“There are other totems in the land,” Devoth continued, his voice low and filled with pride, “but they are small. Ants. These are the eight clans. We are the ones who decide the future; and today, we fight for the honor of being the spear point. None of your race has seen this. None other ever will. Enjoy and feel privileged.”

Both enjoyment and feelings of privilege lived somewhere far from Rialus’s present state of mind. He had yet to sort out the intricacies of Auldek social and political life. He doubted he would understand it all even if he spent years in Ushen Brae, which he prayed to the Giver that he would not. Over the last few days, Rialus had seen enough of the slaves to know that they were often tattooed, adorned with jewelry, and physically modified. But the changes were minor on the household servants. These warriors were monstrosities. Yet they were the Auldek’s own creations. Why do that to them? Why not do it themselves if the Auldek found such things attractive?

Perhaps it was evidence of his compromised mental state, because before he could censor himself, Rialus heard this question escape his lips. “Why is it the slaves who are so adorned?”

The group answered him with incredulous silence.

“I would have thought that—” Rialus stopped, unsure what he might have thought. He changed tack. “I mean, why not yourselves? Since the animals are your totems—”

Mulat murmured a curse under his breath, and then added, “Stupid piss pot of a man. The totems are not animals. They are gods who live in the animals!”

Several Auldek faces continued to stare at him. Words came from his mouth, unbidden. “Very interesting that they—just slaves, I mean—decide this spear-point thing.”

“That is what the slaves are for!” Calrach barked over his shoulder. “It is a blood test, you fool!”

“I see,” Rialus said. “That explains it, then.”

Devoth studied Rialus, making him unsure whether he was about to reach out and smash him across the nose or—

“Have a glass of juice,” the Auldek said, motioning that a passing tray should be held for the Acacian’s consideration.

Rialus obliged. He took the glass of red liquid in both hands, clenching it tightly to keep his hands from trembling.

“Calrach is correct,” Devoth said. “This is the way it is. Our slaves are our children. Their fate is inseparable from ours. The changes to their bodies are called ‘belonging.’ We don’t make all the belonging changes to them ourselves. Some they make themselves. Some things only the Lothan Aklun had the magic for. That, it seems, has come to an end because of the league. We will have to be repaid for this. Very much so.”