by Anne Logston
“You have been to Allanmere, where water wells up from the earth into every home, and where elves live side by side with men?” Kayli asked, awed. In Bregond, the great city of Allanmere was more myth than truth, touched only through the often conflicting stories of merchants.
“Yes, I was there once,” Randon said, grinning at the wonder in Kayli’s expression. “I sailed down the Dezarin with some merchants, then back up the Brightwater. It’s a marvelous city, all right—larger than Tarkesh probably by half again. The water doesn’t bubble up into every home except in the rich areas, though there are plenty of public fountains—and the fountains only spout water, not fine wine, and the streets aren’t paved with silver, and peasants don’t drink from ruby cups. But it’s true the elves there do live side by side with men. Not always happily or well, but some of them own homes and businesses right in the city. You can sit down in a tavern and share a bottle of wine with one—although you may not end up getting much of the wine. But I always thought that if Allanmere could keep the peace between two such different peoples within the same city, there’s no reason we can’t do it when Agrond and Bregond have so few opportunities to bother each other.”
“No sparks are drawn when the flint keeps separate from the steel,” Kayli said, quoting Brisi, and Randon had to laugh.
“Well, that’s a good thought, since we’re trying to prevent a fire that will burn both countries to ash,” Randon admitted.
Gazing into his troubled eyes, Kayli felt a sudden warmth in her heart. It was impossible to resent one who cared so very deeply for his people—and now, by extension, for her own.
“What are you thinking, with such an expression?” Randon asked her with a smile.
“I was thinking of another sort of fire,” Kayli said, smiling back. “And how much I would like to kindle it. Unless you wish to be the High Lord all night.”
Randon’s eyes sparkled, and some of the worry left them.
“I think,” he said, “the High Lord has retired for the evening.”
In the morning, Kayli and Randon woke early to the sound of a sharp, impatient knock on their door.
“Come in,” Randon called, but instead of a maid with their breakfast, it was Terralt who strode in, his face set and tense.
“Better get up, High Lord of Agrond,” Terralt said sarcastically. “Your people are rioting at your gates.”
“Rioting!” Randon bolted upright, “What’s happened?”
“You, as usual,” Terralt growled. “Bright Ones, Randon, you couldn’t take a good idea and leave it alone, could you? You just had to do it your way, and now look what’s happened.”
“What are you talking about?” Randon asked impatiently, sliding out of bed and grabbing his robe. Kayli stayed where she was, under the covers. Terralt’s eyes flickered to her almost involuntarily, and she pulled the covers a little higher.
“The guards,” Terralt said. “I told you to send troops to the border, not parade them through the city with that Bregondish caravan. There are rumors everywhere—that you’re sending our troops to defend Bregondish lands from raiders, that the troops aren’t there for the raiders at all, but to prevent a planned Bregondish attack. Worst of all, word’s gotten out that you’ve invited Bregond to station troops on our border. The people are in a panic, and what did you expect?”
“Well, what did you expect?” Randon retorted. “I couldn’t mass a garrison of troops at the border without asking High Lord Elaasar to join the effort; otherwise he’d have thought we were preparing to invade. And by the time I could have smuggled the troops out of the city quietly, in small groups, they’d have been no use to the caravan. The Sarkondish raids have increased since Kayli arrived, or hadn’t you heard?”
“I heard,” Terralt said irritably. “And if you’d mustered the force slowly and quietly, as I said, you could have done something productive about it without frightening your own people. Now you’ve got hundreds of terrified peasants clamoring at your gates. Go out there and deal with them.”
“Bright Ones,” Randon muttered. He disappeared out the door, presumably going to his dressing room to pull on some clothes before he confronted Tarkesh’s irate population.
Terralt stood where he was for a moment, still gazing darkly at Kayli. At last he turned and followed Randon out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Kayli was already half-dressed by the time her maids arrived to help her. As soon as she was clothed, she ran down the hallways after Randon; at the door, however, Stevann stopped her.
“Randon asked me to keep you inside,” the mage apologized. “I don’t think it’s very safe out there right now.”
