The man I’d seen the night of the rite wearing black robes and having his hair cut short (even the non-warriors wore their hair long) hurried forward and stopped at the dais. Lahn barked another order at him, the man bowed his head and hurried away.

It was at this point that I realized the sun was blazing as were the firepits all around us and it was freaking hot. I was going to get roasted out here, in more ways than one.

“That is The Eunuch,” Diandra whispered in my ear and I turned my head to see her bent to me.

“Sorry?”

She tipped her chin in the direction of where the man in the robes was and repeated, “The Eunuch. He has charge of the scouts who search for the wives for the Hunt. He has charge of the Hunt and its celebrations. He has charge of the warrior selections and once the warriors are selected, he chooses who will be trained by whom then, once they are of an age, who will be assigned to whom. The warriors spend years as what we would consider squires, serving at the same time training before they are sent out to make their first kill. And when we ride, once the Dax chooses camp, he has charge of organizing the chams, making sure livestock and horses are kept downwind, refuse is disposed of correctly, things the Dax has little interest in.”

I was stuck on something she said previously.

“He’s a eunuch?”

She nodded. “The Dax before King Lahn did the deed himself. I watched it. Everyone did. It happened on this very dais.”

Oh my God!

I stared at her then breathed, “Why?”

She shook her head. “There are those who…” she paused, “prefer their erm…” she hesitated again, “own kind.”

“He’s a homosexual?” I asked, aghast at where this was going.

“A what?” Diandra asked back.

“He likes men as in, having relations with them,” I explained.

She nodded and muttered, “He did.”

Yikes!

“They don’t…” it was my turn to pause, “they don’t allow homosexuality and they –?”

Diandra shook her head. “No, Dax Lahn does, he does not seem to care. He only punishes those who force it on others who do not wish it. The other Dax though…” she trailed off then whispered, “it was unpleasant.”

I bet it was. It was also unacceptable. So unacceptable, it was hideous.

I pressed my lips together and looked forward.

“He was cast out, Dahksahna Circe,” Diandra kept talking to me. “But Dax Lahn remembered he was a fine warrior under his father’s reign. He remembered he had a sharp mind. He sent scouts to find him and gave him this role. It is a high honor.”

I nodded, feeling slightly better about that (slightly) and even better that Lahn would do that but my mind had turned because I was watching the clearing and something was happening.

Then it happened.

“This can’t be,” I whispered to Diandra.

I was staring at the little boys lining up in front of us on the slab of stone at the foot of the dais. A quick glance to the side showed that Lahn was sitting in his black throne next to me, still leaned forward, elbow to knee, eyes to the boys. I looked back at the boys and saw that each had a belt in which they carried two knives at the sides and each had a leather strap across their little boy chests that held a sheath and small sword at a slant at their back, like adult warriors. I also saw that the knives and swords were made of wood.

And last, I saw that these boys had to be no more than four or five years old.

What was going on?

“Diandra,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“It is their way,” she whispered back, lips close to my ear and I twisted my head and caught her eyes.

“They’re little boys!” I hissed.

“My queen, it is their way.”

“But –”

She cut me off firmly. “Sit, watch, listen but do not disgrace yourself or your king. Do not. There is a time where you can defy your king, there is a time when you can make your preferences known, he has made this clear, but, Dahksahna Circe, this is a crucial ceremony to the Korwahk, it guarantees the future of The Horde so this is not one of those times.”

I stared into her eyes and she held my stare.

Then I pulled in a deep breath.

Then I turned to face forward just as Lahn barked an order and the little boys immediately flew into action fighting each other with their wooden swords, knives, and in some cases, fists and feet.

Oh man. I did not like this. I did not like this because it was not play. There were little boy grunts of effort and pain.

“The Dax must see their promise for them to be chosen,” Diandra said in my ear as the boys fought before me. “Their fathers spend much time preparing them for the selection and then their parents bring them here hoping even praying they will be chosen warriors.”

“And if chosen, they leave their homes and train?” I asked, not prying my eyes from the proceedings.

“Indeed, never to go home again until after their first kill which is usually when they reach seventeen, eighteen years of age.”

God, it was insane. By that time, they wouldn’t even know who their parents were!

Then I watched as the man in black robes started wandering through the fray, holding his hands over struggling boys’ heads, his eyes going up to Lahn on the dais. I turned to look at Lahn and saw him jerk his chin up then not a second later, shake his head sharply in a no. I looked back at the fray to see the robed man continue through it, holding his hands over heads then yanking at boys’ arms, sending some to one side where they sheathed their weapons (if they still had them) and huddled together and others he tossed (yes, tossed) away, indicating they were not selected. These boys scurried quickly out of the area and to the sidelines, melting into the crowds, probably to find their parents.

This took awhile, there were a great many boys, and I watched in the blazing sun and roasting heat of the fires as the last two boys were separated from fighting, one was actually bloody and he was tossed aside. The other one was pushed toward the huddle.

The robed man shouted an order and the boys lined up at the foot up the steps. I felt Lahn move at my side, looked and saw him rise then slowly stride down the steps.

Once he was two steps above them, he walked in front of the boys, his head tipped down. All I could see was his muscular back which also had a line of paint down the spine, arcs of it shooting out from the line and I wondered, distractedly, who had painted his back. He moved slowly down the entire line then he moved back.