(Chronicler's note: "It was a little-known fact until after the Dark Times that a sharp division existed even amongst the Seven Clans of the Halidu People. The Saranth Clan, whose lands occupied the northernmost regions of the Halidem Mountains, was far removed from the rest of the Clans by not only distance but attitude as well. The attitude was a direct result of that same remoteness, a lack of communications and social intercourse with the other Clans kept the Saranth more primitive in development.

"It was not until the fear of invasion by the Thaelu forces had gripped the Halidu people and the Council of Ku tightly that Lord Sharhl's insolence and laziness became intolerable. Finally, however, the Council of Ku relieved itself of a major impediment and replaced Sharhl as Lord." HISTORY OF THAELIA, Vol. IX.)

Of all the clan lands in the Halidem, the one place Harryhl had rarely visited willingly or otherwise was the Far Regions of the Saranth. He neither enjoyed the contact with the inhabitants of Sarans'hyl nor the barrenness and poverty evidenced by the land itself.

In the Far Region, the Halidem Mountains themselves seemed less hospitable, with the vegetation being limited to low-growing mountain grasses that were fit fodder for nothing but the verilan chivas that roamed semi-wild over the steep slopes. Even the thatz, which were so populous in the lands of all the other clans to the south, seemed to avoid the Far Regions because of a lack of brushland or forests in which to hide from the humans of the region; moreover, prey was scarce and fleet of foot. Harryhl kneed his recalcitrant burri in the ribs again to push it into a trot that hopefully would bring him to Sarans'hyl by evening.

Once the Council decision had been made to replace old Sharhl as Lord of the Saranth, it had fallen to Harryhl to undertake the long journey to oversee the selection of the old man's replacement. Neither of Sharhl's two sons, who were logical candidates for the position, had ever been presented at Council or even been seen outside of Sarans'hyl itself. The rider arched his back wearily in the saddle and hoped that it would take but a few days to assess which of the sons had the better qualifications to be a Council Lord.

Even as the narrow burri-path that served as the main road into and out of the Far Regions turned in a more eastward direction and began sloping downhill more often than up, Harryhl could not help but notice that the further north he had ridden, the more of the past winter's snowdrifts remained unmelted. He marveled again at the contrast between his own lands - already a verdant green with spring growth - and the drab, still-frozen, snow-patched wastes. The thaw was coming extremely late to the Far Regions this year, and Harryhl found himself missing even the maddening chatter of the brightly-plumed falu as they fluttered in search of nesting material before remembering that, without the tall trees, the falu would never consider flying this far north.

Wishing to be away from this chilled and heartless land as soon as possible, Harryhl kneed his burri again impatiently. The beast nickered plaintively, as if complaining at the impatience of its rider, and returned to trotting over the narrow path.

x

Sharhl Saranth sat glumly in his dining hall, awaiting the news that Lord Harryhl, for who else would have a reason to be coming over the mountain road this early in the year, had arrived at the front gates. In his left hand, a forgotten mug of cha had cooled to tepidness and threatened to spill its contents on the floor if the hand which held it drooped much further. Across the table littered with the remnants of the last meal, Syran and Narrol sat quietly staring at their father who had summoned them at the first word of the arriving Lord.

Both young men had been surprised and unnerved by their father's sudden return from Jedhs'hyl. The fact that Sharhl had not told them the reason for his sudden reappearance until just that afternoon made their uneasiness even more acute. The old man had offered no excuses when he had them brought to his luncheon table and ordered them to sit in silence until Lord Harryhl arrived to choose the new Lord of the Saranth. Since that time, Sharhl had spoken again but once, and then only to angrily bark at a servant wanting to clear the table of the half-eaten meal.

The afternoon had worn on endlessly, and Syran had chanced his father's sharp tongue several times to order fresh cha for all of them. He was Sharhl's oldest son and the least intimidated of the two. Many times in the past, Syran had braved Sharhl's anger by doing exactly the opposite of his father's wishes - most recently by bringing home a new bride from outside the clan. Sharhl had been livid, demanding to know how and where Syran had managed to meet the daughter of the Franlth Clan; but with the marriage accomplished, Syran ignored the shouts and threats and settled into a larger apartment on the other side of the hyl to avoid unnecessary contact with his father. The summons that had brought him to this table had actually been accompanied with a polite "Please," which Syran doubted had been part of the original message.

