Maurynna nearly laughed aloud at the thwarted yearning in his mindvoice. “Linden has to negotiate a peace or I think he’d be on his way right now, pedigrees or no pedigrees,” she told Raven. “I’ll just have to tell him about how good it is.”
“You’re a cruel woman, Beanpole,” Raven said, shaking his head in mock sadness.
As they cantered through one little pasture a brown and white cow lifted her head to watch them. At least, Maurynna thought it was brown and white; it was hard to tell beneath the riot of wildflowers that bedecked the placidly chewing animal.
“Gods help us,” she said, laughing. “It’s a cow made of flowers.”
Even as she stopped Boreal to stare at the odd sight, a pair of small hands clutching a garland came into view from the far side of the cow and another tribute was laid upon the stolid “altar.” A moment later the bovine bouquet ambled to another patch of grass, followed by a little girl picking more flowers as she went.
Raven rode back to her and said, “I’ll wager that’s old Cade’s youngest granddaughter and the family cow. The old man said that the little girl was fair daft over the animal.”
“Cade is the cheese maker?”
“Indeed he is. See that path? It’ll take you down to the road by his booth,” Raven said.
Maurynna followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, she could see a narrow path skirting the edge of the field. “I see it—sure you can’t go with me?”
But he was turning Stormwind away. “I’m already late. We’ll come back together another time. Tell them I sent you,” he said and, with a wave of his hand, cantered away.
Maurynna waved back and urged Boreal on. The Llysanyin ambled through knee-high grass and wildflowers. Maurynna looked up at the blue sky, enjoying the ride. What a perfect day, she thought happily.
Less than a quarter of a candlemark later she passed through a thin belt of birch trees and saw the road—and Cade’s “booth”—ahead.
In reality it was simply a low table made of boards laid across a couple of trestles. It sheltered in the shade of a huge copper beech set back from the road. At one end of the table sat a few wooden cups. A cloth covered the rest of the table; odd lumps hinted at the promised delectables. An old man weaving a cheese basket and a much younger woman busy with sewing sat on stools at the other end. Near them was a bench screened from road and sun by the trailing branches.
She urged Boreal into a trot.
As they reached the road, the old man shaded his eyes and studied her. Maurynna stopped before him, saying, “Are you Cade and Raeli? My friend told me about you.”
Neither said anything for a long moment. A sudden thought struck her. Oh no—what else did Raven tell them about me? The last thing she wanted was to frighten these poor people with her rank.
Then, to her relief, the old man smiled. “Oh, aye—tha’s Raven’s friend, then? Welcome, lass.”
Maurynna nearly melted with relief. Raven hadn’t said anything to them. And it was unlikely they’d link one “Rynna,” the friend of an obvious commoner, with Dragonlord Maurynna Kyrissaean. She could relax. Thanks for not telling them, Raven, she sent to him.
He answered, What, that the friend is a Dragonlord? No, it tends to make folk skittish. They’d probably be so nervous they’d drop your bread and cheese in the dirt. Didn’t think you’d appreciate that, Beanpole.
Not if it’s as good as you say, Maurynna replied as she dismounted. Waste of good cheese and all.
Boreal immediately wandered off to graze.
Cade scratched his chin. “Tha has the same sort o’ horse that Raven does, doesn’t tha? He does the same—just lets it wander about.”
Maurynna nodded. Both Cade and Raeli eyed the stallion as if not quite certain what to make of a loose horse that didn’t run away, but it was clear that they were used to Raven’s “odd” behavior regarding his mount and accepted hers as more of the same. Just something Thalnians did, no doubt.
“Pleasure to meet tha, lass,” Cade said, beaming up at Maurynna as the woman rose and flicked the cloth back from a golden loaf of bread and a wheel of herb-flecked cheese. “I’ll just go on setting here if tha don’t mind, got a bad leg, see.” He slapped his leg; to Maurynna it looked as if it had been broken and badly set. A gnarled walking stick, its head shiny from long use, lay on the ground beside him. “But Raeli here will help tha. Just make thaself comfortable on the bench.”
