Peter stared at the wayhouse. He resented it.

Where’s Hatunqari? Where’s Ruthazuna - the pass from the west?

Somehow the Clan had crossed the divide from south to north and not come over the pass he knew lay above Hatunqari.

‘So Kituqarup, you know of Hatunqari? And the pass from the west? Ruthazuna?’

‘Yes. It lies to the south.’

‘But we just came from the south.’

‘There are ways through the Teeth of the World to the south. The Teeth run north to south but swing out across the great continent.’

‘Do you know this pass we’ve crossed?’

‘Of it yes. But I have never been here before.’

They stood in front of the wayhouse. And yet Peter could not be sure the name fitted. The Great Way on Qhayunpa had wide roads and cableways with towers so skyships could be hauled along them.

This structure looked a lot like the one on the high ridge but smaller. The stabling yards not large enough to hold many gharumal.

‘Greetings.’ A young manisaur stood before them, almost barring their way.

‘Are you the varaqayumi — wayhouse keeper of this place?’

The manisaur’s aura flashed as he took in the young human and the old manisaur in front of him. Likely Kituqarup also flashed his recognition aura, if he remembered after so many years.

‘I cannot offer lodging for so many.’ He stared at Snow River Clan and their many huge carnivores.

‘We are sorry to have surprised you,’ warbled Kituqarup. ‘We came down from the pass just this morning.’

‘Oh. We knew you came. A party turned back from the pass. Said a black skyship flew free over the forest. He found a dead gharumal and the signs of a huge carnivore that had fed upon it.’

‘We are civilized citizens of the Empire. Surely you can spare us rooms.’

‘I did not expect such as you,’ the varaqayumi looked at Peter’s Clan clothing. ‘And those that speak the language of the north. Sometimes barbarians come, and take.’ The manisaur stared at the Clan as they set up camp amongst the scrub. The sound of cutting came from deep in the forest even as a cool evening shower promised to fall.

‘Some amongst the people here would like to eat.’

‘And take a bath.’

‘I’m afraid we must refuse your custom.’

‘You’re not the varaqayumi — wayhouse keeper,’ said Peter.

‘I never said I was.’

‘Show us inside. We would like news and to learn of the way further north,’ Kituqarup said. Peter though just moved past the young manisaur and approached the door to the wayhouse.

He entered, and almost ran into large manisaur that held a long blade.

‘Hold human,’ the manisaur said.

Peter held out his hand in the quevantaq manner, ready to grasp the forearm of the other. He saw now it worked as a way to disarm if done with speed and force.

But Peter just nodded and stared at the manisaur. ‘I am Peter.’

‘And I am Khavuraqo — the Sound of the Axe.’ The manisaur’s aura flashed the recognition pattern and then a pulse of annoyance. The dark leathery skin had patches of blue and gold that shifted as the hooded eyes regarded him. Then their powerful hands took his within the firm two thumbed grip. Peter had succeeded in disarming the manisaur with the norms of manisaur society.

‘Kituqarup.’ The old shaman mirrored Peter’s move.

‘We want no trouble. And those Clan outside are peaceful.’

‘When such a force descends there can be no peace.’

Peter laughed. ‘No suppose not. And yet they will not…’

Just then Grey stomped through the door and shouldered both Peter and Kituqarup aside, which also made Khavuraqo stagger.

’So. Where can we get some food? And a soft bed? I’ve heard of such palaces. I want…’

The manisaur’s blade came out and slipped to Grey’s neck. ‘And what of this creature?’ said Khavuraqo. ‘Does it do your bidding. If so tell it to go.’

‘Grey,’ said Peter. ‘You’re upsetting the locals.’

‘What’s it babbling on about?’ said Khavuraqo to Kituqarup. ‘Translate.’

But Kituqarup had shrunk away. Peter grabbed Grey by the collar. ‘Get out of here you fool. We’re negotiating, and you come in here proving all their fears right.’

