“Ask them how many they want,” Sa’dassan said, coming straight to the point.
“All you have,” one of the younger Guards said eagerly, when she repeated the question. “We saw them as we were coming in—the mounts your people were training with. Wonderful! We’ll take everything!”
The older man looked at him oddly, but didn’t contradict or reprimand him for speaking out of turn.
So that’s the one who holds the purse strings. The older one is in nominal command, but this is the important one. Hmm. Noble, younger son would be my guess, the other two are probably breeders or trainers, brought along as consultants. Right, now I know who’s what.
She explained her observations to her cousins, then turned back to the visitors. “This is where I put on my merchant hat,” she said, “Only it’s an odd sort of merchant hat, because I am not going to urge you to buy everything with legs in sight. First of all, only about half the horses here are Shin’a’in-blood, and of those, not all of them are going to be suitable for cavalry mounts. Yes, they’ve all been broken and given some training that involves fighting, but it may not be what you want. The Shin’a’in feel very strongly about their beasts; the name they call them means ‘younger sibs.’ If they think you’re going to put one horse to a task for which it isn’t suited, they won’t sell you any.”
Purse-holder opened and shut his mouth twice, without saying anything. The One In Charge blinked, as if he was so surprised by her response that he wasn’t certain he’d heard it right.
“And in any event, these are light beasts; good for skirmishers, horse-archers and light cavalry. So, has Valdemar ever run any troops like that before so that you know what to look for?” She waited for a response; the One In Charge gave it.
“Not in the standing army, no,” he admitted. “Some of the nobles on the Border have private troops like that; no one else. That’s why we came here for the mounts.”
She nodded, and translated. Kra’heera put in his own discoveries. “I have been watching their minds, cousin. The one who speaks out of turn is a wealthy man of highborn, who breeds the Ashkevron hunters and heavy horses. The ones who do not speak are trainers of skirmishers. The one who speaks much is a warleader. It is as he has said—and these are fighters they wish now to have. He has not told you why. There is to be fighting upon their eastern border, and soon, he thinks. Very, very serious fighting.”
Kero nodded; there had been rumors about conflict between Valdemar and Hardorn, but since Karse was between Hardorn and any potential client, and Valdemar never hired mercenaries, she hadn’t paid much attention to the rumors.
This might involve more for us than just selling horses. If Hardorn is starting a major war and wins, they’ll be on Rethwellan’s border, and that means we get involved. Another thought occurred to her. Just because Valdemar hasn’t hired mercs in the past, that doesn’t mean they won’t start.
“Troops like that aren’t trained in a day,” she warned. “It took us ten years to get where we are. Most standing armies don’t bother—but if you’re sure of the need—?”
Purse-holder nodded, and he wasn’t entirely happy about the need being there, either.
“Well, if you’ll trust my judgment on what beasts will suit you,” she told him, “I think we can come to the bargaining table.”
Purse-holder tapped One In Charge on the shoulder, and they spent a moment in huddled conference. One In Charge finally turned back toward her and nodded.
“Is this all right with you?” she asked her cousins. They looked at each other, then Sa’dassan shrugged. “We had rather our younger-sibs did not go to war, but if they go to hands that will care for them, they are as safe as may be in this world. It is well.”
“All right, gentlemen,” she said, waving to the cousins to precede her. “If you’ll follow me, we can expedite this transaction as quickly as even you might want.”
Sa’dassan weighed the first of three heavy pouches in her hand as she held the other two in the crook of one arm. She smiled, watching as the last of the Valdemaran horse-handlers urged a straggler to catch up with the rest of the herd and out past the corrals. Kero coughed at the dust they raised, and quirked her eyebrow at the Shin’a’in trainer. “Well, they certainly paid enough. Are you content, cousin?”
“More than content,” Sa’dassan said with certainty. “Kra’heera has kept watch on their minds. Their ruler is a good one; this, their Queen, has sold some of her wedding gifts to give to these men, that they might purchase the best mounts they could find. She thinks first of her people, their lands, and their beasts, and only then of herself.”
“That’s what I’d heard from El—from a Herald I knew,” Kero said, hastily avoiding Eldan’s name. “I didn’t know whether to believe it or not, frankly. You know, if all monarchs took care of their people that way, there might be fewer wars.”
“Perhaps.” Sa’dassan put the pouch with the others, cradled like a baby. “Perhaps. We, we do not place much store in Kings and the like. You have a good one in this year—who is to say that the one that follows him will be as good?”
“Nothing, unless you have a system like the Rethwellans have, with the sword that chooses the King.” She shrugged. “And then, of course, you could lose the sword, or someone enchants it, or puts in a substitute. Besides, if there were fewer wars, I’d be out of work. So, what do you plan to do now? You’ve sold most of your string all at once.”
Sa’dassan glanced toward the temporary corrals. “It has been a good three years,” she observed. “Our mares bred widely, and many foaled twins. And the first of the young ones are coming upon the market—we had a fear to glut it and bring prices down.”
