You and Deyn, perhaps. If the king allows.”
Lan walked to the window. “As for this Peacock tower, warring towers avoid each other unless a skirmish is planned. So, unless it’s one of Tsbosso’s tricks, it’s probably night-tossed.”
Ephan sorted through the parchments scattered on the floor, then picked up the blue one that tracked the level three towers, those well-maintained towers whose inhabitants had little or no tower science. He then studied the tracks of the abandoned and failing level four towers.
“They are indeed night-tossed.” He pointed to a tiny speck. “Orphaned from the Peacock Clan. They’re hardly worthy of the Peacock name. They probably aren’t even aware we’re at war. There’s no indication they’ve encountered any of the great Peacock Clans or any of its allies since this damned war began.”
“And yet,” Lan said, “Tsbosso is so wily.…”
Ephan stifled a yawn. “It’s difficult to give a tower a false history. The Peacock Clans are not that clever. No Peacock towers are missing or unaccounted for, are they? Therefore, we will tell Nahas to let these night-tossed orphans glean today in our fields while we burn our dead. When night comes, they will be glad to be rid of our corpses and pyres.” He stumbled toward his hallway. “It really is quite a lovely song! Their tower’s core rhythm is wholly swallowed up by other tunes. It flows gently, unrestrained. Even with the drumming undertones.”
Psal pushed aside the embroidered cotton screen and limped into the hallway, but he returned immediately. “Convincing Wheel Clan warriors to allow a stray Peacock Clan to glean in our field? Their very presence…here…on a day we are burning our dead? Cyrt and Seagen’s son was burned here. Lebo’s son. How can I ask them to spare—”
Ephan groaned. He took a spyglass from a straw basket. “Upstairs!”
“Nahas isn’t cruel,” Lan said. “He will not kill innocents. And, look, it is possible these night-tossed aren’t of the Peacock Clan at all. Perhaps some other clan found this tower and now inhabit it. Perhaps this is all useless worry.”
“I had not thought of that,” Psal said.
* * * *
On the tower’s rampart, Psal and Ephan searched the forests and the home fields for the green-brown tunics of Peacock Clan warriors. They saw none. The unexpected tower lacked the grandeur and sophistication of Tsbosso’s longhouse or any of the larger Peacock Clanhouses. Like all smaller Peacock Clanhouses, its tower was built at one corner and attached to a rectangular dwelling. Two stories tall, the top story was built like a wooden cage that served as both a keep for their animals and an open-roofed rampart. The longhouse front wall bore the oval-eye markings of the Peacock Clans, as well as the painted vertical and perpendicular lines, swirled arcs and half-circles of the Macaw clan. Brown-skinned men and women stood in front of their longhouse building a fire and looking out at the Wheel Clan fields.
Psal lowered his spyglass. “A Peacock Clan. I counted one hundred and thirty-nine in all. Men, women, and children. No doubt others are inside, but even so…it’s a small longhouse. They aren’t allied to my uncle Bukko’s longhouse, but still…a Macaw marking.”
“And you’re our Macaw peace child,” Ephan added. “And the Wheel Clan’s chief studier. It’s done, then. Nahas will—”
“Nahas will say, ‘In a war, a warrior does not choose which enemy to kill.’” Lan shaded his eyes with his hand. “They’re from the Peacock Clan. Their longhouse is small but not small enough. Innocent or not, they will not be spared.”
“How cynical you are!” Ephan said.
“Not cynical at all, but I know Nahas.”
“Storm, ask Nahas to spare them nevertheless,” Ephan said. “What harm can these do to us? Or, are you still thinking of inheriting the kingship?”
Lan shook Ephan’s shoulder. “As a king’s Firstborn son, it is his right! And if he does not become king, he should at least be made a chief over his own longhouse.”
“Let Netophah rule the Wheel Clans.” Psal leaned against the rampart wall. “Netophah has the mind and the heart to be a king. I’m a studier. The world is my kingdom. But, yes, I do desire to be chief of my own longhouse. So the king’s respect matters to me. If I ask Nahas to spare an unallied innocent Peacock Clan, won’t he think me weak? Nahas has forgiven my trust in Tsbosso. But…to remind him of my foolish youthful mistakes?”
“Fools do not become chiefs. And the king’s memory is persistent.” Lan sighed. “This is my counsel. Search out the king’s thoughts. See what his orders are concerning the Qerys. The ride to their stricken longhouse is far, but it is not arduous. If Nahas hurries to send pharma to the Qerys sub-clan today he has forgiven Qerys’s attempt to usurp the rule. But if he shows no care and seems to perhaps wish that all in the Qerys succumb to their injuries, then his anger is hot within him and neither will these innocents have mercy.”
“How terrifying you are at times, Lan!” Ephan squinted into the sun, then turned toward the tower stairs. “Yet you have spoken wisely. However, Storm, do not let innocents die in order to get your chiefdom.” He glanced at Psal who lingered behind. “Come, Foolish Chief!”
* * * *
Downstairs, the warriors—about four hundred in all—awaited Psal in the gathering room. The longhouse population had changed much since the war began. Death had claimed many. Others, maimed, had been transferred to steward longhouses to guard farmers and stewards from Peacock attacks. New faces had come to the royal longhouse. Warriors, women, and children from destroyed longhouses, adopted children, foundlings. Women from the Macaw, Waymaker, Falconer, Grassrope clans, other Wheel Clan longhouses, and foundling women from mixed clans had married into the clan before the neutral clans forbade the marriages. About seventy new wives in all. There were children also, born from the new marriages, babes who played in the shadow of their treacherously-killed sisters.
Psal approached the hearth and surveyed the chief captains and the warriors standing to the left and right of his father. Broqh and Kwin, Gaal and Cyrt, Seagen and Lebo, Lan and Deyn.
Lan, Kwin, Broqh, and Deyn were his friends; they would support his decision. Cyrt and Seagen would not; they still grieved for the wife they had shared. Lebo would be gentle even if he disagreed with him. Gaal, because many of his fellow stewards had been killed, would cry for vengeance. Chief Orian, lately rescued after a bloody battle with the Bright Sun Peacock Clan, longed for blood. The other warriors in the longhouse, although the king’s kinsmen, generally remained silent. Then there was Netophah and Nahas.
“The Qerys tower is faint,” Psal started.