Daughter of Prophecy

by Miles Owens

  “I was hoping to see you before we left,” she said, “so I could express my undying gratitude. Without your assistance, we would surely not have survived. Elmar, thanks to you Abel’s leg is mending, and I believe he will walk without a limp.”

  Elmar was pleased. “I be your servant, m’lady. And I say Abel be like me. He be married to a better woman than he has any right to.”

  Cyndae smiled, and Harred was struck by how much Breanna’s smile was like her mother’s.

  At that moment Breanna came up to them. “I need to say good-bye, too, Mother.”

  Cyndae looked at her daughter closely, then turned back to Harred. “Well, young man, I am sure we will never see each other again,” she said meaningfully. “I wish you the Eternal’s protection on your way home.”

  “As I do for all of you.”

  “Cyndae! Breanna!” Abel shouted. “We must be leaving.” Cyndae nodded. “Do not linger, Breanna.” She gave Harred a sad smile, then climbed into the wagon and helped Felton and his sister get situated in the back next to Abel.

  Breanna and Harred stood on the wooden sidewalk. Elmar cleared his throat and paced away. People edged by them, hurrying about their business. The steady wind molded Breanna’s cloak to her petite frame. Her black hair framed her face. Her dark eyes were moist as her lips parted in an unspoken goodbye. Her look was so poignant, so full of unspoken pathos and longing, that it seared into Harred’s core.

  He heard himself saying, “Do you serve the Eternal, Breanna Caemhan?”

  She smiled at the memory, then lowered her gaze. “Always.”

  “Do you long to join with a man who follows the Eternal as you do?” Harred pushed aside the mental image of the wagons of pagan goods he had brought back this summer.

  Breanna lifted her face and regarded him with liquid eyes. “Is Harred Wright such a man?”

  As had happened when he had talked with her after the wool sale, something inside him urged total honesty. “I can be . . . with your help.”

  “Breanna!” Abel shouted. “We leave!”

  Breanna closed her eyes and her lips moved silently. After a long moment, she opened her eyes again. She studied Harred’s face with the intensity he was coming to recognize. He felt her searching his eyes, questioning, wondering.

  “Sometimes I sense the Eternal’s guidance,” she said slowly. “And sometimes I think I sense it but am proven wrong. In you I believe I sense his purposes. For you and . . . perhaps . . . for us.”

  Harred took her hand. “I will come for—”

  She covered his mouth with her fingers. How sublime they felt on his skin. “But I could be wrong, Harred de Tarenester en Wright, Clan Arshessa.” She dropped her hand and regarded him thoughtfully. Then she seemed to come to a conclusion. She leaned to his ear and spoke in a whisper. “If you come for me at the Pole, I will not refuse you. We will trust the Eternal.”

  “Breanna!” Abel shouted. “In the wagon now!”

  Quick as a breeze Breanna gave Harred a kiss on the cheek. Then she was into the wagon, and the driver carried them off.

  Pulse racing, Harred watched them jostle down the snow-packed street. Breanna did not face him. He watched her black hair blow in the cold wind. The wagon rounded a bend in the road and was lost from sight.

  Harred stood there watching the empty road. Elmar approached and waited patiently.

  “After we return,” Harred said finally, “I will visit the Dinari Gathering and there present suit for Breanna Caemhan, daughter of Loreteller Abel Caemhan. If Abel refuses my suit, as I am sure he will, then I will demand a Wifan-er-Weal.”

  Elmar let his breath out slowly. He put his hand on Harred’s shoulder. “May the Eternal have mercy on us all.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  RHIANNON

  THE COLUMN MADE an impressive sight, harnesses gleaming, banners fluttering. A full hundred king’s guards, well mounted and freshly shaven, wearing yellow tal-bards and dark blue cloaks, led the way into the fairgrounds on the outskirts of Lachlann. Cloak clasps, sword hilts, freshly polished boots, silver ornaments on bridles, even the bits in the horses’ mouths, shone brightly in the late morning sun.

  Behind them, on a prancing white stallion whose coat glistened like freshly fallen snow, rode a young man in the same attire as the guards but with rows of gold cord with long tassels attached to the shoulders.

  “Is that him?” Lakenna asked.

  “That is our prince,” Branor confirmed. “Prince Larien Faber.”

