Page 18 of Bound By Blood
"Mercy gets people killed."
The argument threatens to spiral into violence. I can see it in Skarn's stance, in the way his hand drifts toward his weapon. The other elders sense it too, shifting in their seats like predators preparing for a hunt.
Elder Nasha breaks the tension with a deliberate cough. "Perhaps we should consider alternatives to immediate sale or execution."
All eyes turn to her. At sixty-three winters, she's survived more clan upheavals than anyone in this chamber, and her counsel carries weight even Skarn respects.
"Speak," I command, grateful for the interruption.
"The human has proven valuable as a healer and teacher. What if we offered her a choice? Remain with us as a honored member of our healing corps, or face the consequences of tribal politics."
"You suggest making her one of us?" Elder Korrath sounds incredulous. "A human? In our clan?"
"Stranger things have happened," Nasha replies. "The old laws speak of blood-adoption for those who save clan lives. Thrak breathes because of her skill and mercy. That creates obligation."
Blood-adoption.I have seen no one perform the ancient ritual, but the precedent still exists. A way to transform an enemy into family, outsider into a protected clan member. It would make Eirian untouchable by tribal politics, but it would also bind our fate to hers permanently.
"The ritual requires unanimous clan consent," Skarn objects. "You'd need every elder's agreement, and I'll never consent to adopting our enemy."
"She saved your nephew's life too," Nasha reminds him. "Yareck's fever broke under her care when our healers had given up hope."
The reminder hits its mark. Skarn's expression shifts, old grief mixing with newer gratitude. His sister's boy had lain dying of plague until Eirian intervened with some combination of human medicine and careful attention that pulled the child back from death's edge.
"One human life," he says finally, "against the security of our entire clan. The choice remains clear."
"Clear to you, perhaps." I return to my throne, considering options that all seem to lead toward disaster. "But clarity and wisdom aren't always the same thing."
The debate continues for another hour, voices rising and falling like tide against stone. Arguments for pragmatism clash with appeals to honor. Political necessity wars with moral obligation. Through it all, I think of Eirian's eyes as she worked over Thrak's fevered body, the intense concentration that blocked out everything except the life struggling in her hands.
She could have let him die.The thought returns, an anchor in the storm of conflicting loyalties.She could have watched ourstrength diminish and used that weakness to escape. Instead, she healed.
"Enough," I say, voice cutting through the arguments. "We'll adjourn until tomorrow evening. Think carefully about what kind of clan we choose to be."
The elders file out in small groups, their conversations continuing in hushed tones that echo through stone corridors. Skarn pauses at the chamber entrance, looking back with something that might be disappointment or pity.
"Your father would have sold her already," he says. "Practical decisions, not emotional ones. That's how leaders survive."
"My father died making practical decisions," I reply. "Maybe it's time for something different."
After the chamber empties, I remain alone with my thoughts and the choices that will shape our clan's future. The torches burn lower, casting dancing shadows that mock the certainty I projected during the debate.
Three paths: sell her, adopt her, or find some middle ground that satisfies no one.
Each option carries consequences I can barely calculate. Selling her maintains tribal alliances but betrays the debt we owe for Thrak's life. Blood-adoption protects her but could bring House Thorne's armies to our doorstep. Any compromise risks the worst of both choices.
What would Mother do?
The question surprises me. I rarely think of my mother except in dreams, but tonight her memory feels vivid and immediate. She taught me that strength without mercy becomes mere brutality, that true leadership requires protecting those who cannot protect themselves.
She would have chosen mercy. Even knowing the cost, even understanding the risks, she would have honored the debt without destroying our people.
But she's dead,the practical voice in my head reminds me.Killed by humans who showed no mercy when they had the chance.
The contradiction tears at me like wolf fangs, loyalty to the dead warring with obligation to the living. Tomorrow's council will demand a decision, and whatever choice I make will echo through generations of clan history.
She saved our brother.
The simple truth cuts through all the political calculations and strategic concerns. Eirian Thorne could have let Thrak die, could have weakened us through inaction disguised as incompetence. Instead, she healed, taught, and treated our people with the same care she'd show her own.
