Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  "Well, no," she replied, obviously wondering why he would ask that particular question. She waited for a reply, but he simply smiled at her, until she said, impatiently, "All right! Why do you want to know that?"

  "Because my brother wants to meet you, and this seems like a good time." He grinned at her blank stare, and continued. "Tarma trained the lot of us, remember? But she trained us a little differently than the way she trained you—she knew you were going to end up a hire-sword, so she gave you things she never gave us. My brother wants to pick your brain."

  "On what?" she asked, with a hint of suspicion.

  "Nothing you wouldn't be willing to tell us," Daren assured her. "He wants to know about all the bonded Companies doing business, for one thing; things the Guild won't tell us, like who can't work with whom, what weaknesses each Captain has. You're the best, Kero—"

  "I don't take bribes," she replied harshly. "You won't get me to tell you Guild secrets."

  "We don't care about Guild secrets, and it's not a bribe," he said quickly. "Just a bonus for the information. Free run through the Royal armory, your choice, whatever you can carry away in three wagon-loads with two-horse teams. We've got a lot of good horse-gear in storage, because we don't have a lot of mounted fighters. Besides, I want to catch up on what's happened to you the last fifteen years."

  She started to answer, then gave him a careful, measuring look, and hesitated. "Daren," she said slowly, and a little sadly, "I hope this isn't a try at reviving the old romance. That's dead, lad, and there's no mage with a spell strong enough to resurrect it."

  He stared at her for a moment, at the expression on her face that reminded him irresistibly of someone sitting on a tack, then relieved her by bursting into honest laughter.

  "Romance?" he squeaked, unable to get his breath. "Romance? With the Fire-Mare herself? The woman who thinks a seductive garment is one that doesn't have armor plating on it? With the Captain my own people look to before they trust my strategy?"

  Kero stiffened—then, as he continued to howl, began to unbend a little. "Well—"

  "Kero, you're a handsome woman, but gods help me—I don't fancy sharing my bed-space with you and that—" He pointed, and she turned to see that her sword was lying across her cot with the hilt resting on her pillow as if it were a person. She stared for a moment, then started laughing, too. That set him off again, and after a moment, both of them were so convulsed that they had tears running down their faces.

  He recovered enough to wipe his eyes, and handed her the goblet of watered wine on her table so that she could take a drink and get herself under control.

  "Goddess, Kero—I never thought you saw me as that much of a romantic!" He chuckled again, and stole the goblet from her for a sip. "No, I promise you—I like you, but you're the last woman I'd want to have a liaison with. You're too damned—outrageous."

  She took another sip, and made a face at him. "I did warn you, all those years ago. Still, I've learned a few things since then. I can be a lady for a couple of months if—"

  "Oh, no," he interrupted her. "I want you to be yourself; in fact, the wilder, the better. My brother's looking forward to it. He wants you to shake up his Court a little. He says they could do with some shaking up."

  She threw her head back and laughed whole-heartedly. "All right, then, I'll take you up on this. I'll be there before the end of summer, as soon as I get things arranged so I can leave. This may work out really well, actually; the cousins bring horses up every summer, and I always miss them. This time I won't. I was afraid that when the second batch came up in the fall, my people would still be in the field."

  "Perfect," he replied happily. "Just send word ahead, so we can give you the proper reception." She covered a yawn, then, but not before he caught it. "You're tired," he said, rising. "I'll let you get some sleep."

  "I'd be polite, but I'm too exhausted," she admitted, as he opened the tent flap. "And—thanks for everything."

  "You're welcome, Captain," he said, hesitated a moment more. She still looked—haunted. And he didn't think it had anything to do with this last battle.

  "Kero," he said, as he held open the tent flap, "I—I don't know how to ask this discreetly, so I'll be blunt. Is there something wrong? Something I can help you with? Something personal?"

  She stared at him for a moment, her eyes shadow-laden, and looked as if she was about to say something.

