“Come take this man prisoner! Leave her for me to deal with!” Kinrove commanded them. His attacker had succeeded in wedging his blade into the floor. With an addled expression, he was trying to shove the blade still deeper. Kinrove’s guards looked relieved to be given a simpler target. They moved to close in around the man, and I dreaded that at any moment I’d see him slain. Kinrove turned his eyes toward Dasie. She met his gaze. Slowly he lifted both his hands, open palms toward her, and then began to bring them together as if he were squeezing something. I heard her make a strangled sound, as if she expended great effort. His moving hands slowed and then halted. Without touching, they struggled against one another.

Despite the threat that menaced us, Soldier’s Boy’s eyes were drawn to watching her. Dasie trembled suddenly and I thought all her defenses would give way. Then she suddenly took a deep breath, threw back her head, and gave a wild cry as if she had thrown all her resources into one blow. Kinrove flinched, shook his head wildly, and then hung his head, panting. His hands fell to his side. One of Dasie’s feeders laughed aloud, a hoarse triumphant sound.

Before Kinrove could recover, I heard a sound I’d never expected to hear in Speck territory. I knew well the clatter of hooves. I put the pieces together quickly. Dasie’s reinforcements had arrived. The force that she could not quick-walk down to Kinrove’s encampment had just charged into Kinrove’s encampment on horseback. And they bore iron, lots of iron. Soldier’s Boy could feel it.

We heard wild cries of confusion outside, shouts of angry men and shrieks of terror. The flap of the pavilion was torn loose and six armed Specks raced in. Each bore one long sword and carried a second, shorter blade of iron. The motley collection of armor they wore would have been laughable, if not for the impact of the iron. The shock of the metal near stunned Soldier’s Boy. He felt as if the air in the place had been torn asunder by an explosion. A man with an iron sword swiftly replaced the fellow who had threatened us with a copper one, and handed his extra blade to the first man. He waved the weapon at us and I felt Soldier’s Boy’s magic shield literally fall to threads. In that instant, I expected to die, but the warrior merely rested the tip of the blade against my breast. That was enough. Just the presence of the metal made it hard for Soldier’s Boy to breathe.

The presence of iron in the room disrupted all magic. The balance of power in the pavilion shifted until a blade was menacing every Great One in the pavilion except Dasie, while four were pointed at Kinrove. Dasie’s two feeders still flanked her, flourishing bronze blades. They quickly moved her and her chair as far as they could from the iron without taking her out of the pavilion. Her brow was furrowed and her breathing seemed labored, but undoubtedly she was in a better situation than the rest of the Great Ones.

Kinrove was pale and his lips puffed in and out with every breath he took. Not one but the tips of four iron blades touched his flesh. It was quickly apparent to me that all of his feeders and other hangers-on were accustomed to relying on his magic for defense. They gawked, stupefied, as if expecting that at any moment Kinrove would seize control of the situation. But, confronted with the iron blades that could end all his magic as well as his life and physically unable to defend his own person, he could barely sit up and was gasping in shock at his own predicament. His eyes darted wildly, taking in the situation, but he gave no orders. Perhaps he had no breath to spare.

Outside, the wild clatter of hooves continued as more and more horsemen arrived. More stunning than the sound of horses being drawn to a halt outside the pavilion was the event that followed it. The music, the ever-present din that had pressed against my ears and body since we arrived at the encampment, rattled to a halt and then ceased. There were shouts of confusion outside and cries of fear and anger. Suddenly the tent flap was torn away and one of Dasie’s lieutenants shouted to her, “We have halted the dance, Great One! We are already in the process of finding those stolen from our kin-clan. Are you in command inside the pavilion?”

“I am!” Dasie called back to him. “Proceed as we planned. Fight only if anyone resists you. Even then, refrain from killing if it is possible. Enough of the People have already been killed for this dance. I do not wish the blood of my own people to be on my hands.”

As the young man strode away, Dasie spoke to those of us still inside. Her voice shook at first, but as she went on, she seemed to gain strength. “As you have heard, I do not wish to harm anyone. All I want, at this moment, is to free those stolen from their lives to dance for Kinrove. If everyone does as we say, all will go well. None of the People will be injured. Resist, and Kinrove may die. I do not want to be pushed to that extreme! So, all of you, please move over and stand near the tables of food. Go now. Go. Yes, I mean all of you, feeders included. Your Great Ones will have to manage for themselves for a short time.”

I watched her through Soldier’s Boy’s eyes. I could see that the iron bothered her; it bothered Soldier’s Boy even more, for the heavy blade hovered not a handspan from his heart and the man who held it was flinty-eyed and smiling. Yet, “Go. Obey her,” he told Olikea, and when Likari clung to him, whimpering, he shook the boy free and said harshly, “Take him with you.” Olikea seized her son by the shoulder and steered him away. The boy looked back over his shoulder, agony in his eyes. Soldier’s Boy couldn’t as much as nod to the boy. The presence of the iron was a crawling sensation, as if stinging ants swarmed over his entire body.

I assessed our chances. “If he lunges at you, move to the right, drop to the ground, and roll. It may buy you a few moments. He doesn’t hold that weapon as if he knows how to use it.”

I offered him the thoughts and felt his irritated response: “I see no advantage to being stabbed while rolling about on the ground as opposed to sitting in a chair. Be quiet. Don’t distract me now.” He was focusing every bit of his self-discipline to remain still and not react to the stinging of the iron. He had begun to sweat. He’d used magic to defend himself and already his body was clamoring for food to replenish it. He pushed his hunger aside.

I took his advice, mostly because I had no other ideas to offer. Dasie had risen from her throne. She stalked the room, her feeders to either side of her. She took short, savage puffs from a pipe, and puffed the smoke from her lips in explosive little bursts. I think she listened, as I did, to the confusion of sounds from outside. There were shouts of joy and also wild weeping and a clamor of questions as her men sorted through the dancers looking for their stolen loved ones. She walked over to me and stood behind the shoulder of the man who held the sword. Her eyes were not kind. Earlier she had urged Kinrove to kill me. I had no reason to think she had changed her mind. She had said she did not wish to shed blood. I wondered if her forbearance would extend to not shedding my blood.

Kinrove suddenly spoke. His hands were still and his words seemed to lack power. “You. You are not of Dasie’s kin-clan. You are Clam Grounds clan. Why are you here, obeying her orders?”

He asked his question of the young man who menaced him with a sword. I could not see the warrior’s face but his voice was steady and calm as he replied, “I am here to fetch my sisters home to our kin-clan. I would follow any Great One who offered me the opportunity to do that.”

Dasie abruptly turned aside from me and strode up to Kinrove, stopping well away from the iron. “I have tried to tell you and you would not listen. Do you think it is only my kin-clan who are heartsick for their stolen ones? No. Our weariness of your futile magic extends through many kin-clans. When we leave, our relatives go with us. I do not think you will have enough dancers left to protect your pavilion, let alone work your great magic. If you are wise, after we depart, you will let the others go back to their homes. Perhaps with that act you can buy yourself some goodwill from those your magic has so long betrayed. Perhaps once you have freed those you enslaved, you will no longer need to use the magic of the People to shield yourself from the People’s anger.”