Narrol, on the other hand, was much younger than Syran and easily intimidated when his father raised his voice. Sharhl had never forgiven his youngest son for causing the death of his mother in childbirth. In learning to live under a cloud of blame, Narrol had tried to compensate by doing exactly as his father wished at all times in an effort to prove himself worthy. But to the contrary, Sharhl had seen Narrol's actions as evidence of weakness and redoubled his efforts to humiliate the boy every chance that presented itself. This in turn had served to make the lad bitter and cynical, eventually making Narrol sly and clever at antagonizing whomever he chose as a target.

Since neither son had been the kind of son Sharhl had wanted, the frustrated Lord had never bothered training either of them to shoulder any of the responsibilities of clan leadership. Aside from the basic necessities of learning to read and write the Halidu tongue and perform simple mathematic functions, their education had been virtually ignored; and there was not one member of the Saranth Clan who was not aware of that fact.

Syran was about to get up and order yet another pitcher of cha when a breathless clansman burst into the chamber with word that the expected Lord had just dismounted in the courtyard and was waiting for him. Sharhl snorted, as he always did when receiving any kind of news, and grumbled, "Well, get to your feet, you two!" even as he himself rose. But he put the now-remembered mug back on the table before too much cold cha had spilled and then stepped carefully over the puddle on the floor to push at Narrol "Come on, let's not keep our guest waiting," he sneered sarcastically, since that was precisely what he wished he dared do.

Outside the hall, Harryhl had been amazed at the laziness and insolence of the clansmen in charge of the stables. Finding it necessary to unsaddle his tired burri himself, he began the task of brushing down the animal while the stablehands lolled against the beams and watched. He glanced up as shadows obscured the light in the stables and saw Sharhl and his two sons enter. "I do hope that I can expect my animal to receive good care in your stables, Sharhl; or am I going to have to take care of her myself?"

The pause Sharhl made before responding was long enough to be insulting and ended just before Harryhl exploded in anger. The old man waved his hand reluctantly, and one of the men who so patiently had watched Harryhl do their work for them sauntered over and took the curry brush from the Jedh Lord and began slowly brushing when Harryhl had stopped. "They know who is in charge of this hyl," Sharhl commented in an insolent tone and turned his back as Harryhl picked up the bundle he had carried with min. So it was only the sons who saw the ruddy flush of anger suffuse Harryhl's face and the struggle it cost the Jedh Lord to keep his temper reined.

As Harryhl entered the Sarans'hyl itself, he was immediately reminded of yet another reason he avoided this northernmost outpost. The Saranth Clan had a particularly distasteful reputation for not bathing, especially during the cold of deep winter; and generations of unwashed clansmen had left an uneradicable atmosphere to the hall perceptible only to those unaccustomed to the odor.

Syran and Narrol obediently followed their father back into the dining hall which, in the minutes since they had left it, had at least been cleared of lunch. Harryhl trailed behind, looking for a servant to hand his bundle to and have it taken to his chamber without success. Finally he gave up and tossed the bundle on an unoccupied seat at the table and dropped into the one next to it.

"You didn't waste any time in coming up here to replace me, did you?" Sharhl motioned for Narrol to pour a mug of fresh cha for his father without offering his guest any refreshment. The visual insult to the head of the Council of Ku made Narrol's hand shake in both delight and consternation as he poured his father's drink, but the young man hastened to Harryhl's side as if to make amends for the offense as best he could.

Harryhl nodded his thanks, then scowled at Sharhl. "The decision was made; best get the matter dealt with as quickly as possible. Delay only makes the solution to a problem like this more painful. Besides, I have only a certain amount of time I can afford to take care of matters of this nature. I refuse to spend a valuable portion of that time sparring with you, or tolerating any further insults."

Sharhl snorted. "Your being here, in my hyl with your intended purpose, is an insult, my Lord. It's an insult to me, my sons, and my clan. The Saranth has handled its own affairs for generations without the need of any help from you southerners."