Kayli peered out the door. The courtyard was empty but for guards, most of whom had clustered near the courtyard gates. An ugly crowd had gathered outside the wall, and there was a good deal of shouting and cursing that carried all the way to the castle. She could hardly believe that many of these same people had gathered here so peacefully only two days before to celebrate her wedding.
“Where is Randon?” she asked anxiously. “I do not see him.”
“He’s up at the gate, where no doubt some assassin’s dagger or some peasant’s rock will find him,” Terralt said, joining Kayli at the door. “I told him to send a messenger out, but there’s no reasoning with him. Better stay back. If they catch sight of you right now, it’ll only make them angrier. The guards have all they can do keeping those peasants from climbing the wall or battering at the gates now.”
Now Kayli could pick out Randon’s rich red-brown hair shining in the morning sunlight. Apparently he was trying to reason with the crowd; she could see his head bobbing as if he spoke, and his arms waved. But the roar of the mob continued unabated, and she saw with alarm that true to Terralt’s word, there were indeed missiles flying—rocks, or perhaps clods of dirt or offal. Kayli stepped involuntarily forward, and Terralt grabbed her arm, halting her.
The touch of his hand on her arm seared through her, but this time Kayli refused to succumb to embarrassment or confusion, and she rounded on Terralt squarely.
“Do something to help him,” she demanded. “Or I shall.” When Terralt still hesitated, she added icily, “He is my husband’.”
Terralt jerked his hand from her arm as if burned, muttered an oath, and strode angrily out the door. When he reached Guard Captain Beran, the two men conversed for a moment, then disappeared around the corner of the castle.
Meanwhile, at the gate, there was a sudden break in the angry shouting, and for a moment there was a hush, quickly replaced by a rather confused murmur. By the time Captain Beran led a large company of troops around the wall to break up the mob, most of the peasants scattered quietly. Kayli’s heart did not slow, however, until she saw Randon walking back to the castle, still protectively surrounded by a dozen guards.
“Are you all right?” she asked as soon as he was through the door. “I saw them throwing stones.”
“Well, it was a nasty crowd, there’s no denying it,” Randon admitted, glancing over his shoulder.
“What was it you told them?” Kayli asked. “Something you said calmed them.”
“I don’t think it calmed them,” Randon said, sighing. “Just gave them something to think about and decide whether they like it or not. I told them you’d conceived my heir.”
“But they knew that already, did they not?” Kayli asked, surprised. “The delay of the wedding—”
“I’m sure they’d heard rumors,” Randon said, nodding. “But as far as they knew, the wedding had been delayed by your own poor health—your illness when you first arrived, then the poisoning. There was no official confirmation. Well, now they know I’ll have an heir, which means the both of us are here to stay, and it’ll take them some time, I hope, to decide what they think of that. A child commits you more firmly to Agrond; I hope that eases some of their fears.”
“I wonder how my own people are reacting to the alliance,” Kayli said, troubled by the thought. B
regond had far more to lose than prosperous, cosmopolitan Agrond. The Bregondish had fought so hard, so long, to hold what remained of their land and their customs. Now the alliance with Agrond meant mingling with strangers who had been their enemies, who had stolen the best of their lands. Now the influx of goods from Agrond would mean that Bregond was buying the products of that stolen land, products that would compete with their own trade goods in the market. And Kayli would be only the first to bear a child of mixed blood.
“Likely your parents won’t have the same trouble,” Randon said comfortingly. “They’re long-established rulers. The people are always more doubtful of a newcomer, especially one they weren’t too sure of in the first place.” He grinned wryly.
But Kayli wondered. Bregond was not ruled as stringently as Agrond apparently was. The nomadic clans largely went their own way, governed by their clan leaders, having no contact with the country’s High Lord and Lady for years at a time. The Orders, too, kept to themselves, seldom looking to the High Lord and Lady for resolution of conflicts or protection. The people of Bregond were proud and independent—and stubborn, too. They would be suspicious of any change as quick as drastic as the alliance—and in Bregond, suspicion could quickly flare into anger.
