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s of the D'Troit faction were also plagued by doubts and

difficulties.

Every D'Troit clan, by the cherished tradition of their bloodline, was

a mean bunch of mothers - which meant, inevitably, that they were

scornful and suspicious of any attempt to moderate their behaviour.

They were governed by only one discipline - violence. They were

takers, not makers. They preferred pillage to husbandry.

The hunting and killing of meat on the hoof was an acceptable pastime,

but why grow breadstalks and green-stuffs when the winter larders of

weaker clans could be ransacked at The Gathering?

In a violent world where every male and female of fighting age was

expected to carry sharp iron, the D'Troit were the supreme predators,

feared, hated and despised by all. In the brief period when peace was

supposed to reign at Du-aruta, they were the chief troublemakers and

much of it was caused when they were caught trying to augment their own

stock of tradeable items by stealing from the baggage trains of other

clans. They came to the trading post as spoilers, and during the rest

of the year they cruised the ocean of red grass like blood-crazed

killer sharks.

Given their reputation, one might reasonably wonder why they were not

the paramount bloodline. Perhaps only Talisman knew the answer to

that. By some quirk of fate, the clans of the D'Troit bloodline were

less fecund than those of the She-Kargo. In overall terms, they had

remained numerically inferior. The ratio of gifted Mutes to the rest

of the population was also lower amongst D'Troit clans. There were

some eminent wordsmiths but very few summoners, most of whom were only

gifted with the first two Rings of Power.

The knowledge that their rivals were more favoured in this respect was

a constant source of envy and resentment.

Talisman's apparent lack of even-handedness had caused the D'Troit to

regard this saviour figure with increasing contempt. The Plainfolk had

been waiting nine hundred years - how much longer would they have to

wait? To the D'Troit, this endless waiting had become futile and

pathetic. It was time for those who could to help themselves.

These festering grievances, the innate capacity for violence and the

basic indiscipline which had caused many of the D'Troit to abandon

their belief in Talisman had also bedevilled the forward planning of

their leaders.

Having primed their warriors for a joint attack on the She-Kargo, the

chieftains and elders had come close to fighting amongst themselves as

they accused each other of failing to control the hotheads under their

personal command. Why - they asked - in the name of the Great

Sky-Mother could the mad-dogs they led not understand they were only to

attack the She-Kargo when the Iron Masters got there?!

Since they all posed the same question whilst denying that their own

delegation was at fault the discussion, as might be expected, soon

became overheated.

The D'Troit war council, which included representatives from the

C'Natti and San'Louis, had counted on seizing and holding the

initiative from the very beginning, but Mr Snow's robust defence in the

bull-ring had thrown them off balance. His rallying call for the

Plainfolk to unite and his invocation of Talisman had caused many of

the C'Natti delegations to waver.

Despite the rumours of a mass defection, they would not switch sides.

They were too spineless for that, but they might hold back when the

fighting broke out. So be it. When the D'Troit emerged triumphant, as

the paramount bloodline with the sole right to trade with the Iron

Masters, the C'Natti would come crawling like whipped dogs to lick

their feet.

And would be crushed like all the others...

CHAPTER SIX

Mr Snow's prediction about the weather proved chillingly correct. In