Harryhl snorted, a mocking imitation of his erstwhile host. "From what I've seen today, as well as my past experiences with your clan, the Saranth Clan can use all the help it can get. And as for your sons, it remains to be seen whether one of them qualifies to become your replacement, in which case by being here is definitely not an insult. If neither of them is fit, they are more than free to take offense for having their family removed as caretakers of the Saranth Clan in favor of some other clan family - as long as they wait for taking their retribution until after we have solved out problem with the lowlanders."

Neither young man was used to watching an exchange where their father could neither insult or intimidate his way to dominance over the other person, nor seeing Sharhl's own angry flush as the old man hastily took a long drink from his cha mug. Syran was impressed. Harryhl had managed, in only a few moments, to accomplish what had taken his eldest son a sudden and unwelcomed marriage and estrangement to do: bring the blustering old man to speechlessness.

Harryhl was most careful to watch and weigh the response his heavy-handed words had wrought on the young men in front of him. "I mean what I say," he said in a more conversational tone. "Much as I would like to settle this in favor of one of you, there is the possibility that I will be forced to go to one of your other clansmen to find someone capable of leading the Saranth."

"We know," Syran spoke first, knowing that Narrol would be hard-pressed to speak out in the presence of his father. "How will you choose, if it is permitted to ask?"

Harryhl raised his eyebrows, impressed at the young man's directness. "I will observe yours and your brother's leadership potentials over the next few days, see how you handle the day-to-day problems of clan business, and make my decision based on what I observe." Harryhl paused to take a sip from his mug, finding the liquid slightly cooler than he would have preferred. "I will not mean to be prying into the clan business of another clan than my own anymore than necessary. I only regret that I need take this action in the first place." He aimed the last remark at Sharhl, who again buried his mouth in the cha mug.

Narrol looked over at Syran for support, then spoke softly. "We've never, I mean, Father never let us..."

"What Narrol means," Syran interrupted, taking pity on his shier brother, "Father never did much in the way of giving us any clan business responsibilities. We know what the clansmen do; but not who does what or when, or any of the other details."

"Why should they?" Sharhl growled from the depths of his mug, then slammed it to the table. "The clan business is mine, my responsibility. Neither of them is capable of handling all the details..."

"You never gave us a chance, Father!" Syran snapped, forgetting that Harryhl was even present to hear. "We..."

"Then I'll also be seeing who is the fastest learner, won't I?" Harryhl refused to raise his voice, and it was his calmness that ended the short quarrel more than anything else. Both Sharhl and Syran returned their attention to him. "In light of your inexperience, I might have to stay here a little longer than I first anticipated. I want to give you two a fair amount of time to prove yourselves before I go elsewhere for my candidates."

"That seems to be fair enough, my Lord," Syran agreed quickly, and Narrol silently nodded agreement while avoiding his father's expression.

Harryhl got to his feet. "And now, if one of you could please have a servant show me to my chambers, I would like to rest. It has been a very long journey."

Narrol got to his feet quickly and led the way out of the dining hall, but Harryhl had not failed to note that it had been Syran that had nudged Narrol to his feet when Sharhl had failed to provide directions for his sons.

x

Ilia Saranth paced the floor of the sittingroom where her husband Syran had left her earlier in the afternoon, her plain round face pale and drawn with worry. It was unlike her husband to remain away this long without having some word sent to her - even if he were ordered to leave the hyl immediately on one of Lord Sharhl's tiresome and endless errands to one of the outer homesteads. She toyed with the idea that the capricious old Lord had in some way managed to prevent Syran from communicating with her, but discarded the entire idea when she remembered that the message had insisted that both sons present themselves, and that Narrol had not reappeared in the living quarters of the hyl either.

Raised in her uncle Forl's hyl, Ilia had been quite intimate with the inner workings of a Halidu hyl; but she had been unprepared for the haphazard manner in which Sarans'hyl was managed and the filth and degeneration the old hyl demonstrated. Never shy or retiring, she had made the women-servants most unhappy by taking over the task of overseeing the sewing and mending of garments for the clan; her tall and husky build keeping all but the foolhardy from complaining to her face about the increased workload. What was more, when she gradually learned of the ignorance in which Syran had been kept as far as clan business was concerned, she had quietly begun filling in the gaps of his education by telling him stories about her days in Onekhs'hyl. Ilia was a skilled storyteller, making the learning-tales interesting and amusing for her husband so that he was learning clan management in spite of himself.

