by Bishop, Anne
Ranon found himself nodding in time with Rogir.
“One of them is free each week to go to story time in the village,” Burle continued. He glanced at James. “Do you have a teacher for your children?”
James nodded. “Potter’s wife has been teaching some of our children.”
“Well, Wynne and Duffy want a little time with the teacher each day to continue learning to read and do their sums.”
Ranon’s jaw dropped. “They read? They can read? Then why do I have to read Sceltie Saves the Day every damn night?”
Rogir and James looked at him.
“You don’t have children yet, do you?” James asked.
The Rock of Foreboding sank in the pond of Ranon’s belly.
Hell’s fire. He had read that damn book too many times.
“Think of this as practice,” Rogir said.
“Next thing you know they’ll be writing their own stories,” Ranon muttered.
Burle shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Writing requires special Craft for a Sceltie, and it’s hard to learn. Someone named Ladvarian can write a whole letter, but he got special training from the living myth. Of the Scelties here, only Vae can write a little.”
Vae could write? Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
“Anything else?” he asked. Damn it! He was a Warlord Prince. Running away was not an option.
Running away sounded like a very good idea, though.
“That was all of it,” Burle said. “If James here is willing to represent his people and we have a bargain, I’ll tell the youngsters and we’ll finish the deal.”
James looked back at the other landens. The men nodded, so it was obvious they had chosen him to be their spokesman and interact with the Blood. “We have a deal.”
Burle waved a hand.
Wynne and Duffy trotted up to them.
“You have a bargain,” Burle told them. “A handshake before witnesses is considered a fair agreement.”
The Scelties popped up to hover on air about waist high. They sat and offered their right front paws to James, who seemed to have a sudden understanding of just what he was getting himself and his people into. But he shook with Wynne and Duffy, sealing the bargain.
The Scelties, along with the guards, went off to the guardhouse to see what would be needed. Burle waved at the landens and headed for his wagon. Ranon mounted his horse and rode out too.
As he rode back to Eyota, he wondered if Jaenelle Angelline and Morghann, the Queen of Scelt, had known exactly what they were doing when they let these particular Scelties loose on an unsuspecting people.
And he knew he would take perverse pleasure in watching the faces of the rest of the court when he told them about this day’s adventure.
CHAPTER 24
TERREILLE
Kermilla crumpled the letter from Correne, tossed it into the fireplace, and blasted it with witchfire, turning it to ash in seconds.
She paced her bedroom, feeling more misused with every circuit she made. She’d wasted the whole summer, when she should have been enjoying picnics and parties instead of being criticized for not working in the damn garden. And despite her pointed hints, Theran remained oblivious to what she’d given up to stay here and wait until he could make her the Queen of Dena Nehele.
There was nothing to do in this dung-heap town. Nothing! She could visit a couple of aristo girls she’d become acquainted with, but they had no interesting conversation, so there wasn’t much point. Besides, about the only things they could do during these visits were walk around the village or drive around the village. And if they did that, the girls wanted to browse in the shops, and what was the point of going into shops if you couldn’t buy anything? She’d written three letters to her Steward, Lord Gallard, telling him to double the forthcoming autumn tithes because she needed the income, and also commanding him to send her some marks from the village treasury to hold her over.
His single answer had been vague about the autumn tithes and totally lacking in the required marks.
She could summon her Consort, but there had been a change over the summer in Jhorma’s attitude that made her feel like she was alone in bed even when he was pumping inside her.
She could work. That would make Theran happy. But she saw no reason to exert herself when her efforts would benefit someone else’s purse instead of her own.
So there was nothing, nothing, nothing to do around here until spring when she would rule the whole of Dena Nehele and not be stuck in this town.
And she didn’t have the status symbol that had captured the fancy of the Blood in this land.
She didn’t have a Sceltie.
She’d written to Morghann, the Queen of Scelt, indicating she would be amenable to having one of the dogs as a companion, but Morghann had shown a distinct lack of manners and had not replied.
And now Correne’s letter this morning.
I’ve heard Freckledy has a whole pack of Scelties entertaining visitors with their tricks, and even Warlord Princes are impressed enough with the dogs to overlook her flaws. Have you gotten a Sceltie yet? I think all the prominent Queens are going to have one as a companion.
Why did old Freckledy need a whole pack of them? The bitch was just trying to secure her position. She knew she couldn’t retain the title of Territory Queen after the year’s contract was done unless she did something to catch the Blood’s interest.
Theran had explained about the contract that gave Cassidy and the people of Dena Nehele one year to decide if Cassidy would become the fully acknowledged Queen of Dena Nehele.
She didn’t have access to Cassidy’s court here, so she couldn’t use her skills to coax the men into believing she was the better choice. That meant she didn’t have an already formed court to claim, and that meant she was going to have to entice twelve males here to serve in her First Circle, and that meant she couldn’t be seen as lacking in any way.
Which meant getting a Sceltie.