  But then a clot of her troopers passed by the tent, talking in the slightly-too-loud voices of those who are just drunk enough to be convinced that they're sober. She jumped, and smiled, with a kind of false brightness.

  "Nothing that a few days of rest and a few nights of solid sleep won't cure," she said, and waved him away. "Thanks for the concern; I wish all my employers were that interested in my well-being."

  That was a dismissal if ever he heard one. He shrugged and grinned, as he let the entrance flap fall.

  He mounted his horse, still being held by the patient sentry, and turned the palfrey's nose back toward his own camp.

  It's funny. We have become so different in the little things—which is where we used to agree. But in the important things, where we didn't agree before, now we think exactly the same—responsibility, caring about your people—making sure they get treated right—holding to a personal code—it's amazing. We're more alike than ever. And I suspect she figured that out within half a candlemark after we met again.

  The Skybolts' camp had settled; he heard singing, softly, over by one of the fires, and the murmur of conversation somewhere nearby, but there was nothing like the riotous celebrating still going on ahead of him.

  She's really changed in other ways, too. She seems completely comfortable and stable—even happy—being entirely alone. Even if she does push herself too hard, trying to be everywhere and everything at once. And I still feel like there's someone out there, somewhere, another person who could be my complement and partner. And that's what I want, now. I don't want a "lady," I don't want someone to show off for. I want a woman who will back me when I need backing, fight at my side, and take me down a notch when I need that, and who wants me to do the same for her. A real partner.

  He let the palfrey amble on at his own pace, saluting the sentry who stood beside the entrance to his own camp. I don't know where on the face of this earth I'm going to find someone like that, though. It'd take a miracle.... Then he chuckled. But at least I know one thing. If she exists, whoever she is, she isn't Kero!

  The sunlight that had been such punishment on the battlefield now poured over Bolthaven like golden syrup, balm instead of bane. Kero stood at the open window of her office, and smiled. Five years ago, when she'd ordered the new watchtower built onto the barracks, she'd had a new office and her own quarters incorporated into the plans. The old office Lerryn had used was over in the warehouse building—not a bad place for it, except when you had to get to it on winter mornings when no one sane went out of doors. This office had the triple advantages of convenience, proximity to the barracks, and the best view outside of the platform above her. Any day that the weather was decent, she flung open the shutters to all four windows, and enjoyed an unobstructed panorama of her little domain.

  Beyond the gates, the town of Bolthaven spread out in the sun like a prosperous, basking cat asleep atop the fortress-crowned plateau. Beyond the town, acres of tended fields alternating with fenced pasture stretched eastward, and acres of grassland dotted with white patches of grazing sheep went westward. Here on the southwestern border of Rethwellan, so close to the Pelagir Hills, no farmers settled land without having protection nearby.

  The town itself was less than ten years old, and she would never had anticipated its birth or growth when she'd returned to the winter quarters as the Skybolts' new Captain. Besides the ransom, the single thing that had most contributed to the salvation of the Skybolts the first year of her Captaincy had been her own relatives. And not her brother, either—her Shin'a'in cousins, who'd heard, by some mysterious m
eans, of her need. They had brought their entire herd of sale-horses up through the Pelagiris Forest to the winter quarters that fall, camped at the gate, and informed her that they had told the world that she was having a Shin'a'in horse-fair.

  That, in other words, they'd just made her their agent.

  They settled back and let her do all the bargaining for them. When the dust had settled and the last of the purchases had been escorted off, she found herself in possession of enough coin to bring the Company back up to full strength and equipage, the sum representing half of the difference between what the cousins would have gotten at their regular venue at Kata'shin'a'in and what she'd won for them, this far north.

  Then, as if that wasn't enough, they'd brought out the horses they'd saved for her Company, the replacement mounts her people couldn't afford.

