That brought ringing silence, and he went on: “I am called by the Powers to be Ard Rí in Montival. The High King must be King of all his peoples and give good lordship and fair judgment to all; yes, and be seen to do that. I see men and women of our Clan from Sutterdown here, which is under the patronage of Apollo, the God who loves above all justice and due proportion in men and realms. Nor, by the Mare and the Raven and the Moon, does Rhiannon love it less.”

He shook his head. “Your Chief I cannot be. And therefore I cannot be tanist, the successor. You must chose another, while my mother can yet train your choice”

He stepped back, and ostentatiously crossed his arms again. Juniper quirked a smile as she took up the words: “Long ago, at our first Óenach Mór—and it’s considerably smaller that was!—”

That produced a startled laugh.

“I swore that I would be Chief only of a free folk. You may choose the Chief you will, and you may chose the Chief’s tanist.”

A low murmuring went through the throng, and then Oak Barstow stepped forward into the semicircle of firelight before the natural dais. His voice was more of a battle-shout than a bard’s, but it carried well enough. “I say that we should have none but the blood of Lady Juniper to be Chief of the Clan; this by our free choice. Who says aye?”

A roar, one loud enough to make her almost take a step backward; it took a moment for quiet to fall again, and she felt a prickle of tears. Partly of joy—that love and offered devotion made all the years of work and worry seem less hard. And partly a mother’s love of her children, for they would bear that burden after her.

“Lady Eilir has pledges to the Dúnedain,” Oak went on, in a fine carrying roar; bards with the outer Duns relayed his words. “The Rangers are our friends and kindred, but they are another folk with their own laws and ways. Lady Fiorbhinn is too young—”

“And would be better suited to run crowing through the treetops and fly to the Moon, than to be Chief of three children in a bathtub, let alone a great roynish Clan!”

Her clear young voice cut through effortlessly. There was a swelling ripple of laughter out to the edges of the great assembly. Oak’s booming laugh was loudest of all. The smile was still in his voice as he went on:

“That leaves only one of Lady Juniper’s children; and well she is suited to the task, as we all know. I call on the Óenach Mor to hail Maude Loring Mackenzie as Tanist of the Clan, to follow the Chief and learn from her and to be the Mackenzie in her turn. All for?”

“AYE!”

Juniper could see her daughter blink, as the force of the giant shout hit like a huge padded club at her chest.