Nomvula

57. Son of Kani

The first of the Hundred Hillers walked onto the lawn when Dumani was halfway through his cider. Nomvula watched him sniff at every morsel and hand it to one of his guards to taste before he ate it. He chewed slowly, hunched over the table, the sunrise cutting his sweat-slicked shoulders in gold. Someone had brought him a clear pitcher of water too, more bread and, upon Nomvula's request, a bowl of mutton. Knowing what fatty meat could do to a fighter, he turned the meat aside and took his time with bread and water.

Nomvula sat cross-legged on the lawn, the fireglass spear laid on the damp grass before her. Her lower positioning might have annoyed her, if Anathi wasn't sitting on the library's roof, looking down on it all with the indifference only a golem could muster. Dumani didn't speak, not even when there was a good handful of Hundred Hillers standing on the lawn throwing curious glances at each other. Not even when the two hundred or so members of Third Hill were all assembled in a wide circle on the lawn. Not even when children were sent running down to the village to call more witnesses. 

Only when the whispers broke out to full conversations and then clipped arguments did he raise his head, then he lowered it again, chewing and drinking, chewing and drinking. What guards were here, Nomvula ordered them to keep the circle as wide as possible and beat back anyone who had anything resembling an opinion about what she was about to do.

Eventually, the numbers on the lawn were closer to half a thousand, and the drunker onlookers had broken out into chants and bloodsongs. Then the Inner Plainers started chants of their own, more martial than anything the shepherds and builders of the village could muster. When the air was thick with song and the rising sun had burned all moisture from the grass, Dumani lifted his head again. The eyes that met Nomvula's were clearer, and a touch of menace had returned to the General's movements now. He rose and the noise bowed.

"I hope there are enough voices here today," he said, "to turn you away from stupidity, Queen."

"I've heard enough of voices that aren't my own, trying to govern things that are mine, thank you." Nomvula laid one hand on her knee, palm up in invitation. "Let's be done here."

Dumani came to stand at the edge of the patio, wiping crumbs from his stubble. "Ah, but this isn't yours, either. This is your son's fight."

"Ndoda isn't here."

"And that would make this the second time he's ducked my challenge."

"Ndoda does not duck. As a prince, he has more important duties than petty squabbles."

"There's nothing petty about breaking the leg of the King's older brother." Dumani leapt down to the lawn. "To imprison the King's General is not a minor offence, and for you, a so-called pacifist who is twenty years past her best reputation, to bring a challenge of blood to me is--"

"An insult?"

Dumani took a spear from the nearest guard. "Of epic nature."

"Then go tell your King," Nomvula said. "Run to Kani."

When Dumani strode into the circle, Anathi stood but didn't drop from her perch. Nomvula stayed seated, her hand still laid open on her knee, her spear still glittering just within reach. Her own guards cast glances to each other when Dumani walked over the head of her long shadow, then the heart. He sat cross-legged on her womb and rested his spear across his knees. Iron, Nomvula noted, not the bronze one she had given him. The Sunspear twitched.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Dumani's voice was for her alone now, brow creased as he searched her face. "If I moved to strike you, you wouldn't think it a bluff. You would actually fight back."

"I would have to."

"And what of all your talk of peace?"

"To preserve this land's peace, I would fight back viciously. To preserve my own, regretfully. All the same, something must bleed."