Kero laughed to hear the Shin’a’in—reputed to be the most ruthless fighters in the world—talking like a merchant.
“Which was one reason, no doubt, why Liha’irden sent their string with ours.”
Kero raised her eyebrow a little higher. “So what did you have in mind?”
“That I shall intercept those Clans going to the Anduras Fair in Jkatha and send them here. It is not so far from here, a week’s ride, and they were going out behind us. Some Clans drew lots to send their beasts abroad beyond Kata’shin’a’in, and that was one of the places. They were to wait for us and your armed escort before returning to the Plains.”
The last time that the Shin’a’in had gone to Anduras Fair was when Tale’sedrin had been ambushed on the way home, and only Tarma left as a survivor. Kero clamped her teeth on her first reaction; that the fear of glut must have been very great to send horses again to a place so ill-omened.
“As I said, they set out after us; and Anduras is not so great a distance that we cannot coax the buyers here to wait, I think.” Sa’dassan smiled slyly, and Kero chuckled.
“And in return for that coaxing, you will, of course, get a percentage of their profits.” She shook her head.
Sa’dassan spread her hands wide. “Value for value, and reward for the deserving—that is how the Clans have always been, cousin. And lest you hold up to me that first fair, and the horses we brought you—let me point out that you are Clan by blood, and we only delivered to you your own share that had been unclaimed.”
Kero shrugged. “I won’t argue with you, if that’s the way you see it—but look, will you trust me and mine with your earnings in return? You’re going to lose time going down and back and the best is going to be gone by the time you return; if you’ll leave your needs and your coin with Scratcher, I think he can get everything you want at the price you want.”
Sa’dassan thought the idea over with her head tilted to the side, then nodded. “He provisions your people; doubtless he has the skill and the contacts. Done, then, and that is a kinly offer.”
I think they’re going to get a pleasant surprise, Kero thought, leading Sa’dassan back to the accounting office and Scratcher’s domain. They’re good—but he’s better! He hasn’t lost a bargaining session once that I ever heard of!
/> With that settled, the Shin’a’in saw no reason to linger; they left their tents, but gathered up their belongings and headed south with a speed and efficiency that Kero could only envy. She saw them off, then made her rounds of town and fortress—
Only to discover that everything was running perfectly smoothly. By nightfall she had inspected every aspect of fair and training and provisioning, and concluded that she might as well not even be there.
She sat down on her bed, pulled off her boots, and looked out of her window as a cool breeze stirred her hair. The fortress was quiet—the recruits and veterans alike were kept too busy by training and the fair to carouse much in the barracks after the sun went down. Besides, why carry on at home, when there were both the old familiar haunts of the town and the new amusements of the fair to tempt you out of the gates each night?
Lights burned out beyond the walls and the sounds of music and voices drifted toward the barracks on the breeze; both the town and the fair kept late hours. She found herself wondering where on the road those Valdemar men were tonight. They had been in such a hurry that they hadn’t even looked at the fair.
And that made her think, think ahead. Tarma had taught her to think in terms of the greater picture as well as her own little part of it. You never knew when something happening hundreds of leagues away would affect you. If I were a Queen looking to strengthen my forces, what would I do? Assuming that I have a stupid prejudice against hiring mercs.
For a moment, as she stared out at the lights of the fair, and the colored shapes of the tents lit up from within, like fire-flowers, she thought she heard Eldan’s voice, faint and far off, protesting, “That’s not fair!”
She ignored that imagined voice. You’re not real, and you aren’t here, and anyway, you aren’t interested in me anymore, she thought sternly, to exorcise the persistent ghost.
There were no more outbursts from her overheated imagination.
Well, as far as she, a strategist, was concerned, it was a stupid prejudice. Merc Companies had, more than once, won wars. People who refused to hire them had, more than once, lost those wars.
The young and idealistic fight for medals and honor, she thought cynically. The experienced and worldly-wise fight for money. You see a lot more retired mercs than old farmers with a chest full of medals. That was, after all, the goal of a successful merc; to live long enough and collect enough to retire, usually on one’s own land. Many mercs came out of multichild families without a chance for land of their own, and this was their only way to earn it.
But that was a digression. If Kero were this Queen, what would she do?
Conscript those private troops the Guardsman talked about. Get them equipped with the best. While they’re in place, start calling up volunteers, and if you can’t get enough volunteers, start conscription. Rush those troops through training. And start calling in any debts my allies owe me.
She had a mental map of everything as far north as the mountains above Valdemar, and as far south as the Bitter Sea; west to the Pelagirs and the Plains, east to the High Kingdom of Brendan. And the only allies she could think of that Valdemar might possibly have in this conflict would be Iftel and Rethwellan.
Iftel would be logical, but—dear gods, they are strange there. The Shin’a‘in Warrior doesn’t intervene half as often as the Wind Lords. I can’t see Iftel mixing up in this unless they’re threatened. Which leaves Rethwellan. Now, Karse is between Rethwellan and Hardorn, but they might be able to persuade King Faramentha that Hardorn could threaten Rethwellan if they overran southern Valdemar. Which means the next logical step will be for the Queen to send an envoy to the Rethwellan Court.
