by David Weber
Sir Yarran stopped speaking, but his eyes met Tellian’s steadily, and Tellian frowned.
“Golden Vale. That would be Lord Warden Saratic, wouldn’t it?” It was a statement, not a question, and Yarran nodded silently.
“That’s a nasty thought, Sir Yarran,” the baron said after a moment. “Not that that necessarily means you’re wrong. Especially given that Saratic was so happy to give his cousin Mathian a refuge after the King stripped him of his wardenship.”
“ ’Happy’ might be putting it just a bit strongly, Milord.” Yarran said with a grim chuckle. “He was ready enough to take Mathian in, but he wasn’t half pleased about it. And he’d some remarkably warm things to say about you—and about you, Prince Bahzell—at the time.”
“But he’s one of Baron Cassan’s vassals, isn’t he?” Brandark asked.
“Indeed he is,” Tellian agreed. “Which, I’m very much afraid, only means Sir Yarran’s point is even better taken. Cassan and I aren’t exactly boon companions.”
He snorted, and Bahzell and Brandark grimaced. Trianal kept his own expression carefully blank, but the bitter enmity between Cassan and Tellian was proverbial. For almost two decades now, they had been locked in combat for domination of the Royal Council, although, up until Mathian Redhelm’s attempted invasion of Hurgrum, Tellian had been slowly but steadily gaining the ascendancy.
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find him involved in something like this,” Tellian continued. “In fact, I’m fairly certain he used Saratic to help encourage his cousin Mathian’s … indiscretion in the Gullet. And whether he had a hand in that particular fiasco or not, I imagine it would be all but impossible for him to resist this temptation. But if he is involved, I’m certain he’s covered his tracks carefully.”
“I don’t think I’m after being all that fond of Baron Cassan,” Bahzell mused out loud.
“Fair enough,” Tellian said. “He thinks the only good hradani is one being used for well-rotted fertilizer.”
“Even so,” Brandark said thoughtfully, “however carefully he’s covered his tracks, he’s still running quite a risk if he’s involved himself. I know you Sothoii are almost as fond of blood feuds as we hradani are, and I’ve been told cattle raids and horse stealing are among your minor lord wardens’ favorite sports. But if it ever comes to light that one of your barons has been attacking another baron’s lands, the consequences could be pretty extreme … for everyone.”
“You’ve a way with words, Lord Brandark.” Yarran’s tone was dust dry. “Take us back to the Troubles, that could, like in King Markhos’ grandsire’s day, with every lord’s hand turned against every other lord.”
“I don’t think Cassan would take things that far—not intentionally, at any rate,”Tellian said, shaking his head. “That’s why I’m certain he’s covered his involvement very carefully, if he is involved. Still, I can see why it would be attractive to him. Especially if Erathian is doing the actual raiding.”
“Aye, Milord.” Yarran nodded his head vigorously. “If he discredits Lord Festian, then he discredits you, because you’re the one who was willing to name a simple knight lord warden in that idiot Mathian’s stead. And if he can discredit you there, then he’s a wedge to discredit you elsewhere. In the meantime, if anything slips, Erathian’s his scapegoat. And if throwing Erathian to the hounds isn’t enough, then he’s Saratic next in line. And Saratic, as Mathian’s cousin and what passes for the head of the House of Redhelm these days, makes a splendid decoy. He’s reason enough to hate Festian all on his own, and Cassan has more than enough members of the Council in his pocket to protect Saratic from serious consequences as long as Saratic keeps silent about any involvement of Cassan’s.”
“You’re right, Sir Yarran,” Tellian said, and regarded the grizzled warrior with speculative interest. Yarran saw the look in his eyes and it was his turn to snort.
“There’s no cause to be looking at me all thoughtful, Milord Baron. It’s not as if anyone in the entire Kingdom doesn’t know how much Cassan hates you. Maybe it’s not my place to be speaking my mind so clear, but it doesn’t take a genius to see how he’s a whole layered defense in place if any of his plans should slip.”