*Laska, please attend.*
He hadn’t been with her when she first arrived in Grayhaven. Cassidy’s First Circle wouldn’t recognize him, so Cassidy would be the only person he’d have to avoid. He’d be able to slip in and out of that stupid Shalador village, fetching her a special little friend in exchange for being allowed to go home, which was the only thing her First Circle seemed to want to do anymore.
And once she had a Sceltie to help her entertain the men Theran brought here to meet her, no one would remember old Freckledy’s name.
Wrapping himself in a sight shield, Laska dropped from the Summer-sky Wind to the northern landing web in Eyota. A handful of men were outside the small Coach station near the web, talking and playing cards. Probably a couple of Coach drivers along with the men who took care of the horses for hire and drove the carriages that served as conveyances for visitors.
One of the men looked toward the landing web as Laska arrived. After a moment’s study of the area, the man returned his attention to the card game, and Laska snuck away, feeling more confident that he would remain undetected long enough to complete his assignment and return to Grayhaven.
As he slipped along the village streets, looking for the required prize, he wondered why he couldn’t approach one of Cassidy’s First Circle and just ask for a dog. Why had Kermilla emphasized the need for stealth? Had she already asked Cassidy and the request had been refused? Or was Kermilla using this as a pissing contest to prove her court was better than the court Cassidy now ruled? That a member of her court, a Summer-sky Warlord, could slip in and out of a village that several Warlord Princes regarded as their personal territory?
He didn’t care anymore what Kermilla wanted. Her appeal had soured at a devastating speed once she had control of a court, and despite having months left in his contract, he was already counting the days until he wasn’t hers to command.
A dog barked. Laska hurried toward the sound. Then he turned a corner, stopped, and swore under his breath.
Maybe that would work to his advantage. With so many people milling about, who would notice him in a crowd? And he wouldn’t have to go all the way back to the landing web. Courtesy and formality dictated that landing webs be used when arriving or leaving a village, but people could catch or drop from the Winds anywhere along the way. He didn’t even need to catch the Summer-sky Wind. Any of the lighter Webs would do. There wasn’t a thread of any Wind he could access running over the main street, but he’d be able to find something between here and the landing web.
He could grab a Sceltie and be gone from this village before anyone realized the dog was missing. And once Kermilla had a special little friend, he would be allowed to go home.
With that in mind, Laska retreated and circled round to approach the main street from the other direction.
Breathing in that first scent of autumn, Ranon stopped at Elders’ Park and looked at the main street of Eyota, his heart aching with pride.
They had done so much. The businesses owned by Daemon Sadi were in operation. The Lady’s Pleasure—named, he’d been told, for Lady Angelline’s enjoyment of the beverage—served coffee imported from Kaeleer, which was much smoother than the rough drink he’d always known as coffee. They also served small cups of thick hot chocolate—frightfully expensive, but a drink a young man bought a lady he wanted to impress. Small sandwiches and pastries were also served.
The coffee shop provided a playroom and a fenced outdoor play area for young children so that mothers could have a quiet moment to visit with friends. The shop had hired two young witches to watch the children, as well as Kharr and Bryant, two Warlord Scelties with a no-nonsense attitude when it came to herding anything.
The shop had been open a week, and it already was an important gathering place, as was Whistler’s Tavern. The tavern also served food—mostly sandwiches in the warm weather, but it would serve soups, stews, and meat pies once the season turned colder.
Merchants, the variety shop managed by Lord Careth, had received its first shipment of practical goods from Kaeleer, along with a crate of books that would have made Gray whimper in lust if four crates of books for the loaning library hadn’t arrived at the same time. Gray had spent an evening helping the newly hired librarian sort the books just so he could look at them.
And then there was Heartbeat, the music shop, where Ranon was meeting his grandfather to look over the instruments. Yairen wanted to hear the Scelt whistle, an instrument similar enough to the Shalador flute. Being made of metal instead of wood, the Scelt whistles were less expensive, and Yairen wanted to consider if they could be used as a beginning instrument for youngsters here.
“I’m going up the street to see Yairen,” Ranon told Khollie. “You’re going to stay here for story time?”
*Yes.* Khollie wagged his tail. *Wynne is here, and Vae and Darcy are here, and Mist is coming soon.*
“All right. If I’m not at the music shop when story time is done, I’ll be nearby.”
Shaking his head in amusement, Ranon continued up the street. Next month, when the weather turned colder, the weekly afternoon story time would move to the room in Heartbeat where performances and lessons would be held. Indoors or outdoors, hearing Shalador stories told in public was a strange experience for the whole village.
Having Scelties in the audience who wouldn’t tolerate children misbehaving and interrupting the storyteller was also a strange experience. Not that there was much misbehavior but, somehow, it was more shaming to be nipped by a Sceltie than cuffed by an adult.
Hurt more, too.
He entered the shop and nodded to the Shaladoran couple who had been hired to run the shop and teach music. Laithan taught Shalador flute and the fiddle. He had been one of Yairen’s students—one of the last to learn from the Tradition Keeper before the old man’s hands were broken for good. Jade had a lovely voice and ran two classes to teach the traditional Shalador songs. Mostly, though, Jade ran the business end of the shop.
