The Prize in the Game by Jo Walton Page A

wanted to scream. She hadn't exactly forgotten that
    Amagien was a poet. How could anyone, when he went on about it all the time? Nor had she forgotten that poets were, like kings and priests and lawspeakers, immune to challenge.
    But she somehow hadn't connected it up. He didn't act like a poet. Even when he sang his stupid song about how pretty Elenn was, he just seemed too full of his own importance. Still, she should have remembered, and it ruined everything. He could say anything in perfect impunity and nobody would be allowed to challenge him over it. At least this solved the riddle of how he had lived to grow as old as he was. He could say whatever he liked and nobody could even kill him. It really wasn't fair. What was so sacred about poets anyway? A king, yes, or a lawspeakermdashof course they shouldn't be challenged, because then they might be afraid to judge fairly.
    As for priests, challenging them insulted the gods. But poets? Nobody would challenge someone because they didn't like their poetry.
    "There!" Conal pointed, and a rustle went through the crowd as everyone craned to look. The first faint spark of fire blazed out to the south, looking distant as a star. "That's Mornay," he said. "And now watch to the west, we'll see Lusca next."
    "Nemglan next," Amagien said. "Then Lusca."
    It didn't matter. But if she said it didn't matter, it would make Conal feel worse. The points of light spread, like red flowers bursting into blossom. Conal named them all for her until at last it was time. Conary raised his hand and the bonfire beside him burst into flame. People stepped back from the sudden heat. The drummers began to play, and the harpists joined them. From somewhere came the sound of a pipe, the music twining around the harps.
    "I must join Finca," Amagien said. "Take good care of ap Allel, Conal. And make sure you take her safely to the Red Hall after the dance."
    Emer smiled a farewell. Conal raised his cup and took a relieved sip. "Why are poets sacred anyway?" she asked him.
    He choked on his ale. "To keep words free," he said when he had recovered. "But why were you thinking about that?"
    "Your father made me wonder," she said. "Look, the fires are spreading north."
    Thankfully, Conal accepted this distraction and turned to look. The fire was indeed still leaping from hilltop to hilltop across the darkened countryside. "That's Edar," Conal said, pointing at a nearby blaze to the northeast. "My father's farm."
    "I didn't know Amagien had a farm so close," Emer said.
    "We used to live out there," Conal said. "But since my mother is Uncle Conary's keykeeper, we have all moved into the dun."
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    "Do you ever go out there now?"
    "All the time," Conal said. "Not so much recently, but whenever my father can find an excuse to send me with a message or something to do out there, he does." He laughed. "Don't tell Amagien, because he thinks it a punishment to send me. But I like going. I like the farmers theremdash and see what a great blaze they have made."
    "Why does your father think it's punishment?" Emer asked. "Like 'Pleeeease don't turn me into a bird, Uncle
    Math'?"
    "Partly that," Conal said, grinning at her Little Wydion voice. "But I used to be afraid of the bull, a few years ago. He's a huge creature, and fierce. My father made me lead him about and take charge of him."
    "Your father is a monster," Emer said before she could help herself.
    "Well, but it worked. I'm not scared of the bull anymore. And he isn't a monster. He means well.
    He wants to help me grow up to be the best."
    Emer knew she couldn't say what she wanted to say. She knew too much about parents who wanted things for their children. Instead, she looked away at the distant lights. "I wish we were out there," she said. "Away from them all." The music was getting louder; people were forming up for the dance around the fire.
    "It's a pity we didn't think of that earlier," Conal said. "We could have gone out to Edar. The farmers there