Law of the Wolf Tower: The Claidi Journals Book 1 by Tanith Lee (black authors fiction txt) 📕

morning I said, to make conversation with the bandit woman who came by with some food, ‘Where are the others who live in this wagon?’ And she said, ‘It’s Argul’s wagon.’

She did add that he rides a horse by day and prefers the tent at night, and only uses the wagon now and then, but I felt immensely uncomfortable, as if he’d played a joke on me. Also in some way labelled me as a possession. I can’t think why he would want me. Does he imagine I’m valuable? That must be it. Nemian has said something. I’m a princess from a House. So it’s threatening as well.

Naturally I got out instantly.

Nemian was elegantly riding a horse by now, talking to the bandits as if they’re old friends. He does seem to love being with new people. Is this a nice quality or rather shallow of him? And does it mean he has lost interest totally in me because I’m not new any more? Doubtless.

Then Blurn appeared and said there was a mule to ride, for me.

Only after I’d managed to get on to the mule – nearly fell off both sides twice – did I think to demand, ‘Is this mule Argul’s?’

‘Nope,’ said Blurn, ‘my aunt’s.’

‘Then doesn’t your aunt—’

‘She’s got plenty more,’ said Blurn, as if we were discussing pairs of slippers.

The mule is a pain.

It’s got an adorable face and wonderful eyelashes, but it kicks out at things, and wriggles. Nemian says a mule doesn’t wriggle. It does, it does. I’ve tried to feed it and groom it to show it I’m worthwhile and it ought to like me. But it takes no notice, just tries to kick me as I turn my back, and then wriggles as I try to swing gracefully into its saddle.

Needless to say, passing bandits, men and women both, find this exquisite fun.

‘There goes Claidi-baa again,’ they say, as I plummet off in the dust. And that’s another thing. They keep calling me by a Sheeper version of my name. After what the Sheepers did, I find that extra aggravating.

Tonight there was a Hulta council.

We all gathered about the huge central fire, from which the cook-pots had been removed, though some vegetables and loaves went on baking in the hot ashes.

Argul strode out of his tent. He looked – astonishing.

I mean, he did look the way a leader should. A young king. Polished black hair and eyes, tall and lean and tawny. He was covered in gold fringes and coins, and silver rings and things. Barbaric, I’m sure the House would have said. A ‘barbarian’. Nemian was smiling a little. But then, one of the prettiest bandit girls was sitting next to Nemian, as she always seems to be now.

The council was because we were all going to Peshamba. The bandits hadn’t been there before, or not for generations, although they knew of the city. (At first I’d been confused and thought Peshamba was Nemian’s city, but it isn’t. I’d thought all cities had crumbled or been blown over. Wrong, obviously.) (The House told so many lies to us. Or else the House was extremely ignorant. Both?)

Anyway, the route to Peshamba is long and passes through this dust desert, or there’s another way, across something called the Rain Gardens. The council was to decide, by vote, which way we go.

I’m impressed, but sceptical. If Argul is leader, doesn’t he ever lead? What’s the point of having a leader if everyone has a hand in every decision?

(Blurn said they’d voted on rescuing me. I assumed they must all have been in favour, but apparently only half had. Now when I talk to them, I wonder which ones didn’t think I was worth the trouble. I don’t blame them. But yuk. In the end only five bandits went after the Featherers.)

I didn’t have the nerve to say to Blurn, Why did Argul bother? Afraid of what the answer will be. Oh, we’re going to sell you as a mule acrobat in Peshamba or something.

They talked about the Rain Gardens. It was vague. None of them are sure quite what happens there, although travellers tend to avoid the place. It does rain.

Personally, anything rather than this dust bowl.

But I didn’t get a vote, nor Nemian.

He didn’t seem put out. Princes are above such things? I’m only a pretend princess, aren’t I. Or was it less interesting than the bandit girl combing his hair? Hmm.

The vote was for the Gardens.

Afterwards, the bandits sat on, drinking. Some of them talked and played with their dogs. Several had stolen female dogs from the Featherer village. I was really glad, because already these dogs are being cared for and looking healthier and more calm.

This in mind, I went to see my mule. Also so as not to have to look at Nemian as the girl plaited blue beads into his golden lion’s mane. Come on, Nemian. That’s what the Sheepers did with the sheep.

The mule of course wasn’t pleased to see me.

I stood over it, rubbing its nose – it does have a nice nose – and offering it some mule food.

‘It’s Claidi,’ I said firmly. ‘Dear Claidi that you know and love. Giving you a delicious snack you don’t deserve.’

‘You expect too much of it,’ said someone. ‘With a horse, you’d have a better chance.’

It wasn’t Blurn, who I half-way trust – must remember I mustn’t – so I turned.

There stood Argul the Bandit Leader, gleaming from the distant fire and lamps at his back, as if rimmed in gold.

What should I do? Grovel because I owe him my life? Or be rude because I know I’m being used?

You’ll have guessed.

‘Well since I don’t have a horse, that’s such a help, isn’t it.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t taken one,’ said Argul. ‘Just bite someone’s nose off and steal his mount. Why not.’

‘You’re the practised bandits, not me.’

‘You could learn.’

I thought, I’m Princess Claidissa Star. My mother was called Twilight Star. I raised my head.

‘Why did you save my life?’

‘Why