And Lizzie, the Sceltie who had claimed the music shop as her place, ran everyone.
“There you are, grandson,” Yairen said. “Laithan has given me some of his time to hear the drum that came from the Isle of Scelt. Now it is your turn so I can hear the metal flute.”
“I don’t think our traditional songs sound right on the Scelt whistle,” Laithan said, “but Dena Nehele folk songs suit the instrument’s range. Jade has sorted out most of the music that arrived. I’ll see if there is anything that was written specifically for these whistles.”
Ranon picked up a whistle. It was shorter and half the circumference of a Shalador flute, but the finger holes were the same. Setting his fingers, he blew a note.
A different sound than the wooden flute. A sharper sound. But pleasing all the same. He tried a piece of a traditional Shalador song and then a folk song from Dena Nehele. Laithan was right; the folk songs sounded better than the music of Shalador.
“Here,” Laithan said, returning with several sheets of music. “Try one of these.”
Ranon looked over the music. Folk songs, he guessed. One had a lively pace; the other was slower. He chose the slower piece—and he understood why the Shalador people might find common ground with the music of Scelt.
Bright and yet bittersweet. A sound that slipped past the mind and spoke to the heart.
“It’s good,” he said a few minutes later, setting the whistle on the counter.
“A gift,” Laithan said, “along with this music.”
“Laithan . . .”
“In exchange for you coming to play here once or twice a month.” Laithan laughed. “Don’t make such a face, Ranon. You won’t have to perform alone. I’ve kept one of these whistles for myself because I want to become acquainted with this music too. One night of Shalador music and one night of Scelt to teach and entertain our people through the winter months.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”
Ranon shook hands. “Deal.” Then he vanished whistle and music and looked at his grandfather. “Would you like to—”
*Ranon!*
The dog sounded panicked. *Khollie? What’s wrong?* By the time Ranon turned away from the counter and took the first step, Lizzie had passed through the door and charged down the street.
*Ranon!*
More than panic now. All he heard was terror.
Ranon burst out of Heartbeat and headed down the street, not quite running as he shaped a tight, double layer of Opal shields around himself—the kind of shielding a Warlord Prince used on a killing field.
Not quite running toward the commotion near Elders’ Park, but aware of everything around him. Aware of confused feelings edging toward anger that created a psychic buzz so thick and harsh it was almost a sound. Aware of Wynne and Kharr herding the children who had come for story time into a tight flock that could be defended. Aware of Vae, Darcy, and Lizzie snapping and snarling as they circled around something that kept trying to move away from Elders’ Park and all the people.
*Ranon?* Archerr called. *What in the name of Hell is going on?*
*I don’t know.* Ranon slowed down as he scanned the street. *The Scelties are all acting strange. Maybe a piglet or chicken got loose and they’re making a game of herding it.* But he’d see or hear an animal if it was caught between the three dogs. And that didn’t explain Wynne and Kharr’s behavior—or why he couldn’t spot Khollie.
Then Vae charged the empty space within the Sceltie triangle and hit something with a blast of Purple Dusk power.
A sight shield broke, revealing an unknown Warlord.
Ranon froze for just a moment as he remembered the day the Scelties arrived in Eyota and how one of them had located Archerr by scent, despite the Warlord Prince being sight shielded.
They had known he was there. He’d slipped past us, but they had . . .
That was
when he saw the rest, and a cold rage burned through him as he strode down the street.
The bastard had a hand around Khollie’s neck, holding the dog off the ground that way. Not by the scruff, by the neck.
The Scelties looked at him and hesitated a moment, then resumed their attack, hitting the defensive shields the stranger threw around himself.
At first Ranon wondered why Vae and the others were throwing themselves against the stranger’s shields. That tactic was draining the Scelties’ power as well as the Warlord’s, and Ranon thought it a waste of their strength until he realized the brilliance of their fight. The dumb, two-legged sheep was caught in a snapping triangle, unable to run away—and too harried to notice the enraged Warlord Princes closing in on him.
As he moved toward the fight, Ranon’s eyes flicked from one side of the street to the other. Kharr and Wynne had the children and elders well shielded. Shaddo and Archerr were coming up the street to flank the bastard. Vae, Darcy, and Lizzie continued their relentless attack, wearing down the Warlord’s power and shields.
And Khollie . . .
Khollie hung limp and unmoving in the bastard’s grasp.
Ranon called in his fighting knife and used Craft to create a flash of light on the blade, deliberately forcing the Warlord’s attention on himself now.
“Let him go,” Ranon snarled.
The Warlord shifted his arm to use Khollie’s hanging body as a shield. “You’ve got plenty of them.” He sounding desperate. “We only want one. We’ll take this one. He’s already damaged.”
“How dare you?” Ranon’s voice sounded barely human. “Let my little brother go!”
No way for the man to catch the Winds from this part of the street. No way for the Warlord to get away, not with the three Scelties keeping him pinned. No chance of the bastard winning a fight, not with three Warlord Princes standing on this killing field ready to rip him apart.