  The crowd of Dinari clansmen, gathered for the Maiden Pole ceremony, let out a cheer. At the noise, the white stallion broke into a hopping canter. Though Larien was too far away for Rhiannon to see his face clearly, she could tell he rode well. He was tall and strong and bore himself regally. He reined in the excited horse with practiced ease, keeping it just ahead of the queen’s carriage.

  The carriage was constructed of black oak with gold fittings and was pulled by four high-stepping blood red horses with black manes and tails. All four had matching white stocking feet and a full blaze on their faces. The Faber emblem, a naked sword lying across an open scroll of Holy Writ, fluttered from all four corners of the highly varnished equipage. The blue and yellow curtains were closed, affording the crowd no view of their queen. Nonetheless, they cheered her passing, though with noticeably less volume than for Larien.

  Lakenna turned to Rhiannon and Branor. “Do you sense it . . . him?”

  “Maolmin,” Branor said, nodding. “Continually.”

  Rhiannon certainly did. It was the same faint nausea she’d felt previously. And if that weren’t enough, her stomach held enough butterflies for every maiden about to go to the Pole.

  When the carriages of royal advisors and attendants paraded by, Rhiannon, Lakenna, and Branor looked at each other in surprise.

  “Another?” Lakenna said. “Do you feel this new presence?”

  Branor turned to watch the advisors as their carriages trailed behind the queen’s. “At least one. Perhaps more. It must be someone close to the throne.” He shook his head slightly. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “What are we to do?” Rhiannon asked.

  “That will be in the Eternal’s hands,” Branor said. “We must simply hold ourselves ready for whatever may come.”

  Last came the supply wagons, servants, and grooms with strings of remounts. The column made toward the roped-off royal area prepared by the advance party that had arrived yesterday in two score sturdy supply wagons. The workers and servants had erected a dozen large and colorful pavilions. Rhiannon had been astounded to see two blacksmiths in that advance party. They had set up anvils and a small furnace and had hammered away all yesterday, reshoeing horses and mules and repairing other items necessary for the royal workers as they erected the pavilions, all of which dwarfed those of the Dinari kinsmen lords, even Maolmin’s.

  Lakenna said, “The wealth necessary for such a contingent is beyond my ken.”

  Rhiannon was thinking the same. “I thought the advance party to be most of it. But this is twice as big.”

  Branor smiled kindly.

  Watching the long line of carriages and wagons, Rhiannon felt the ground shift beneath her feet. She had known her clan was the smallest and poorest of the six, but now she understood how much poorer they were. And why no queen had ever come from Clan Dinari. I have been a foolish little girl, dreaming little girl dreams!

  She raised her chin and reached for her absent sword hilt. I have faced and killed winged horrors. That is how I will walk in my prophecy. And . . . there is always Harred. Her gloom lifted. Though she had scarcely seen Harred since the wool sale, he had loomed large in her memory. He is better for me anyway. We will be two warriors, shoulder to shoulder, his sword and mine, as we face the Mighty Ones.

  She brought her thoughts back to the coming Maiden Pole ceremony. She stood with her family, Lakenna, and Branor in the area roped off around the Pole. A tall tree had been felled, limbed, an
d erected in the middle of a grassy field. Everyone waited anxiously for this beautiful, centuries-old spectacle where clansmen and women publicly announced their betrothal. Many, if not most, of those eligible would be married before sunset.

  More Dinari packed the area than Rhiannon had ever seen before. The participating maidens were conspicuous in their white gowns, the requins in their hair, and the colorful Maiden Staffs in the crook of their arm.

  “Why the walking sticks?” Lakenna asked.

  “Maiden Staffs,” Rhiannon said. “They’re heirlooms handed down from mother to daughter. They are decorated with clan and family emblems. It’s for her to drive away unwanted suitors.” She laughed at Lakenna’s look of alarm. “I’ve never seen that happen. In most cases formalities and bride prices are settled long before today. As with Vanora and Rahl.”

  Rhiannon searched among the maidens and saw Vanora. The bride-to-be’s face was aglow. Last night, Mererid, Rhiannon, and Lakenna had made a visit to the Garbhach tent. Vanora had been a bundle of nerves but eager for the ceremony and her approaching marriage. Cora Garbhach and Mererid had given the bride-to-be some frank—and most informative—advice about the wedding night that left had Vanora, Rhiannon, and even Lakenna red-faced and giggling.