Maurynna did as he bade her. She watched as Boreal meandered near the road.
As Raeli handed her a thick slab of bread and cheese, she asked shyly, “Would tha care for summat to drink with that? The spring on the hillside is known around these parts for its fine water and m’boy is filling the jug again even now.”
“Yes, thank you.” Maurynna bit into the bread. “Oh my!” she exclaimed in surprise around a mouthful of bread and cheese. Remembering her manners, she finished chewing and swallowed. “This is as good as Fat Gorly. Maybe even better. And what’s that flavor in the bread? It’s delicious!”
Old Cade puffed up like a peacock. Raeli blushed and said, “Sage honey, young mistress. M’mam keeps bees in her herb garden.”
“S’wonderful,” Maurynna mumbled around another mouthful. Raeli ducked her head with a shy smile and went back to her sewing.
Maurynna leaned back against the tree, peeking between the hanging branches now and again. She ate her bread and cheese in contentment. This was bliss: a beautiful day laden with the scents of summer, a bit of shade, and good, simple food. She idly wondered if it would be possible to get Cade’s cheese north. Fat Gorly didn’t ship well, so it never made an appearance upon the tables of Dragonskeep. But from Cassori, now … Perhaps it could be sent north with the regular supply trains? She’d have to ask Cade before she left if he thought his cheeses could stand the journey.
And if not, well, now that she could Change at will, Cassori wasn’t that bad a flight to indulge a whim now and again. She smiled, thinking, I wonder what Cade and Raeli will think of a dragon or two landing on their doorstep?
A cloud of dust down the road caught her attention. It was a group of perhaps eight or ten riders coming from the city.
Wonder if anyone I know is with them? But even with her sharp eyesight it was impossible to discern anyone in the thick dust. Ah, well; she’d see soon enough.
When they drew closer, though, Maurynna could see it was made up of young nobles, mostly men with a few women among them. They were laughing and talking as they rode in the summer sun, as cheerful a group as she’d ever seen, but none that she recognized. Dismissing them from her thoughts, she looked around in time to see a young boy coming through the tall grass, a clay jug clutched in his arms. Raeli went to meet him. Back at the table, she poured out two cups and brought one to Maurynna.
But before Maurynna could take the proffered mug, a scornful voice called out, “Will you look at that? There’s another of those damned plow horses about! Someone else is riding these things!”
Maurynna slewed around on the bench and peered out between the branches once more. She saw that the riders had stopped and one had ridden up to point derisively at Boreal. He was a handsome young man—or would have been if not for the sneer. She was also less than inclined to be charitable to some ill-mannered oaf who had just insulted her Llysanyin. Lout.
The Llysanyin merely stared at the young lord a moment, then went back to his grazing.
“How fast do you think this one can waddle? Maybe I should see about getting myself another serf!”
Waddle? Maurynna felt her cheeks grow hot; how dare that gormless idiot insult Boreal? She stood up, so angry she nearly choked on a thousand sailor’s curses all trying to get out at once. She made herself pause, counting to ten and beyond, knowing if she went out there this angry, she’d do something she’d regret later. Besides, she wanted to be sure she wouldn’t trip over her tongue. Nothing took the edge off a tongue-lashing like mangling your words.
“Young mistress,” Raeli said
in trepidation. She put out a hand as if to restrain Maurynna, then withdrew it. “Please, he’s a nasty one. We’ve seen him before. Best to just endure until he grows bored and takes himself off again.”
“Raeli, I want you and Cade and your son to stay well back. Whatever happens, don’t do anything. I don’t want them to have an excuse to go after you, do you understand? All will be well.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry, Raeli,” Maurynna said. “I’ll not do anything foolish.”
Not for a Dragonlord, she continued to herself as she stepped out from the sheltering branches. She could hear Raeli hustling her father-in-law and little boy away. Bless her for listening.
Maurynna stopped by Boreal’s side. The stallion turned to lip her hair, then dropped his head once more.
Now the young men in the band crowded around their leader, laughing and egging him on. He continued, “You! Is this your horse?”