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Grey drew his blade, but Peter grabbed his arm, swung his leg behind Grey’s and brought him to the ground with a thump as he twisted the blade free from the Clan leader’s hand.

The wayhouse erupted in laughter. Manisaur laughter which to a human sounded a lot the same. Under it Peter heard the sounds of weapons being sheathed.

‘Grey. Get out if you want to live. I will come for you when we’ve made arrangements. Unless you have ruined them.’

The Clan leader stared at Peter with hatred, and reached for his long blade. But Peter handed it to Khavuraqo. ‘In the spirit of friendship I gift you this blade.’

Peter held the blade until the manisaur took it. ‘Not a pretty thing is it?’ Peter said.

‘No. But it is the thought that counts,’ said Kituqarup.

Grey stood, stared around the room and at his blade in the hand of the large manisaur. Then shouldered past. ‘You had better get me that soft bed. I will solemnize the Union of Snow and River tonight under this roof.’

Peter shook his head. ‘Blah de blah blah,’ he said in the manisaur tongue. More laughter rumbled around the wayhouse.

He scanned the wayhouse common room. Most of the patrons were manisaur, but he saw a combined group of humans and manisaur laughing the hardest.

‘I tell you friend,’ said Peter in Thaluk. ‘I am so very grateful to be amongst the civilized. Now. Tell me where the baths are. I need to get the stink of ghoraq — barbarian off me.’

Khavuraqo nodded. ‘First let me share a cup of hot zhavaqiko with you.’ The manisaur drew both Peter and Kituqarup inside to a table.

‘Zhavaqiko? I’d murder an army right now for a cup,’ Peter said.

‘Any chance of you speaking the truth young human? We have in mind an army to murder.’

‘You mean the Clan outside?’

‘Nezhnakhevo. No friends of humans.’

Peter sat. ‘No. You’ve got that right.’

The young manisaur that had confronted him first served them.

‘That one is brave.’

‘No. Just well paid,’ said Khavuraqo. ‘He was safe enough with my band inside ready to run you through.’

‘Who are you Khavuraqo? And why are you here so high in the mountains?’

‘Why? It is not so unusual to travel the mountain trail. That is why there is a wayhouse here at convergence of passes and good hunting grounds.’

‘What are you hunting?’

‘No. Tell me of yourself. You and this fine quevantaq. What are you doing at the head of the largest band of Rivtarushka — ice warriors seen in the north? Tell me why we are safe. We are not used to running, though we would. I just happen to like my dhomqari too much to leave it behind.’

Peter sipped his zhavaqiko and told him.

‘I do not believe it,’ Khavuraqo said. ‘You humans are too ready with falsehoods.’

‘And yet here we are,’ said Peter.

‘Kituqarup? Do you bear witness?’

‘I do.’ The Snow River shaman’s head bobbled with a manisaur nod.

‘And that is not zhavaqiko talking?’ Khavuraqo said. ‘Your brain is not addled?’

Kituqarup sighed. ‘The River and Snow Clans have left the southern ice and seek a place to settle in the northern lands. Nezhnakhevo — blackbirders have taken their lands, killed their herds, and left them no choice.’

‘So it is an invasion. A Rivtarushka army will…’

‘No. They’re refugees.’

‘They have…’ Khavuraqo looked to one of his band mates. They sharpened a long blade across their knee. Peter tried to relax. Manisaurs did not lie. 'How many?'

But they might change their minds. Decide to kill us.

‘They have two hundred great hunters,' said the manisaur as he looked up from his blade. 'And a thousand other beasts. Fifteen hundred humans at least. But we think more.’

‘You see,' said Khavuraqo. 'We’ve been watching you.’

‘And yet you hole up in a tavern.’

‘It is a nice wayhouse. Besides. I have a hundred soldiers around the Rivtarushka ready to strike.’

Peter put down his cup. ‘You did this while we talked?’

