Chapter 21: The Staff

The staff lay on the paving stones, and nobody picked it up.

It was only a stick of ash.

Four hundred people stared at it and did not breathe.

The oldest elder found his voice first.

"Rafe Hollin, you are in a fever," he said. "Take it up."

"I'm not in a fever."

"An Alpha does not lay down his staff in the open court."

"This one does."

"Then the pack will choose another by the winter moon, in the proper way."

"We will not hear a word of it until then."

"I'll say a word," the red-bearded captain said.

He walked out into the middle of the court and stopped beside the staff.

His hands were shaking, and he put them behind his back.

"There are twelve captains in this pack," he said. "I count nine here."

"I'm told a carry bond was written without the Alpha knowing it, over a girl's head, for forty barrels of barley."

"I'd like the captains to say aloud whether they still stand behind the elders who wrote it."

Nobody moved.

The broad captain stepped out next, and put his boot down beside the red-bearded one's.

"I don't," he said.

"Nor I," said a third, from the wagon line.

A fourth, and a fifth.

They came out of the crowd one at a time, grey men and scarred women with knife belts and driving whips.

Each of them stood in the court and said it plainly.

"I don't."

"Not any more."

When the ninth had spoken, the red-bearded captain turned to face the caravan.

"The captains are agreed," he said. "The elders are done with the Hollin pack."

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