“Honor is no illusion, Lisah, nor are you faced with the sort of injustice you currently picture,” Sir Bryahn’s voice came, now gentle and filled with compassion. “As 1 said earlier, one without full knowledge merely sees it differently.” “In what other manner is one to see it?” the girl demanded, disillusionment making the words harsh, her fists still tight in the mane. “To disobey my father would be dishonorable, but to obey him would be to dishonor my word, and dishonor as well my sense of pride. Am I a mule, to be given to the first man my current owner approves of, to be bred for the pleasure of a distant herdmaster? Perhaps you picture yourself a mule, my lord. I most emphatically do not.”

“Hardly a mule, Lisah, for mules cannot be bred,” was the reply, spoken in a voice which strove not to be amused. “And also do I believe that the High Lord would be aggrieved to hear himself referred to as a herdmaster. He, like us, does as he must, for the entire Confederation is his concern. Our concerns are more modest, however, and what you have said is entirely wrong. Have you the courage to give heed to a truth which disagrees with your sense of the proper?” “I no longer have a sense of the proper,” the girl returned, freeing one hand to stroke her mare. “You may speak whatever words you will, for 1 care not.”

“Moping suits you not at all, girl,” the man retorted, firmly taking Lisah by the arms and turning her to face him. “Much do I prefer your smile, and perhaps we may return it to you. Let us speak first of what you see as injustice. You believe your father should not have the right to marry his daughter to the man of his choice?”

“When that daughter’s brothers may do as they please?” Lisah replied with a sound of disdain. “Certainly not.”

“Ah, but that daughter’s brothers may not do as they please,” Bryahn pounced, a faint gleam in his moon-silvered gray eyes. “They do indeed have the right to choose their own wives, but there are other things they have no choice whatsoever in. Should your brothers all have chosen to remain at home, sniffing the flowers in the fields and forests rather than riding off to hone their battle skills, would they have been permitted to do so?”

“After the disinheritance, certainly,” Lisah grudged, attempting to picture a wandering flower-sniffer as Clan Chief rather than an acclaimed warrior. She recalled having said that her brothers had been permitted to ride off to battle; “required” might indeed be a more accurate word.

“And yet, I doubt that needing to ride off to battle strikes you as too terrible a fate,” Bryahn said, grinning at the answer Lisah had given. “Perhaps we would do better discussing another aspect of a man’s duty to sire and Clan. Is your brother Captain Dharrehn your father’s heir?”

“My brother Tohm is heir, with Djorj after him,” Lisah replied, curious as to the reason for the question. “Dharrehn is third-eldest now, with Arthuh gone to Wind.”

“As I was third-eldest of five,” Bryahn said with a nod. “Your brother captains a company he has great pride in, but 1 would have you tell me what would be required of him were he suddenly to become eldest, named heir, and summoned home.”

The girl stared in considerable dismay, never before having considered the point, and the man who watched her nodded again.

“I believe you understand,” he said, faint satisfaction evident. “Should he be named heir and summoned home he would need to go, likely without his beloved company, possibly with them in escort, but he no longer their captain. Duty to sire and Clan would require him to reclaim his word concerning all other commitments, and none would think any the less of him for it. I, too, was faced with such a thing when my eldest brother fell, leaving me the last of the five. My father had begun to feel the weight of his years, and had no wish to cause discord among my sisters’ husbands. You may see now that you were not singled out as one whose given word had no meaning. One who is duty-bound has no choice in the matter.”

Lisah digested the words spoken to her as she stared at a plate-covered chest, some measure of composure returned but by no means all. Matters seemed less black than they had; however, less black was more often gray than white.

“I still see no hint of the smile I seek,” Bryahn said, and then his hand came to her chin to raise her face. “I would have preferred not mentioning this, but there is one additional thing a man has no choice in. Should he find the woman who would make him the best of wives, he must be sure not to release his already-acknowledged claim on her. Should he do so, his father might well claim her in his stead, and then rather than wife, she would be mother to him. My father was delighted with the skill you showed during the attack, and told me that sight of you has made him feel young again. Surely you can see now that 1 have no choice save to press my claim for you, Lisah. I could not bear having you become my mother.”

Despite her previous upset, Lisah could not help but smile at that, so foolishly outrageous was the picture evoked. That the situation described was more than possible seemed to add to the humor of it, and the two smiled widely at each other. It came to Lisah then that perhaps her lot was not quite as bad as she had thought it to be; as she could not join her company and had no wish to remain longer in her father’s city, she needed to find some destination that would suit her. This Bryahn of Dunkahn was still unknown to her, but his words had brought a clearer sight of her proper path, the one to take her through the morass with honor intact. There was one other point, however. . . .

“I seem to hear the echo of ‘herdmaster’ in your thoughts,” Bryahn observed, deliberately putting his arms about her and drawing her close. “The position of herd stallion has always been considered more noble than brood mare; however, no herd stallion worth his salt would allow a passel of yapping, panting observers to bring distress to his favorite mare. What say we have five or six before we let on that we’ve done more than nod to each other?”

This time Lisah laughed full out, wishing that the chest she was being held against was not encased in blasted metal. On second thought, Sacred Sun had done right well by her, and perhaps her father had done the same. This man not only saw through to problems clearly, he made the effort to show her the solutions.

“Would you truly keep the Undying High Lord at arm’s length merely to please a brood mare?” she asked, oddly eager to hear what his reply would be. “I feel it only fair to warn you that should he appear at the wrong moment, demanding to see our issue, I am quite likely to take a sword or dirk and determine for myself just how undying he truly is.”

“I somehow have no doubt that you would, my girl,”

Bryahn laughed even as he winced at the thought, his arms tightening carefully about that leather-clad bundle that was now undeniably his. “But no, I would not keep the High Lord at arm’s length for a brood mare. For my beloved wife who is a vision of loveliness, however, I would do that and a thousand times more.”

He lowered his face to take the first taste of her lips then, his mind now showing the pulsing heat he felt for her which he had earlier covered, and Lisah was more than willing to join in the effort. To him she was a vision of loveliness, but to her he was far more than that. To her he was clearly a vision of honor—and even more, one who rode with prairiecats. Surely, before the first of his issue was required of her, there would be opportunity to ride with a cat into one or two small battles. . . .

Wind Whisper laughed with a great deal of amusement, but Bryahn was far too distracted with other doings to hear.

Rider on a Mountain