  By the next year, when they appeared again, a small army of merchants had begun the town of Bolthaven. By the third year it was a real town, supporting farmers who sold their produce to the fort, and shepherds providing meat for their tables and wool for a new contingent from the craft guilds. And now the Bolthaven Horse Fair was the talk of Rethwellan, attracting far more than just horse merchants—and more horse-traders than just her cousins.

  By the fifth year, Bolthaven was so prosperous that whole families of craftsmen were in residence. That was the sign of a really good bonded Company; that ordinary people were willing to come settle beside their winter quarters. A town like Hawksnest or Bolthaven meant that the troops were reliable, steady, and stable even when idle, the Captain could be relied upon to keep order, and that there was money to be had.

  So Kero smiled at the town, and at the brightly-colored tents springing up at the edge of the town like so many odd-colored mushrooms. Her cousins had arrived on schedule, and had been surprised and delighted to see her Company back so soon.

  Eldan had commented on it last—

  She resolutely shoved the false memory away, along with the memory of his sitting in this very window, with moonlight shining down on him instead of sunlight.

  Rest. That's what I need. And distraction. The cousins can take care of that. As soon as they get things settled, we'll have a chance to talk, she thought. I need to replace Hellsbane soon. Kero's current mount was actually the second "Hellsbane" she'd ridden; following Tarma's example, she'd simply kept the same name for the new mount; it was less confusing for her and her horse. She's too good not to send back to breed, and there should be a mare from Number One's foaling ready for me by now. I'm glad they have the training of her; I don't have time to school my own horses anymore.

  That thought sent her to the east window, looking down on the arenas and the stables, where she checked up on the current batch of new recruits.

  She was just in time to see a rangy gelding with a lot of Plains' pony in him blunder into a barrel at full gallop. He managed to pull himself up, but the impact sent his rider somersaulting over his left shoulder as he stumbled. Kero caught her breath—even the best rider can take a bad fall—but the recruit kept right on rolling, in a perfectly controlled tumble, and jumped to his feet.

  She let out the breath she'd been holding. The gelding didn't bolt; he stayed obediently where he'd stopped; the rider planted hands on hips and read him a description of his parentage that didn't once mention ponies.

  Kero chuckled, as the gelding lowered ears, then head, in a gesture of submission and conciliation; horses were generally not the brightest of beasts, but this one was evidently smart enough to figure out he'd done something wrong.

  The recruit finished his recitation, limped up to his horse's side, and remounted. He called something to one of the other recruits, backing the gelding up and evidently checking his action for signs of injury, before finishing the rest of the course. The Skybolts simply did not accept recruits that couldn't ride well—which saved them a great deal of trouble when starry-eyed shepherds' daughters and plowboys showed up at the gate. They generally took one look at what the recruits were doing, blanched, and went back to their sheep, their plows or to another Company—unless, of course, it so happened that besides tending sheep, they were superb riders.

  Most recruits brought at least one mount with them, but their beasts generally weren't up to Skybolt standards. The gelding just completing the course was an exception. He was tough, strong, and smart, and he would probably be accepted, but for those with beasts that weren't, there was a simple solution.

  Every Skybolt, without exception, received a Shin'a'in-bred saddle-beast, hand-picked by the cousins. That included the recruits. But Shin'a'in-bred horses were not cheap—they amounted to half a year's pay for a recruit. That meant that for the first six months a recruit was in the Skybolts, he only got half shares—and once in the field and getting battle-pay, got only three-fourths of it for the remaining six months. Every would-be recruit knew this before he or she signed on—which tended to weed out the ones who thought being with the Skybolts meant glamour and easy money. Already this year, four would-be fighters had choked on the idea that they weren't going to get full pay and gone to find a Company with less exacting standards.

  Kero noted with approval that the fellow who'd been spilled also had a Shin'a'in remount on the side. As soon as his gelding had completed the course, he switched to the other horse, leading the gelding down to the farrier's end of the stables to be checked over. From what she could see of him, she thought he might be from Ruvan—which meant the gelding might be a Shin'a'in cross with a Plains' pony. That was a good outcrossing, excellent for working the herds of half-wild cattle down there. And from the way the rider held himself, he might be one of those mounted herdsman. Which meant he could use a bow.