Finally, the door to their apartment opened and Syran smiled reassuringly as he walked in. Ilia rushed to his side and gave him a quick, strong hug and a kiss on the cheek, disregarding completely the three servingwomen who sat staring at the pair. "You were beginning to have me worried," she chided gently, slipping her arm through his. "What was so important?"

"Oh," Syran drew our slowly, considering quickly whether to tell his news in the presence of gossiping servants or no, "it seems that Father managed to anger the Council of Ku to the point that they've finally decided that he is no longer fit to be the leader of our clan, and Lord Harryhl himself“ has arrived to choose the new Lord. He's going to be here for a while to see whether he will choose me or Narrol for the title."

From the way the servants' heads suddenly clustered together and a low murmur of excited but hushed voices broke out, Syran knew that the news would soon be spread throughout the entire clan by the next morning. That would probably make his father even more unhappy, since he had known this was coming and had not informed anyone as if ignoring the problem would have made it disappear. But then, the news was bound to come out sooner or later; so his being the source of the rumor only gave it more credence.

Ilia froze in her tracks. "You mean, Lord Harryhl, the Jedh Lord? The head of the Council of Ku himself?" She looked at her husband with the beginnings of a pleased smile growing on her lips. "I haven't seen Lord Harryhl for a long time."

Syran looked down at her. "I didn't know you knew Lord Harryhl." "He has always visited Onekhs'hyl at least twice a year," she explained. "As Lord Forl's niece, I was usually there when he arrived and left, and so I guess you could call him an old acquaintance."

Syran frowned at the still-cackling servants, and they immediately ceased their chatter and concentrated on their work with the new shirt material. "Well, you'll have a chance to renew your acquaintance tonight. Father seems determined to insult him at every turn, but I went ahead and ordered a goodly meal served after sunset."

"Knowing the kitchen help, I suppose I'd better go down there myself, or they'll be sure to ruin at least one dish," Ilia sighed. "Someone will be sure to tell your father what you've done, and he'll be trying to undo it. After all, you're the only one who is even half-ways capable of handling the responsibilities of leading the Saranth."

Syran shuffled his feet self-consciously. He didn't want to admit that what his wife said was true in front of the servants for fear that the word would get back to his father that he had any ambitions for the Lordship, the relationship was already uncomfortable between father and son as it was.

Ilia read Syran's reluctance correctly and quickly changed the subject. "How did Narrol take the news?"

Syran looked up again, grateful. "He was petrified, both of Father and of Lord Harryhl. I even had to give him a push to get him to help Lord Harryhl find his chambers when Father wouldn't do anything. Syran shook his head. "I would have thought he would leap at a chance to place himself in front of Harryhl's attention and increase his chances at becoming Lord. I wonder what he's up to," he mused just loud enough for Ilia to hear.

Ilia shook her head and spoke a little louder to hid Syran's final words from the eavesdropping servants. "You know, if Lord Sharhl acted in the Council the way he does around here all these years, it's no wonder the Council decided to replace him; actually it's surprising they've waited this long to do it." She waved her hand carelessly at the servants. "That will be all for today, ladies. Be back first thing tomorrow morning to finish."

The three servants all made a point of folding the material on which they were working carefully, knowing that they had best not just toss it down as they would have before this task-mistress joined the clan. Even Syran almost chuckled at the sour expressions on their faces as they finished folding and took their leave of the apartment.

Ilia just shook her head at the closing door. "You'd think I'd have told them they couldn't have anything to eat unless they finished the job." She looked back at Syran. "I'll never understand how the Saranth clan has managed to survive all this time."

Syran snorted, much in the manner of his father. "If our lands were richer, or the roads here any less rugged, I doubt that we would have. But face it," he shrugged, "what would anyone want with Saranth lands, so far from anywhere else and lacking in just about everything?"

Ilia just shook her head again. "I wish you'd remember not to do much speculating when the servants are about. Who knows now what portion of what we discussed will be reported to your father and what lies will be attached to that telling. Both you and your father know that you are the most likely to be chosen, as do those women who were here just now. You may not want to admit that you're the logical choice for Lord, but I tell you I'll be glad when YOU lead your people. Maybe then, the Saranth can take its rightful place of honor in the Seven Clans and the Council of Ku.

x

Sharhl wasted no time in searching out Rowan after he had been left alone in the dining hall. Of all his clansmen, Rowan had done the most to follow Sharhl's orders to the letter and see that the rest of the clan did likewise. Both Sharhl and Rowan had clear understandings of the Saranth Clan and its tendency for laziness - something the clan itself preferred to label "easy-going nature" - and used that tendency for what they felt was the benefit of the clan but was in reality their own self-interests.