“Perhaps not,” Tellian agreed. “But don’t sell yourself short, Sir Yarran. There are members of the Council who either can’t—or won’t—see the same logic.”
“Maybe that’s because they’ve not spent their entire lives living down on your border with Cassan,” Yarran said with grim humor. “It’s an amazing thing how that … focuses your thoughts.”
Tellian nodded appreciatively, but his gray eyes were distant and the others could almost physically feel the intensity of his thoughts. He sat that way for over two full minutes, then shook himself, like a dog who’d just stepped in from the rain.
“Well, Sir Yarran,” he said, his eyes refocusing on the knight. “I can see why Lord Festian sent you. On several levels.” He smiled under his brushy mustache as Yarran’s eyebrows quirked. “He had to send someone to explain what sort of help he needs, and why,” the baron continued. “And since he did, he showed excellent judgment in sending someone who understands the situation as well as you obviously do. I must confess that I already knew some of what you’ve told me, but I hadn’t realized the whole of it. I’m going to require a day or two to think about it before I decide how best to help Lord Warden Festian deal with it. I assure you, however, that it will be dealt with.”
There was a world of determination in his choice of verbs, and Bahzell felt himself nodding in approval.
“In the meantime,” Tellian said, slapping the arms of his chair and then thrusting himself up out of it, “consider yourself my honored guest, Sir Yarran. I’m very pleased to have you here, and I’ll ask Trianal to escort you to the suite Kalan has assigned to you. Once you’ve had a chance to settle in, I think it would be an excellent idea for you to spend some time speaking with my own senior officers. I’d be obliged if you—and you, Trianal—” he glanced at his nephew “would leave Baron Cassan out of it, but feel free to share any of your other information or conclusions with them, including your thoughts about Erathian and Lord Saratic.” He smiled thinly. “Most of my people are smart enough to figure out who’d have to be behind Saratic, so there’s no need to be any more specific about it. And unlike some nobles, I’ve discovered that keeping the people who are supposed to help you handle any wars or other little unpleasantnesses which come your way as fully informed as possible is a good idea. At least they’re more likely to keep you from stepping on your … sword that way.”
Chapter Eleven
“So, Prince Bahzell,” a youthful voice said, “can I pick your brains for Father’s secrets?”
Bahzell turned from where he’d stood on Hill Guard’s curtain wall, leaning on the battlements while he stared out across the endless grasslands of the Wind Plain. The morning’s overcast had blown away on the winds of noon, and the afternoon sun was settling towards a western horizon of such crystalline blue beauty that it hurt the eyes. The deep, dark green of the reborn grasslands, nourished by the long, soaking rains, spread out below him like the visible proof of the Wind Plain’s short-seasoned fertility. The wind blowing out of the northwest was still on the cool side of warm, but Bahzell enjoyed its slight bite as he luxuriated in an absence of raindrops.
Leeana Bowmaster stood behind him, in one of the simple yet elegant gowns her mother had lately begun to insist she wear. The wind molded the fabric to her long legs, and strands of hair which had escaped her braid danced about her face, flickering like gilded serpents in the sunlight. With her green eyes sparkling with mischievous deviltry, she looked even cuter than usual, Bahzell told himself, steadfastly ignoring the fact that “cute” might not be the precisely the correct adjective.
“I’m not thinking as how my poor brain is after being all that worth picking, Milady,” he told her with a smile.
“Don’t be silly, Milord Prince.” She walked across to stand
beside him, gazing out over the same green vista. “Given how hard you work at it, you really don’t do a very good job of hiding your intelligence.”
Bahzell looked at her profile sidelong. That was coming to grips with a vengeance, he thought.
“It’s not so very bad a thing if those as don’t much like you spend their time thinking about how much brighter than you they’re after being,” he said after a moment. “I’ll not claim to be a genius, at the best of times, Milady. Yet for all that, it may be I’m not quite the idiot my old da’s been known to call me.”
“And I imagine it helps that quite a few people are bigoted enough to listen to the way you Horse Stealers talk rather than to what it is you say,” Leeana mused.