  If he can shoot as well as he can ride, and use a sword with the care he takes with his beasts, he'll do. He obviously had not objected to paying what seemed to the untutored to be an outlandish mount for a horse when he already had a good one.

  In point of fact, every veteran had two horses, and often took an entire string on campaign. Veterans knew there was never a problem with paying for remounts—not when there were bonuses to be had, like the bonus Daren had paid the horse-archers, and the cash from permissible looting.

  There was a lot of looting when the Prophet went down, she thought suddenly. Some of it good stuff, from the Prophet and her priests, and from that shrine, I had the stuff I knew about checked, but the troops may have traded with Daren's people, and who knows what they got. Besides, religious magic isn't always like secular magic. I'd better tell everybody to bring their booty in before trading it, and I'll have Quenten and the shaman check trade-goods for curses.

  Intensive training and the very best mounts and equipment were what made the Skybolts in demand. Horse-units were expensive to maintain; most standing armies didn't bother. That meant that there was always work for them—and very little competition.

  Twoblades had taken the long view, and Kero continued his philosophy; given the access to excellent horses, it was worth the time, mounts, and training it took to keep the Skybolts' corner on their little piece of the war-market. Not everyone could manage that long view—even the Sunhawks had gone back to being a Company of foot after Idra's death, with only the scouts and other specialists going mounted.

  That sent Kero back to the north window, and she strained her eyes to estimate the number of horses the cousins had brought up with them this year. They were out in temporary corrals, ten to an enclosure, sorted as to age and sex. She grinned a little; this was going to be a very profitable Fair. They'd told her that they had managed to talk Liha'irden into making Kero their outside agent, pointing out their high profits, and the security of trading here in Bolthaven. Here, under Kero's eye, not only would they need only enough Clansmen to see the horses safely to the Fair, if anyone so much as cheated them of a copper, the Skybolts would descend as a group to enforce the fair-trade laws. And Kero always, always sent a squad back with them, to see them safely to the Plains with their trade-goods and their pr
ofits.

  She moved automatically to the west window—that many horses needed a lot of fodder....

  But the hay and grain wagons were rolling in, too, right on schedule—not like last year, when they'd been late, and every recruit in the fortress had taken his turn out mowing grass for the hungry horses.

  I don't think there's a single Clansman that really enjoys the conventional horse-fairs. They worry about security for their horses when they arrive, they're constantly on guard and frequently harassed on the way there. And none of them have ever forgotten what happened to Tale'sedrin. They're at a disadvantage in bargaining, and there's no one out here willing to protect their interests.

  Except, of course, me.

  The haywagons stopped at a very special checkpoint before they were ever let inside the grounds of the Fair, an inspection point manned by more recruits. Each wagon was inspected from the ground up—and the recruits themselves had been very carefully instructed and frightened to within an inch of their lives by Geyr.

  Quite an impressive little talk he gave them. "If any of you let anything past that either harms the horses or breeches our security, I'll hamstring you myself." And him standing there slapping a gelding-knife into his glove, over and over....

  And this year, Geyr had a new twist on the inspections—a set of enormous mastiffs as tall as a child's first pony. Geyr claimed they had noses "keen enough to track the West Wind." He'd acquired them on the march home last year, but had been looking for something like them ever since a load of poisoned grain killed two horses on campaign.

  He wanted to use them as additional camp-guards and on scouting runs. Kero was a bit doubtful of the latter—she couldn't see how Geyr would keep them from barking, for one thing—but she had agreed to try them out as wagon inspectors. Their sense of smell was certainly as good as Geyr claimed, and they could be trained to recognize any scent and alert their handler to it. And their sheer size had the wagoners as terrified of them as the recruits were of Geyr.