Free Power of Three by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

being exhausted after their tribulations. The sheep got mixed up. The Otmound smiths set up their forge where they were most in the way of the Garholt smithies, and the Otmound ladies put up their looms where they cut off the light from the Garholt weavers. Adara protested about it to Kasta. “Really?” said Kasta. “What a silly fuss about nothing!” And the looms stayed where they were, to Adara’s fury. Much the same happened over the forges when Gest protested to Orban.
    Orban was most genial. Defeated and homeless he might be, but now Og was dead, Orban was Chief of the Otmounders. Otmound was the oldest mound on the Moor and, therefore, even without a mound, Orban was the senior Chief and more important than Gest. He blandly refused to move the forge. He insisted that his new house should be larger than Gest’s. And he wanted to lead out an army straightaway to kill as many Dorig as possible.
    â€œWell, yes. But don’t let’s be too hasty about it,” Gest said. “People could say the Dorig are quite justified, after the way you drove them into the water by Islaw.”
    â€œThat was years ago!” said Orban. “This attack was quite unprovoked. You don’t expect me to sit here and let them get away with it, do you?”
    â€œOf course not,” said Gest. “I just don’t want to be rash. We’re not prepared here. We ought to train the men.”
    â€œThere’s no training like real fighting,” Orban said. “If we go quickly, we can catch them napping.”
    â€œI don’t think we dare go that quickly, not with this many people in Garholt,” Gest said. “We’d have to provision the mound first. It’ll take at least one big hunt before the Feast of the Sun, and that’s only for meat.” This was true. There were now double the number of people in Garholt, and the Otmounders had not brought any food with them. The supplies from the last hunt were eaten in two days. If the Feast was to be held in anything like proper style, more meat had to be got and more drink brewed. “Suppose we wait until after the Feast of the Sun,” said Gest, “and then consider attacking.”
    â€œWe can send half out for food and the rest against the Dorig,” said Orban. “Dorig crumple if you hit them hard. It doesn’t take many men.”
    â€œBut that means leaving Garholt without men or provisions,” Gest pointed out. “If the Dorig attacked it, it would be completely defenseless.”
    â€œBut you’ve had their word they wouldn’t attack—and I like their nerve!” Orban said, growing exasperated. “What’s the matter with you, Gest?”
    â€œNothing,” said Gest. “I’d just prefer to wait at least till Autumn, when we’ve got food in—”
    â€œAutumn! You expect me to sit and let the Dorig lord it in Otmound, and not do a thing about it till Autumn!” Orban bellowed.
    â€œNow don’t think I don’t see your point of view—” Gest said.
    â€œNice of you! I don’t see yours at all,” said Orban.
    The argument went on for days. Orban grew more and more exasperated. Gest remained wonderfully polite and steadily reasonable, and yet, as the days went by, it became clearer and clearer to Gair as he listened that his father had no intention of fighting the Dorig if he could avoid it. Gair could not understand it. Gest seemed so craven. He had given way to Orban about the forges, he had agreed to build Orban a very large house, but, on the one matter where it really seemed to Gair that Orban had right on his side, Gest politely refused to give in. This did not seem to be the Gest out of Miri’s stories at all. The gloomy, foreboding feeling Gair had had the first morning came back to him whenever he heard Orban and Gest arguing. It did not seem quite to be connected with the argument, but it troubled him more and