“There’s a lot of troops outside the wall,” Randon said in surprise, glancing out the door. “Did you call them?”
“No, Terralt spoke to the guard captain,” Kayli answered. “But I urged him to help. He would not let me go to you.”
“And thank the Bright Ones he didn’t,” Randon said, sighing. “That lot would have been over the wall in a breath, throwing bricks instead of pebbles, and at you instead of me. Come on, we’ll let the guards get rid of the last stragglers, and we can finish dressing for breakfast.”
Food was Kayli’s least concern, but she followed Randon back to their quarters, then down to the dining hall for a silent and unhappy breakfast. Then, unsurprisingly, there was a meeting with the advisers to discuss the riot, its causes and aftereffects—and what could be done to prevent another.
“Nothing will reassure these people but time,” Lady Tarkas told them. “Now that the border’s open—legally open—the first Bregondish goods will soon appear in the market. Once folk see that the benefits promised by the alliance are real, they’ll come around, especially if the Sarkondish raids stop. There’s always been rumors that Bregond secretly allied with Sarkond.”
Kayli heard this last with vast astonishment. Bregond? Allied with barbaric Sarkond? Why, it was well that no Agrondish negotiator had mentioned such a rumor to her father, or the insult might have precipitated the very war they wished to avoid.
“Surely this can’t be news to you, High Lady,” Lord Vyr said, noting Kayli’s affronted scowl. “The Sarkondish raiders fight from horseback, after all like Bregondish warriors, and in fact their horses are very like yours.”
“Their horses are like ours,” Kayli said coldly, “because they steal our breeding stock when they raid the horse clans. And they fight from horseback because they could scarcely travel leagues to raid the borders on foot, not when our warriors would pursue on horseback. And I would note to this council that some of the Sarkondish raiders use the Agrondish horizontal bolt-shooter, not our longbows, and they wear armor and metal helms as Agrondish soldiers do. And if the Sarkondish were allied with Bregond, their raiders would scarcely take slaves for sale, knowing that we would never purchase them!”
Lord Vyr flushed and rose to his feet, opening his mouth to retort, but Randon rose; too, holding up his hands.
“Kayli! Vyr!” he said sharply. “The enemy’s far to the north, not sitting here in the chamber.”
Kayli took a deep bream and reined in her temper with difficulty; Lord Vyr clenched his teeth, and sat down again. Randon glanced warningly at both of them before he spoke again.
“We know the rumors about Bregondish dealings with Sarkond are ridiculous,” he said, “so we’ll move past that, please, and on to something more useful. Vyr, I want two additional companies of guardsmen in the city, three more on notice.”
Lord Vyr’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing.
“Lady Tarkas, I want those Bregondish trade goods scattered through the market as quickly as possible. That leatherwork and those furs are enough to tempt the most discerning nobleman, and the perfumes will be the rage of the city within a sevenday. The gemstones, too, are exceptional.”
Lady Tarkas shrugged.
“I will do as you say, of course, High Lord,” she said. “And the citizens of the city will, of course, adore the new trade goods; they are as fine as you say. However, instead of angry peasants beating at your gate, you’ll then have Master Tanner Crinna, Master Perfumer Zada, and Master Gemcutter Trelanna besieging the castle. There’s been grumbling ever since I showed some of the goods to the mercantile families. Master Weaver Odric is already fuming over the cloth samples that came with the first caravan. Never mind, at least the guilds won’t riot, and as you’re supping with Master Dyer Lidian tonight, you can discuss the guild situation with him.” At Randon’s blank look, she raised her eyebrows. “You did send him a message yesterday, didn’t you? Didn’t Terralt deliver his reply to you this morning?”
Randon let out an exasperated sigh.
“Well, I suppose he forgot about it in the confusion of the riot, and I didn’t see him afterward, but rushed right down to eat and meet with you,” he said. “Never mind. But if we’re to visit with Lidian, Kayli and I need to leave now. And I may know a way to pacify Lidian—and through him, some of the others.”