She nodded. Let’s see how deep he can dig this hole.
“Where’s your plow, peasant? Did you lose it?” He shook his head and glanced back over his shoulder to his friends. “Can you imagine that—another Yerrin like that dog Raven aping his betters, riding around as if those creatures are real horses!”
“Actually, I’m Thalnian,” she said pleasantly. Too pleasantly; anyone who knew her would have been looking for a way out.
Oblivious to the edge in her voice, he patted his horse’s neck as if to say Now this is a horse. To Maurynna, it looked like a rail next to Boreal. But considering his pride in it, the horse was likely some well-bred something or other; she openly acknowledged she was no judge of horseflesh. It seemed this fellow did not own up to the same; remembering his comment about serfs, she was suddenly certain of who this arrogant ninny might be.
This had to be Tirael Barans; far too good an opinion of himself and a terrible judge of horses, just as Raven had said. Even she, horse idiot that she was, had realized the first time she’d seen a Llysanyin that here was something special—and her without the faintest idea that there might be one within a hundred leagues. This idiot wouldn’t have the same excuse; it was no secret that there were Dragonlords and Llysanyins at this year’s horse fair.
Boreal snorted in disgust and turned his back on the man. He flicked his tail high over his back and began eating again. If that cocksure young man could ever look uncertain, he looked it now. But no doubt his innate conceit told him it was naught but chance. The sneer returned.
Maurynna, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. She burst into laughter.
That brought the young man’s attention back to her. Maurynna saw his fingers tighten around his riding crop. Pointing it at her, he said with a sneer, “You’re a … friend … of that … dog Raven, aren’t you?”
“I am indeed, my lord. And I’d leave now, if I were you,” Maurynna said much too sweetly. “I’ve been told a time or two that I have a lovely temper—and I haven’t even begun to lose it.” But if you call Raven a dog one more time …
“How dare you speak to me that way!” the young lord snapped. His friends exclaimed in astonishment.
“I’ll speak to you any damn way I please,” Maurynna shot back. “And don’t even think of using that riding crop.”
The chiseled jaw dropped; he looked like a fish out of water. It was, Maurynna decided, a beautiful sight. From the corner of her eye she saw Boreal ready to come to her defense; she signaled him to stay put. By the gods, if she couldn’t hand this spoiled brat’s head to him on a platter, it was time to find a seat by the hearth at Dragonskeep and drowse in front of the fire all day.
She glared up at the well-dressed young man looking down his nose at her. The riding crop trembled in one white-knuckled fist. The image gave her the shivers inside; she remembered the fiery pain when another riding crop caught her across the eye, so long ago and yet no time past at all.
But this time she was ready with a Dragonlord’s strength, speed—and rank. One move she didn’t like and she’d dump him out of his saddle before he could react, and there wouldn’t be a damned thing he could do about it.
But it seemed the brat had decided to change his tack. “Listen to her! She dares speak to me as if she’s as good as I am! Is it something in the water hereabouts?” he asked his friends in mock consternation.
“Must be, Tirael,” one of his friends called back, laughing. “I’d say she needs a lesson.”
“Make an example of her,” another urged. “Have her whipped for insolence, eh?”
“I know a better use for her.” Tirael leered at her.
His friends whooped with laughter as Maurynna thought with grim satisfaction, Oh, yes, fool—dig that hole a little deeper, why don’t you?
Tirael dug into the small leather pouch at his belt and held up a copper. “This should be more than enough for the likes of you, trull!”
Before she could say anything, a dappled-grey blur flashed past her. Boreal lunged at the rider, his strong white teeth snapping in the young noble’s face. The man yelled, and his frightened horse squealed and fell back before the enraged Llysanyin’s attack.
Maurynna stared in astonishment. By all the gods, she’d no idea her sweet-natured mount hid such a temper. “Boreal!”
At first she thought he didn’t hear her—or chose not to. He snapped a second time at the man’s face. Then Boreal wheeled around to stand by her side, his ears pinned back, still watching the man. She patted his neck and whispered, “Thank you, but I can take him if necessary. Honestly.”
