Read The Gods of Garran for Free Online Page A

children before--not that Moorhen knew of. Many things had happened twenty years ago during the Karther rebellion.
    Finally, Ashtan left Norbi and strode from the room. Moorhen followed.
    Ashtan wasn’t a rash man but then—he wasn’t prone to anger, either. Moorhen wasn’t sure what he would do in the face of such an act by the Chanden.
    And now many feared that Norbi wouldn't survive the attack.
    Once they got back into the main hall, Ashtan turned and hit Moorhen full across the face. The blow knocked Moorhen to the ground. “You fool! How could you have let him go? I left you in charge. You’re useless!”
    Ashtan walked over to the heatwell. The incident had caught the attention of all those in the hall. Embarrassed at the reprimand, Moorhen said nothing, but got back on his feet. He nearly pointed out that he had risked his own life to save Norbi, that he had taken on eleven Chanden and survived--but this wasn’t the time for self-congratulations. His father was justifiably angry.
    If Moorhen had watched Norbi better, then these things wouldn’t have happened. Even going after Norbi and leaving the tsirvak could be considered irresponsible. Moorhen didn’t want to bring up that subject.
    Moorhen went to a nearby wall and sat on the floor in a small pile of furs. Ashtan paced for a while without speaking, his agitation growing. Finally he stopped. “I will not stand by and watch my children treated in this manner. We've suffered at the hands of the Chanden long enough! Perhaps I was wrong to turn down the Upper Steppe Clan when they asked for our help. Will we tolerate the Invaders indefinitely on our world? We should send them a message--that such things will not be tolerated by the clans!”
    Channik, Ashtan's oldest and next in line as chieftain nodded, supportive of anything Ashtan did. He had always been Ashtan's favorite.
    The others looked as surprised as Moorhen. This wasn’t the Ashtan that they knew. Mirrhia and Derish, Moorhen's aunt and uncle, exchanged a glance.
    “Ehrlinnt, you and your brothers will stay and guard the tsirvak ,” said Ashtan. “Me?” argued Ehrlinnt, one of their better warriors; he was not pleased with “babysitting” duty.
    “I’ll stay,” offered Moorhen.
    His father glared at him. “No. You’ve stayed at home too much. I’ve turned you into a coward by coddling you. And I don’t want any more incidents while I’m away.” Ashtan strode from the room. Humiliated, Moorhen avoided the gaze of his brothers and sisters.
    To Moorhen, this plan to go with the Upper Steppe Clan and attack the Chanden sounded crazy. Twenty years ago the Garrans had united to try such an uprising, hoping to reclaim their homeland--and had failed. The Chanden struck back, showing no mercy. Thousands died. After that, the Chanden sent for even more Enforcers to patrol the deserts.
    Moorhen had read more than one book on the wars between the Chanden and Garrans--all written by the Chanden of course. Garrans had only begun writing books (and only in the Chanden language) for the last 30 or 40 years, and they were few.
    Moorhen knew that the Chanden were wrong--but would violence solve it? And the Clan Conclave had an understanding among each clan that none of them would take action alone against the Chanden, to provoke them. The Upper Steppe had already suggested actions at counsel and been voted down. The Chanden were too powerful and too vengeful for the clans to fight--even united.
    Moorhen only hoped that his father’s blood would cool and that he would think better of this venture. There had to be a better way of getting justice than provoking a war that could turn into a bloodbath, mostly on their side.
    ^ ^ ^ ^ *
    Long before sunrise Moorhen left with the others for the Upper Steppe. The morning was chill but not cold. The wind blew mildly; the light touch of the wind on his face calmed Moorhen.
    In all, there were nearly two-hundred hunters in their party. Channik, Ashtan's favorite,