Rowan was a full decade younger than Sharhl, although in appearance the two men seemed of an equal age. He limped badly, the result of the Conflict, and as a result did very little actual labor himself. Rowan's position at Sarans'hyl was to see to it that Sharhl's word was made reality, and he served his clan chief with a fierce and unwavering loyalty.

As had most of the inhabitants of Sarans'hyl, Rowan had learned of the arrival of the stranger; and when Sharhl informed him exactly why Lord Harryhl had come, the younger man's eyes had flashed with anger.

"I'm glad you feel that way, Rowan," Sharhl nodded in satisfaction after Rowan's sputtering objections had ceased. "I know you'll be able to find others who will feel just as you do. Harryhl may transfer the official title of Lord to one of my worthless sons, but I will make sure that any power in Sarans'hyl remains with ME."

Rowan wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Have no fears on that account, my Lord. There are many who have been loyal to you ever since your first days as Lord here who will not heed the posturing of a young and untried brat forced on them by the old women on the Council of Ku." Rowan grimaced and wiped his nose noisily with the back of his hand. "Maybe now is the time for us to stop having anything to do with them."

"No," Sharhl shook his head. "We can't risk that kind of action yet. Let them think they have won with placing Syran above me - it will have to be Syran, Narrol is obviously too weak and unskilled to be considered - and we will bide our time until we know which way will benefit the clan the most."

"As you wish, my Lord."

"But that isn't the reason I called for you," Sharhl added quietly. They were standing out in the open courtyard, where anyone who wanted could overhear their every word, and what he wished to say to Rowan was for nobody's ears except Rowan's. "I want you to spread the word that ALL the bridges are down between here and Karem."

Rowan frowned. "They are, my Lord, except for that one..."

"I know," Sharhl snapped in a harsh whisper. "And that one is on a path rarely used any longer that hopefully everyone will have forgotten about long since; but I want you to make sure that all our clansmen think even that one is down. I've been here long enough to supposedly get the job done, so let's let Harryhl think I have."

Rowan shrugged agreement. "Whatever you ask, my Lord, will be."

"Make especially sure that Syran thinks that bridge is down."

Rowan's eyes narrowed knowingly. "I see what you mean. Consider it done."

x

It didn't take long for Harryhl to discover which of Sharhl Saranth's two sons was the more capable, but he waited two days longer in making his decision public in fairness to Narrol. Syran had been truthful in revealing the inexperience both young men had in matters of clan business. He was, as he claimed, inexperienced, but soon proved himself a very quick learner.

Narrol, on the other hand, did not even try to make the effort to learn the clan business and ways to manage it. Harryhl was disturbed by the sly and underhanded manner in which the younger son managed to get away from taking on responsibilities, but it was Narrol's constant seeking advice from his father and brother on trivial decisions that finally decided the matter. Narrol's reaction to the announcement that Syran had been chosen over him for the title was enigmatic, and the young man buried himself in his chambers for the time it took between the decision being made and the ceremony which transferred the Lordship officially to Syran.

The most difficult part of the whole process, it turned out, was bringing the clan together for a confirming vote after making the announcement. That in itself cost three days just in notifying the dispersed homesteaders of the need for their presence in Sarans'hyl so soon after they had left it to return to their far-flung homes.

Once gathered together, it was simple to see that a division was forming in the ranks of the clansmen. The older clansmen were sullen in giving their approval to Syran, and Harryhl was actually able to understand some of the grumbling and complaining about outsiders "making the Saranth Clan foolish and weak by taking away its strong Lord Sharhl." The younger members, on the contrary, seemed almost relieved; and they confirmed Syran with an unexpected gusto.

All of this was extremely embarrassing and humiliating to Lord Sharhl, who sat to one side in the huge assembly hall during the speech by Harryhl and the subsequent vote. Until the confirming vote, he would still be the Lord of the Saranth Clan, and his presence would be required for the assembly to be considered proper. He did so only after a lengthy argument with Harryhl himself and Syran, the latter pleading with his father to prevent the proceedings from taking on the atmosphere of a festival or a treacherous uprising.