Boreal just snorted but she felt him relax under her hand.
“Did you see that?” Tirael cried to his friends. “That damned plow horse attacked me!”
“Oh, by the gods—how thick are you, anyway?” she asked in exasperation. “You can thank whichever poor god has to look after fools like you that I don’t have a belaying pin at hand—I’d be tempted to smack you alongside the head to let in some sense.”
Tirael’s face flushed an unbecoming brick red but he seemed too stunned to do anything. Maurynna suspected he’d never before been spoken to this way.
She went on, “And if Boreal had really attacked you, there’d be gobbets of you spread about by now. He’s war-trained.
“How dare you speak to me that way, anyrate? Turnip or Tirael or whatever your name is, you have worse manners than a pig at feeding time.”
Her last words seemed to be the cask that popped the ship’s planking, as her aunt Maleid used to say. The riding crop came up.
“Tirael! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a man’s frantic voice yelled. “Stop!”
Maurynna jumped in surprise; she hadn’t noticed a new rider coming down the road from the exercise grounds. She looked to see Lord Eadain galloping toward them.
The crippled lord pulled his horse to a halt barely an ell from them. “Tirael,” he said between clenched teeth. “Put. That. Whip. Down. Now.”
“And who the hell do you think you’re ordering about, Crook-leg?” Tirael said viciously. “Get out of here before I give you a thrashing after I finish with this upstart peasant.” He turned back to her.
Eadain’s lips thinned at the taunt. Tireal’s friends laughed as if at some clever joke.
That tore it. Insult her because he thought she was a peasant, fine; she knew that she’d have her revenge in the end, so it didn’t matter very much to her. This odious wretch was not one whose opinion she gave a rotten fig about, anyway.
But he’d called Raven a dog. And worse yet, to mock Lord Eadain about his crippled leg like that … Enough was enough, and this was beyond that. Tirael had just popped her planking.
But before she could say anything, Eadain smiled coldly and said, “Remember those boys swimming in the stream, Tirael? They weren’t the peasants you thought they were. And neither is she.”
Maurynna had no idea what Eadain was talking about, but it stopped Tirael like a blow to the stomach. His face worked as he looked from her to Eadain and back ag
ain.
She smiled at him. It was not a kind smile.
Then Tirael wrenched his horse’s head around and spurred it cruelly, leaving his followers gaping after him.
“I understand your dear friend is going to be in a match race,” she said to the nearest one. “Tell him I am looking forward to it. I intend to lay a wager—a very large wager—”
She paused, holding her victim’s gaze with her own, long enough that Tirael’s hanger-on squirmed before continuing softly, “On the ‘plow horse.’ Now I suggest that you leave.”
Tirael’s followers looked at one another in consternation. Then, one after another, they turned their horses’ heads and pelted off after their leader.
“Well and well, that was less than amusing,” Maurynna said briskly. “Will you be at Lady Gallianna’s gathering later, my lord?”
“I will, Dragonlord, as soon I finish with some business I’m helping Lord Romsley with.”
“Then I shan’t keep you any longer. I look forward to talking to you again, Lord Eadain.”
Eadain bowed in his saddle. “Your Grace, and I look forward to seeing you again this evening under far more pleasant circumstances. Good day, my fine Llysanyin lord.”
Boreal “bowed” in return. It was one of the tricks Lleld had taught all the Llysanyins before the journey to Jehanglan.
Lord Eadain raised a hand in farewell and urged his horse on. Maurynna went back to the table; she watched the three Cassorin peasants make their way back, Raeli and her son helping Cade along the path. They looked both relieved and baffled.
“You see?” Maurynna called to them as she picked up her food once more. “All’s well.”
Cade shook his head as he settled himself onto his seat. “I wouldna have believed it, Lord Tirael backin’ down like that. He’s got a bad name ’round here, that ’un. Good for tha, lass!”
“Thank Lord Eadain. Now, Cade—I’ve a very important question for you.”
“Aye, lass?”
“How well does your cheese travel?”
Twenty-six
Bard's Oath (Dragonlord) Page 20