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Clearwater and Cloud-Warrior were born in the shadow of Talisman?

Rising to his feet, Mr Snow agreed that this was so.

His affirmation of Carnegie's claim sparked off a heated argument.

Individual wordsmiths from the D'Troit and C'Natti camps leapt to their

feet to protest.

Out of all the Plainfolk why should three warriors from the Clan M'Call

have been chosen to herald the coming of Talisman? It was just another

ploy by the She-Kargo and their lackeys amongst the M'Waukee to further

inflate their already exaggerated importance.

No wordsmith, claimed the protesters, had ever spoken of The Chosen in

this bull-ring until Carnegie-Hall had coined the phrase. It was all a

put-up job; something concocted on the flimsiest of evidence by the

Kojak and the M'Calls. At best it was a well-intentioned misreading of

the events in question; at worst, a total fabrication.

Carnegie-Hall vigorously defended himself but the carefully

orchestrated outburst had achieved its aim, splitting the gathering

into three camps: the pro-SheKargo faction who supported the

proposition, the proD'Troit faction who rejected it, and the

uncommitted who were waiting to see who was going to get the better of

the argument.

Mean-Machine, a C'Natti wordsmith, made his voice heard amid the hubbub

and threw down a challenge.

If Carnegie-Hall and those who supported him were speaking the truth

where was this mysterious trio? Why had the Clan M'Call not brought

them to the trading post where they could display their powers and

spread their message to the assembled representatives of the

Plainfolk?

Good point, thought Mr Snow. He cursed himself for not having a ready

answer.

Carnegie-Hall leapt up angrily and confronted Mean-Machine, his

menacing bulk towering over his smaller opponent. 'Do you dare to call

me a liar?!" Prime-Cut - an equally imposing figure - rose and stepped

off the low mound which the chairman traditionally occupied. 'No!" he

cried. Pushing Carnegie-Hall and Mean-Machine apart, he aimed an arm

between them, an accusing finger pointed at Mr Snow. 'There sits the

man who has lied to us all!" His words drew a shocked gasp from the

uncommitted and an angry roar from the She-Kargo wordsmiths. Half of

them got to their feet, exchanging accusations and abuse with their

more aggressive counterparts on the other side of the ring.

Prime-Cut spread his arms in a commanding gesture.

'Cease this noise!" he thundered. 'Sit down and parley in the proper

manner or leave this place!" The uproar subsided as the more

vociferous protestors and counter-protestors resumed their seats but

the murmuring continued, becoming a sullen underswell of sound.

As Mean-Machine and Carnegie-Hall settled into their places, Mr Snow

got to his feet and appealed to his supporters. 'Let peace descend!

Let your minds be tranquil.

I am the one who stands accused here. My conscience is clear! Let the

charges be heard!" The murmuring gradually subsided under the fierce

gaze of the Plainfolk's two most prestigious wordsmiths.

When silence had been obtained Mr Snow turned to face Prime-Cut in the

centre of the bull-ring. Attracted by the violence of the argument,

the open space between the inner and outer rings was now crowded with

clan elders and other members of the various delegations.

As the R'Nato wordsmith circled him with a wolfish grin, Mr Snow

muttered: 'I hope you know what you're doing."

'Oh, I do, my friend, I 'do." Prime-Cut halted by Mr Snow's shoulder

and thrust his mouth close to the Old One's ear. 'You are in deep

shit,' he whispered. 'I'm going to bury you!" 'You're not the first

man to try and do that." Mr Snow's Voice had a confident ring but he

felt cold and sick inside.

Already outnumbered on the ground, the She-Kargo was in danger of

losing the battle for hearts and