  The royal column arrived at their pavilions and began to dismount and unload. Rhiannon eyed Maolmin’s pavilion, which was closest to the royal area. The Presentation was scheduled to begin after the Maiden Pole ceremony concluded.

  But I am not to be presented, Rhiannon chided herself again. And surely the siyyim will do everything possible to keep the prince from seeing me! Time to put away childish dreams.

  Overhead, a few dingy clouds begin building as the Dinari waited for the commencement of their first clan-wide Maiden Pole event in years. The Pole and the Presentation were two separate events, though this time they were being held during the same festival. As the Pole was a clan event, the royal family would not be attending, so there was no need to wait for them.

  A breeze out of the north fluttered hems of dresses and rippled cloaks. With the damp air and dropping temperature, Rhiannon was glad she had chosen her heavier cloak.

  The Maiden Pole ceremony started. The line of maidens moved with long, flowing strides, making a complete circle around the Pole. Then they stopped and faced the crowd, Maiden Staffs still resting in the crook of their arms.

  Now it was the young Dinari men’s turn. They stepped out from the throng and formed a second circle around the first. The inner maiden circle, white and fluttering as the breeze freshened and threatened rain, remained still. The outer suitor circle, composed mostly of young men wearing homespun brown and gray wools, moved slowly around. The two sides nodded formally to each other as the men passed by.

  Rhiannon nudged Lakenna. “For Rahl and Vanora, this is the end of courtship. But it can also be a beginning. If a man sees a girl he would like to know better, the emblems on her Maiden Staff tell him whom to approach later to discuss formal courtship. That’s if she doesn’t end up betrothed to someone else now at the Pole!”

  The men completed their circuit and halted. Those maidens so inclined grounded their staffs to acknowledge willingness to receive suits. Suitors milled around until each one stopped in front of his chosen girl, a circlet of woven flowers in hand. The rest of the young clansmen and maidens returned to the crowd.

  Rhiannon had been focused on Vanora and Rahl, but when the movement around the Pole cleared and only the serious suitors remained, she saw Ryce Pleoh, the fat Sabinis merchant, standing in front of Breanna Caemhan, the loreteller’s daughter with the astounding bride price.

  Then movement from the crowd caught Rhiannon’s eye. A tall, wide-shouldered, dark-haired man stepped over the rope fence and into the Pole area. It was Harred! He wore a full cloak, buttoned closed; only his hands and a circlet of flowers were visible.

  It was so wonderful to see him. Had he come looking for her? But then Rhiannon’s heart twisted. Of course not. From his set gaze and determined stride she suddenly understood where he was headed. Straight to Breanna. Foolish dreams, indeed. No Presentation. No Harred. It was too much to bear.

  But even as she rode out the inward pang, she felt a curious sense of freedom arising. Everything seemed stripped away. Now, finally, there was nothing left to hold her back. She bowed her head. Dear Eternal, forgive me for not surrendering all to you. My prophecy is in your hands. I am ready now. When you open the door, I will step through it.

  Harred walked calmly toward Ryce Pleoh and Breanna. The maiden brought her hand to her mouth, eyes wide and round as the Arshessa approached. The fat Sabinis merchant’s puzzled frown grew rapidly into anger.

  Recognizing Harred and what was happening, Abel Caemhan burst out from the crowd and limped on crutches and his splinted leg to his daughter. He beat Harred’s more stately approach and propped himself in front of Breanna and Ryce, arms folded across his chest, his thin face a mask of fury.

  A hush descended on the crowd. Everyone began edging forward, eager to hear this confrontation between an obviously love-stricken suitor and an angry father. Rhiannon and the rest of the Rogoth party were carried along with the press.

  “I will accept no suit from you!” Abel hissed through clenched teeth. “Leave now! Persist, and your blood will not be on my hands!” People were much closer now, those in front being shoved forward by anxious ones behind as they strained to see and hear.

  Harred’s eyes never left Breanna’s face. His words carried clearly to all. “I, Harred de Tarenester en Wright, Clan Arshessa, bring suit for Breanna de Erian en Caemhan, Clan Dinari. I promise to love, protect, and provide for her as long as I have breath in my body. This I pledge of my own free will before the Eternal and before these witnesses.”