The voting finished, Lord Harryhl nodded to the pair of local spirit-talkers who would conduct the formal ceremony investing Syran with the Lordship of the Clan. He had sent word to the Khryhl Clan for them when he had realized that not only did the Saranth follow strictly the traditions of the Halidu Nation in worshiping the mountain spirits of Ku Rachul but that they also had lacked a spirit-talker for most of their formal occasions for many years. Bringing two of them gave Syran an even more palpable impression of legitimacy to his own clan as well as it would with the Council of Ku when it reconvened.

Both of the spirit-talkers had obviously partaken of the sacred buttons that opened their eyes and ears to the words and sights of the spirit world, for they walked onto the dais with the halting stagger of the inebriated and gazed wildly about them with eyes in which the pupils had all but disappeared into tiny pinpricks. The taller of the two, dressed in the shaggy hide of a verlian-buck, swept the way clear for the both of them with a handful of panzu grass and thuli leaves while the second, naked but for a leather loincloth and smeared head to toe with ashes, beat the rhythm of their exaggerated footsteps on the small drum he held in one hand. The mass of clansmen, long deprived of the services of a shaman, shuffled in surprise as the spirit-talkers first appeared and then began stomping their feet in rhythm with the drum as was custom.

Harryhl waved for Ilia to join her husband on the dais with the spirit-talkers, and she pushed her way through the clansmen from where Sharhl had made her stand with Narrol and mounted the dais even as the drumbeat came to a sudden stop.

A hush of expectancy fell over the assembled clansmen as the drumbeat resumed at a much slower pace, and the fur-clad shaman began brushing invisible bands from Syran's shoulders while the ash-covered shaman began his monotonous, howling chant that would bring the spirits of Ku Rachul's attention to the proceedings. Ilia in turn was submitted to the ritual washing with the herbs most favored by the spirits, for she too would assume the responsibilities of a Lord's wife toward each and every clansman.

As the drumbeat and wordless chanting continued in their hypnotic ritual, each clansman and woman were drawn into the rhythm. Gradually, feet again began to stomp in rhythm with the drum and hands to clap in a complicated counter-rhythm. The hypnotic effect of the drumbeat and chanting were such and that even Sharhl was drawn to stomp his feet and clap in unison with the rest. As if the pounding rhythm and chanting had done their work, a gentle breeze wafted almost imperceptibly through the enclosed chamber, brushing aside the hair of the oblivious clansmen and causing the dust raised by the stamping feet to swirl in small, cyclonic eddies.

Again the drumbeat shifted in tempo, and the stomping and slapping disintegrated into confusion and then ceased. The spirit-talkers had noted the visit of the breeze in the completely enclosed room, on of the sure signs of the benediction of the Ku Rachul, and the change in tempo was back to the one that had originally brought them to the dais. The tall shaman laid the clump of herbs at Syran's feet and moved aside, and the shorter spirit-talker took his place and began chanting in a melodious and clear voice over the herbs.

The crowd held its breath; this was the true test of the approval of the local spirits. Would the herbs burn? Had the spirit inhabitants of the hall of Ku Rachul listened to the petitions of the spirit-talkers on the behalf of this new Lord, and would they demonstrate their decision? As the chanting continued, and the drumbeat became faster and faster, the crowd's eyes remained glued to the clump of wilting herbs on the dais.

Then, with a flash, the green herbs burst into multi-colored flames that spiraled higher into the air above the dais than any normally-sparked fire could possibly have done. The spirits had answered; from more than three hundred throats the resounding shout arose. Syran was Lord! The spirits had decided! The shouts broke the spell woven by the drumbeat and chanting; Harryhl thrust a clenched fist of triumph into the air while a disgruntled Sharhl sat back down and glowered angrily at Rowan and his family, who were shouting and smiling while still under the effect of the spirit-talkers.

The old Lord had hoped that the spirit-talkers would not have arrived in time for the ritual, or that the spirits themselves would object to this misuse of their wishes. Now Sharhl's job would be even more difficult. He would have to depend on Syran's absence from Sarans'hyl during Council meetings to get anything accomplished from now on.

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