The fair really interested her very little, these days. Most of her entertainment came from acting as her cousins’ agent. She used to help train the new recruits, but that was back in the days when they were shorthanded. There were others that were better trainers, and she knew when to get the hell out of the way. Basically, all she did in winter quarters, was keep herself in training, study strategy, keep the books straight, get familiar with the strengths and weaknesses of the recruits, study the political situation with an eye to oifers in the spring, and carve her little gemstones. Of all of them, Scratcher could keep the books by himself, the new recruits wouldn’t be showing anything distinct for another couple of months, the gemstones could wait—and the rest could be done elsewhere.
Furthermore, right now, living here at the Fortress was—painful. She kept looking for faces that wouldn’t be here anymore. It happened every year, certainly, and it took her a couple of months to get over it—but they’d never made it home this early before, and she kept seeing the backs of head that looked familiar—until the owner turned, and it was a new recruit. It would be a relief to get away until the pain faded with time, the pain that always came when she sent someone out who didn’t come back again.
It will be a relief to sleep in a strange bed. Maybe the dreams won’t find me there.
And yet, part of her wanted them so badly—
No.
Before she realized it, she’d made up her mind to leave. And that trip to Rethwellan seemed a bit more important than it had before.
Lord Baron Dudlyn had plainly just begun his diatribe. Daren jabbed his heel into the side of his hunter, making the gelding jump and dance in surprise, and giving him an excuse to concentrate on the horse.
Because if he didn’t, he was going to laugh in Lord Baron Dudlyn’s face. The hunt’s hardly started, and already he’s complaining. Too bad we’re at a walk. I wish the dogs would scent something besides rabbits; once we take off, he’ll be left behind.
The old man moved his fat old palfrey out of the way of the gelding’s path, and actually shook his finger up at Daren. “I tell you, I don’t know what this Court is coming to!” he shouted querulously. “It’s a disgrace, I tell you! You brother is King of this land, and he can’t go accepting barbarian mercenaries that are no better than bandits as equals to members of his Court and ambassadors from other realms! That mercenary female, that so-called Captain, is making a mockery of all of us! I haven’t seen such a disgraceful display since that wild Shin’a’in female showed up, back in your blessed father’s day—”
Daren decided to end the lecture by dancing his gelding out of the Lord Baron’s vocal range. Not that the Lord Baron didn’t try to increase his volume—
But aged lungs can only produce so much wind.
He grinned as he spurred his gelding to catch up with the front of the hunting party. His brother was up there, as the King had to be, which had left Daren to be polite to the old dotards, show-offs, and those with more bravado than sense in the rear. For a while, anyway. Depending on what the hounds turned up next, at least half of the party might well be left behind or turn back voluntarily, as they had during the morning hunt.
I haven’t had so much fun in a year, he thought with glee, as the gelding spotted his stable mate and put on an extra burst of speed to catch up with him. It’s a good thing that Kero and Faram hit it off so well, though. Otherwise the Lord Baron might not be the only one complaining. And it would be damned hard to keep the peace around here.
Just as he reached the two of them, Kero on her ugly gray warsteed, and Faram on his pure Shin’a’in-bred chestnut, one of the hounds flushed a pheasant. Two bows came up at the same time; two bowstrings hummed at once—but when the retrievers brought the bird back, and the huntsman took it from the dog’s gentle mouth to present it to the King, it was obvious that Faram’s arrow had gone wide of the mark, and Kero had outshot him once again.
And for at least the twentieth time this morning, the courtiers were scandalized. There was a hum of comment behind Daren, and he heard the Lord Baron’s voice rising unpleasantly above the rest, though he couldn’t make out the words.
“You’ve beaten me again, Captain,” Faram said ruefully, handing the bird to the gamekeepers to stow with the rest. “I’m not exactly a bad shot, but I find myself very glad now that yo
u turned down my offer to wager on the outcome of this contest.” He looked back over his shoulder, past Daren, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he suppressed a grin. “I am afraid that my courtiers don’t approve of your manner, however. No subject is supposed to outshoot the King.”
Kero chuckled as Daren pulled up next to Kero, putting her in between himself and his brother. “My Lord,” she replied, “I may live in your Kingdom, but I’ve seen the Mercenary Guild Charter for Rethwellan. I’m a Freeholder by that Charter, and no subject of anyone’s.”
“An excellent point, and it seems that you are as much lawyer as fighter.” The King looked across Kero at his brother. “You did warn me, didn’t you, Daren?”
“I did. About her scholarship and her skills. I said that Tarma called her a ‘natural’ when we were learning together. I said I didn’t think she’d let any of her skills slip just because she was a Captain. And you kept saying I was exaggerating.” Daren shrugged expansively. “Will you believe me when I tell you something now?”
The Price Of Command v(bts-3 Page 6