“Aye, no doubt it does,” Bahzell agreed. “If it comes to that, there’s plenty of those as are ready to assume any hradani, regardo boot.” He gave her a slow smile. “Well, I’m thinking those as call my folk barbarians aren’t far wrong, when all’s said. But those as think all barbarians are after being stupid …”
He shrugged, twitching his ears gently, and she laughed delightedly. It was a lovely sound, like bits of crystal music blown on the wind.
“I can see where that would be a mistake,” she agreed. “Especially now that you’ve demonstrated how smoothly you can avoid answering a simple question.”
“Avoid, Milady?” he asked innocently. “What question would that have been?”
“The one about Father’s secrets,” she said patiently.
“Ah, that question!” He nodded. “Well, do you know, Milady, I don’t really think as how it’s my place to be saying aught about the Baron’s confidences.” She opened her mouth, but he held up his right hand, index finger extended. “Oh, I was there when he was after challenging you,” he agreed. “But I’m thinking as how he wanted you to be using your regular sources, not bringing in new ones.”
“You’re probably right,” she said after considering it briefly. “On the other hand, any ’regular source’ was a new one, once.” She shrugged fetchingly. “I have to recruit them at some point, you know.”
Bahzell laughed out loud, and she grinned impudently up at him.
“You’re after reminding me of my sister Marglyth,” he told her. “Maybe with a bit of Sharkah thrown in for spice. Not a scruple amongst the three of you.”
“I do so have scruples!” she told him, elevating her nose with a disdainful sniff. “I just don’t let them get in the way of business.”
“ ’Business,’ is it?” Bahzell considered her thoughtfully. “I’m hoping you won’t take this wrongly, Milady, but are you so very sure as how this is the sort of ’business’ as you should be wanting to learn?”
“It’s the only one I can learn,” she said, and the levity had ebbed from her voice. She continued to look up at him, but now those huge, dark green eyes were serious, almost somber. “It’s not as if anyone is going to let me train to be a knight, even if that were what I wanted to do—which it isn’t. I’m only a daughter, after all. Most people figure a daughter’s only job is to become someone’s wife and produce babies. Preferably male ones.”
There was a pronounced bite in her tone, and Bahzell felt a stir of sympathy.
“At least Father and Mother aren’t like some parents,” she continued in the voice of someone conscientiously reminding herself to look on the bright side. “A lot of other girls my age—most of the daughters of the nobility, I sometimes think—seem to have been taught that catching husbands and producing offspring are the only two things that could possibly matter. And the majority of them seem to think admitting that they’re intelligent, possibly even—Lillinara forbid!—more intelligent than the men around them, is the one certain way to guarantee that they’ll never catch a husband!”
She rolled her eyes, and Bahzell nodded slowly.
“Aye, I’ve seen the same often enough, and not just amongst your daughters of the nobility, Milady. And truth to tell, I’ve always thought as how any girl foolish enough to believe that is after deserving the sort of husband she’s likely to be catching. I’ll not deny that, often as not, it seems as how there’s a point in most young bucks’ lives where brains, if you’ll be forgiving my bluntness, aren’t the very first thing they look for in a girl. Then again, it’s always seemed to me as how there’s a point in most young bucks’ lives when their brains aren’t good for so very much, so I suppose if a lass is after acting just brainless enough at just the very right moment, she’s likely enough to be catching herself a husband. Like as not, though, it’s not the husband as she’d soonest be keeping down the road.”
“Really?” She looked at him very intently.
“Oh, aye,” he rumbled, once more gazing out across the grasslands and away from the potential distraction of those green eyes. “It’s in my mind that a lass as is looking for a husband worth keeping ought to be doing all in the world she can so as to be scaring off the stupid ones. Any man as has his wits about him ought to be smart enough to know a wife with brains at least as good as his own is a treasure. Best to have someone as can help when life is after throwing problems at you, not someone as can only clasp her hands and look at you worshipfully while she’s after waiting for you to be solving them all. And if you’d not have the two of you growing tired of one another, best to have someone you can actually be talking to. Why,” he looked back down at her at last, smiling another slow smile, “I’d not be admitting this in front of Brandark, you understand, but it might not be so very bad a thing as to be finding yourself one who can actually read.”