  The skin on Abel’s face tightened and his lips turned white. Gasps came from the Erian kinsmen as they realized a hated Tarenester was among them. “I refuse your suit!” Abel replied icily. “I find it an insult to my clan, my family, and my daughter.”

  Angry cries of agreement came from the Erian kinsmen as they pressed forward even closer. Their mood was turning ugly, the air thick with hostility.

  Harred remained calm and resolute. “Loreteller Abel, I respect your wishes as father in this matter and will withdraw.” He nodded formally and walked back to the edge of the crowd.

  “Could it be?” Branor cut his eyes to Lakenna and Rhiannon. “Prepare yourself.”

  Though Branor’s outward appearance remained calm, Rhiannon sensed a change in him. Now he reminded her of her of father’s stallion: saddled and bridled, muscles rippling, ready to charge into battle at the touch of the master’s hand.

  Lakenna gave the Keeper a puzzled frown, then nodded.

  Rhiannon touched her arm. “Prepare for what?”

  “For battle on the spirit plane,” Lakenna whispered into her ear. “We need Maolmin to be personally engaged so we may bind the siyyim inside him. Branor believes we may receive our wish.”

  Once Harred stepped back over the rope the ceremony continued. Each maiden leaned her staff forward. Her suitor placed his woven circlet of flowers on her staff on a hook near the top and stepped forward to remove the requin from her head. Breanna’s face remained a blank mask as Ryce removed her requin. Silently she removed Ryce’s wreath and placed it on her head.

  Then the new couples made a procession around the crowd to the shouted cries of congratulations and ribald comments from family and friends. Together they strode to the spot where High Lord Maolmin and the other kinsmen lords waited to finish the ceremony. Rhiannon followed her family and the crowd to watch.

  Bowyn Garbhach and his wife, along with Rahl’s mother, all dressed in their finest, stood proudly in front of their children. Serous stood close to Rahl, along with Rahl’s uncle Mil, proud as any father. Vanora was stunning in her white gown, flowers encircling her mahogany hair. Her eyes sparkled as she regarded Rahl. He returned her look, his expression one of wonder as if scant believing
this marvelous creature on his arm would soon be his to have and to hold.

  Tellan and Mererid congratulated the couple. Then, in his most formal voice, Tellan intoned, “Bowyn Garbhach, I see that Rahl Digon brings suit for your daughter, Vanora. What say you?”

  Bowyn tugged nervously at his tunic. “Lord Tellan, Lady Mererid, I find Rahl Digon worthy of Vanora.” Bowyn turned to face Rahl. The father’s lip quivered; he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Vanora is a fine woman, Rahl. She comes to you a virgin, precious and eager to make for you a home and hearth—as her mother has done for me. Treat Vanora with love and provide for her, and you will be blessed beyond your imagining.” His mouth firmed and he gave the lad a level look. “Raise your hand against her, and though she bears your name, you will answer to me.”

  Rahl nodded and placed his hand over Vanora’s.

  Bowyn went on, voice breaking slightly. “Rahl Digon, I give my blessing to this union and place Vanora under your covering. May the Eternal’s light shine on both of you.”

  Vanora’s mother reached out and hugged her daughter, and tears of joy flowed from them both. Next, Rahl’s mother embraced Vanora warmly, and then everyone waited for the other kinsmen groups to finish.

  Finally, High Lord Maolmin stepped into the open area and raised his hands for quiet. Slowly, the happy babble died down. Maolmin waited a moment longer before thundering, “Does any clansmen present have reason to keep these couples from saying vows?”

  Harred stepped forward, this time accompanied by Elmar, the fellow Tarenester kinsman whom Rhiannon remembered from the stables at Lachlann. “I have reason!” Harred declared.

  The crowd gasped.

  The two Arshessa clansmen walked to within a few paces of Maolmin. Harred slipped out of his cloak and handed it to Elmar. Strapped to Harred’s side was his sword. He loosened the straps and shifted the scabbard around to where it hung normally.

  He looked straight at Maolmin. “I demand a Wifan-er-Weal for the right of Breanna Caemhan’s hand in marriage.”