To Kayli’s surprise, Randon asked her to arrange their carriage and guard escort while he disappeared into the cellars. When Randon joined her at the carriage, a servant followed carrying a large box; when Kayli glanced at the box, however, Randon only smiled mysteriously.
They arrived at the Dyers’ Guildhouse a little after midday, but Master Dyer Lidian, who came out to meet them, seemed unperturbed by their lateness.
“Welcome, welcome, High Lord, High Lady!” he boomed, waving his dye-stained hands enthusiastically as he bowed. “Welcome to my humble guildhouse. After what I heard of this morning’s fracas at the castle gate, I feared I’d miss the pleasure of your company altogether, but I still had my cooks do the best they could. And here you are. Come in while the food’s still hot, and then we’ll trot through the place and see if I can’t dazzle the High Lady with my people’s talents.”
Kayli had no appetite whatsoever, having belatedly broken her fast only a short time before; to her dismay, however, Master Dyer Lidian had ordered an extravagant dinner, and she could hardly insult him by abstaining, not when they had come to show their friendship in the first place.
“I make my toast to the High Lord and Lady of Agrond,” Lidian said, his voice suddenly formal. “Long may they reign, in happiness and good health.” He emphasized the last two words subtly, but his gaze on Kayli and Randon had sharpened.
Randon reached for his own goblet without hesitation, and Kayli raised her own as well.
“I make my toast to the guilds,” he said, “and the truest Mends I’ve ever had.” He drank deeply.
Despite their repast not long before, Randon helped himself from every platter as if he’d eaten nothing for days, and Kayli perforce followed his example. Seeing them eat and drink without hesitation, Lidian gradually relaxed and chatted amiably with Randon, both of them pausing frequently to explain some facet of the dyeing process to Kayli, or to recount some story of a shared adventure or mishap. Gradually titles fell away, and the High Lord and the Master Dyer became simply Lidian and Randon again, and Kayli’s heart warmed as she saw Randon more relaxed than he’d been in days. It was hard to picture the aging, dye-stained, and rather coarse Lidian as the friend and companion of a nobleman, but somehow Kayli could more easily picture him sitting in a tavern, sipping ale, telling ribald stories, and flirting with the serving wenches than she could Randon.
“But enough of our reminiscenc
es,” Lidian said suddenly, turning to Kayli. “Tell me, are the rumors true that our lovely and wise High Lady is a mage as well?”
“Well, I am a mage, and I am not,” Kayli answered hesitantly. “It is true that I trained at one of the magical Orders in Bregond. But I was only the rankest novice, and despite my study since I have arrived in Bregond, I would never presume to name myself a true mage.”
“Ha!” Randon shook his head. “She doesn’t do herself half justice, Lidian. I tell you, it’d make your blood run cold to see Kayli thrust her hand into the fire and pull out glowing embers. Go on, Kayli, show him something, won’t you?”
Kayli was a little embarrassed by the request, but she could hardly refuse, and at last she summoned a small flame to dance over her fingertips, to Lidian’s delight.
“Well, call yourself a mage or not, I’m impressed,” Lidian declared when Kayli had banished the small flame. “And now, if you’ve both finished, we’ll see if I can’t impress the High Lady with the sort of magic my guild can perform.”
Kayli had no knowledge of the dyeing industry; she had naively assumed that one took a piece of cloth, dipped it in a color essence, dried it, and that was that. She was astonished, therefore, to see how elaborate a process it really was, with preparatory solutions, dye baths, fixatives, bleaches—and even more astonishing was the amazing rainbow hues produced. Bregondish clothing tended to be utilitarian, and plain earth and grass colors were more practical than the flashy hues that seemed popular in Agrond. She remarked on the amazing variety of color to Lidian, and he beamed proudly.
“You won’t find better in all of Agrond, and I’d daresay far beyond,” he said triumphantly. “We’ve developed some of the best shades in the market, such as that purple you remarked on, and we’ve got a beautiful orange gold in the works, too.” Glancing at Kayli for permission, he turned the collar of her protective robe back slightly to examine the shade of her dress, and frowned critically.