“Oh, I do wish more Sothoii thought like that!” Leeana said with a gurgle of laughter. “Not that it would make all that much difference for someone like me, I suppose,” she continued, the laughter fading as she turned back to the vista below the walls. “Mother and Father will be far more understanding and careful about it than most parents in their situation would be, but my inheritance—or, my sons’, rather—means politics and alliances are bound to figure in whoever marries me.” She gave a thin smile. “On the other hand, I suppose I ought to be grateful that I can be absolutely certain that someone will marry me! Now if I could only feel remotely as confident that I’ll actually like whoever it is, life would be perfect.”
“It might not be so very bad as all that,” Bahzell said slowly.
She looked back up at him, her eyes suddenly dark, as if with betrayal, and he shook his head quickly.
“Lass,” he said, abandoning the “Miladies” with which he was usually careful to address her, “I’m not after saying that just because I’m after being a great, musclebound male lump of gristle who’s not the least idea of what it is that’s worrying you. I’ll not say I’ve worried the worries you have, or that I’ve some magical ability to be putting myself inside your head and your life. But ’marriages of state’ aren’t so very unheard of amongst hradani, either. They’re not so common as amongst your folk, no doubt, but it’s a concern as shows itself amongst our chieftains and princes and their families often enough. And the thing we hradani have been after learning is that an unhappy ’marriage of state’ is dangerous. Not to be dancing around the point, they’re like as not to end up biting the arse—ah, I mean be the saying the backside—of whoever was after being stupid enough to arrange them in the first place.
“I’m not saying as how every arranged hradani marriage is after being all sunshine and light, because Tomanak knows as they’re not. But, then, that’s after being true of marriages in general, when all’s said. And I’m thinking as how your parents are after being smart enough, and loving you enough, not to be letting anyone press you into a marriage as you’re not wishful to be making.”
“I know they’ll try not to,” Leeana agreed after a moment. “But the truth is, Prince Bahzell, that we Sothoii and you hradani look at some things very differently. And whatever Father and Mother may think, the rest of the nobility—and the King’s Council—think of sons as heirs and daughters as trading chips.” She shook her
head sadly. “The pressure on Father to accept someone’s offer for my hand is already heavy, and it’s going to mount steadily. The other Councilors may have different reasons for pressing him, but they’ll all do it eventually, and that’s going to happen sooner rather than later.”
“You’re right,” Bahzell said after a long, thoughtful pause. “Our folk are after being different. Because of the Rage, as much as anything else, I’m thinking.”
“The Rage? What does that have to do with arranged marriages?” Leeana asked.
“Why, I’d think that was after being plain enough,” Bahzell said with a grim smile. “Think it through, lass. You’re after knowing what the Rage is, what it’s been costing my folk over the years.” Leeana nodded slowly, and he shrugged. “Well, who amongst us does the Rage never touch?”
“Your women,” Leeana said softly.
“Aye,” Bahzell agreed. “And that’s the reason, I’m thinking, why amongst hradani, lasses choose their own lads, and brides choose their own grooms. They’ve enough to put up with living amongst men the Rage can be touching, and truth to tell, it’s our women who’ve been the backbone of what little stability we hradani have been managing to cling to since the Fall. Unlike some other folk, we’ve none of us ever been able to shut our eyes to how important that’s after being to all of us. I’ll not say our women are all of them free to live their lives any way they choose, but they’ve a sight more freedom than women do amongst you Sothoii. Or amongst most of the human folk I’ve seen.”
“I knew there was something I liked about hradani,” Leeana said with a flickering smile. “I only wish it was that way for us, as well.”
“From what I’ve seen, lass,” Bahzell said gently, “your father and mother are after thinking more like hradani than most. They’ve fashioned their own lives out of joy and pain, and they’ve not forgotten what it was first made them love each other. You be trusting them, Leeana Bowmaster. You be trusting them not to forget that for you, either.”