‘Of course,’ said Khavuraqo. ‘I am no fool.’

Peter shared a look with Kituqarup, but the shaman kept his aura quiet, almost like a blackbirder might. The quiet expression spoke volumes.

‘Khavuraqo,’ said Peter. ‘It seems we’re balanced here.’

‘Rathasha — balance. Yes indeed. We are told to seek such moments of balance. But it is not a place we can stay for long.’

‘I cannot speak for the Clan,’ said Peter. ‘For the Rivtarushka.’

‘Nor can I,’ said Kituqarup. ‘I am the sole quevantaq amongst the Clan. I seek only to translate and we cannot translate where we have nothing to discuss.’

‘Then why should I not fire upon your Clan?’

‘We could be allies. The Nezhnakhevo are our enemy, and yours.’

‘That is a thought. A Rivtarushka army allied with the mountain klaeds. A good thought.’

‘Unexpected,’ said Kituqarup. ‘We do not speak for the Clan.’

‘So what do you here?’

‘To learn,’ said Peter. ‘We should return to the Clan to tell them how things are here.’

‘I cannot withdraw my soldiers.’

‘If you can tell them anything, tell them to stay hidden,’ said Peter. ‘But before we go. Tell us. Will you allow the Clan passage to the north, into the mountain klaeds?’

‘If you fight Nezhnakhevo — blackbirders and not the klaed then I will guide you. If only to know where you are, because I do not think I could stop so many Rivtarushka and live.’

‘We will speak with the Clan. But this would be our wish too.’

‘Quevantaq? So say you too?’

Kituqarup stood and gripped the mountain klaed warrior by the forearm, their auras flashed but Peter caught their agreement.

The shaman turned to Peter. ‘One last condition. You must have a bath before next you drink with him.’

Peter grinned and gave a bow. With his arms tight to his sides.

The wayhouse erupted in laughter again.

‘Where’s my blade?’ Grey said when Peter returned to the Clan.

‘Your timing was perfection, Grey,’ said Peter. ‘Well done.’

‘That was my father’s blade. I’ll have it back.’

‘With your magnificent blade you bought an alliance with a mountain tribe. You’ve saved us all.’

Peter and the manisaur shaman had returned to the Clan where the senior riders had gathered together.

‘There are manisaurs in the forest all around us,’ said Dusty. ‘I’ve been keeping everyone calm, but it’s making many nervous.’

‘Get used to them. They won’t attack,’ said Peter. ‘Tell them Kituqarup.’

‘It is as Peter says. They are out numbered and so it would be foolish of them to attack.’

‘Then why are they there?’ Grey said.

‘What would you do? A large army arrives at your lodgings. You’d get your men out and into cover to protect them. Calm down.’

Sarah sighed. ‘So do we have a choice. Or is this dictated to us.’

‘A bit of both. It is mutually beneficial. We travel with them to their klaed. The blackbirders will not attack such a large force.’

‘Or so they believe.’

‘It is unlikely. Probably the blackbirders are long gone. Their skyship at least.’

‘And what do they want from us?’ said Sarah. ‘Nothing. We’re safe.’

Peter kept his eyes lowered. The imp had remained hidden, as well as his stash of zharaqsa. Blackbirders were probably looking for it, but it would not help to tell them.

‘But if we travel with these rebel manisaurs,’ said Dusty. ‘Won’t that drew attacks.’

‘Perhaps. But again our numbers would make that less likely. And we would know where to go.’

The three leaders drew apart to decide, first if it needed to go to moot. Second what they would decide.

Sarah spoke for them all. ‘We will travel with them, but not fight. Protection, but not alliance.’

‘That might be good enough.’

‘And a bath.’ said Sarah. ‘A soft bed for the night.’

‘A bath?’ said Peter. He looked at Grey who smirked.

‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘You really smell.’

Peter grinned.

If she’s noticing and concerned about it. That's a good sign. Right?