He had to laugh at that; Nightwind sounded as if she’d already decided for Keisha, and if he understood Keisha at all, he doubted she cared for anyone making up her mind for her. “I don’t know; you’d have to persuade her first. At least they’re taking her more seriously than they did Justyn, and they’re treating her quite well.”
“Having to do without can make people astonishingly appreciative,” Nightwind said dryly. The conversation might have continued in the same interesting vein, but at that point, the voices of several people in discussion drew nearer, and in a moment he and Nightwind were joined by the rest. Bondbirds flew in to roost ahead of their bondmates; Hweel and Huur took perches near Kuari and began preening each other, while Aya joined Starfall’s bird, who had been there all along. As Aya settled himself, the rest of the group entered the garden.
They met in Starfall’s garden beneath his ekele, a miniature version of the various garden spots within k’ Vala Vale except that all of the plants here were cold-hardy, either evergreens, or plants that would have a leafless, dormant period during the winter. Right now, of course, they were flourishing mightily, coaxed into accelerated growth and quick maturity by Steelmind and some of his apprentices. Tough vines had been woven and trained to form the frames for comfortable seats, holding cushions stuffed with dried grasses and fragrant herbs. Canopies of more vines shaded the occupants, while tall shrubs, climbing plants, and young trees gave the place privacy. A tiny waterfall plunging into a pool filled with young fish sent cooling spray into the air and lent the soothing music of falling water to the setting—though thanks to some of the bondbirds, the pool had to be restocked regularly. Yet, with that art that was the hallmark of the Tayledras, all of this carefully contrived work of man seemed to have been magically wrought by nature.
By common consent, most meetings with Lord Breon were held here. The hertasi provided anything in the way of refreshment that might be needed, shade and water cooled the air, and no one really wanted to be inside on days of good weather. Meetings weren’t held in bad weather, because a delay in the arrival of the Valdemaran trade supplies meant nothing, and if the weather was going to be bad, why risk the chance of accident or spoilage? With so many mages here in k’Valdemar, it was a simple matter to read the weather, then make certain that Lord Breon got warning of any storm that could not be delayed or hurried on.
It was a pity that the discussions here in this oasis of tranquillity had little to do with peace and growth.
“I have word back from the capital,” Lord Breon said, when they were all seated. Besides Nightwind and Darian, the usual participants from k’Valdemar were all in attendance; Ayshen, Kel, Starfall, Snowfire, Hashi, and Firesong. “They are sending us the small force we asked for, under the direction of a Herald with experience in diplomacy.”
Two hertasi made the rounds, offering cool drinks, and vanished when everyone had been served. Starfall nodded, and his face betrayed the relief he felt. “I am glad to hear that, the more so because of what Kelvren saw on his patrol this morning. Kel?”
“Yesss.” The gryphon took up the thread, sitting up very straight, intense and serious. “I have ssseen the barrrbarrriansss. They arrre at the farrrrthessst point in my patrrrolsss. They continue in theirrrr patterrrn.”
This was no news to Darian or Nightwind, who’d heard it directly from Kel before the meeting. Ayshen had no expression, Snowfire looked resigned, and behind his mask, there was no telling what Firesong thought.
Lord Breon nodded; after all, he had probably been expecting to hear this for some time. “That would be, making a fortified camp, remaining until the hunting and grazing are down, then moving on?”
“Exactly ssso,” Kel agreed, bowing his head in Lord Breon’s direction. “And asss rrreporrrted, they do have childrrren, women, old people. Even babesss in arrrmsss, and prrregnant women. Not what I would call an arrrmy.”
Lord Breon frowned as if this wasn’t altogether good news. “But it is an invading and occupying force, especially if they are sending out scouts ahead of the main group, and intend to keep the noncombatants in a protected camp while the fighters deal with any resistance.”
He does have to think of these things, Darian reminded himself, and took note for the future. Some day, presumably, so would he.
“It’s also the pattern of nomadic herders, like the Shin’a’in,” Snowfire pointed out, to cover all possibilities. “They may not even know there is a settlement anywhere near. It simply could be that they’ve depleted their old grazing grounds too much to recover in a single season—or that all the magical weather disruption of the past decade has caused a drought in the north.”
Lord Breon nodded. “Also true—but really, we can’t have them coming into Valdemar or the Pelagirs and establishing new grazing grounds without asking permission first. It is our land, after all. The Crown says that in accordance with our long-established tradition, if they are peaceful and agree to settle, we are to welcome them, but they will have to follow the law!”
“True enough,” Snowfire agreed. “If we ignore them and let them proceed as they wish, we simply send a message that whoever else wants to flood down here will meet no resistance and no law! If we choose to let them remain here, it must be by treaty, with agreed-upon limits, and on our terms.”
“I think we ought to fight them!” Val burst out. “Why should we let them just wander in and take over? Why should we even tolerate them near our border? They’re barbarians! Why should we want them here at all?”
“We don’t intend to let them wander in and take over; haven’t you been listening?” Darian suppressed impatience with an effort. “Look, I have the most reason of any of us to want to fight these people. Remember what they did the last time they came here! They hurt and killed people that I knew, people I cared about! If it were up to my feelings, I’d lure them all under a cliff and drop it on them, pregnant women, grandmothers, babies and all. But those feelings should have nothing to do with this—and there are women and children at least in that group that had nothing to do with what happened the last time and certainly don’t deserve to be judged by me. For all we know, this isn’t even the same tribe. They may know nothing about what happened years ago. They could be peaceful. They could be running away from the same lot that overran us!”
Val cast a glance at him that was part contempt, part incredulity, but since the rest were all nodding agreement, including his father, Val said nothing more. Darian had the feeling that the subject wasn’t finished, though, and he’d hear more from Val about it.
Starfall let his gaze rest on Darian, but Darian had the feeling his words were meant for Val. “The greatest leaders in both our histories were always those who understood the motivations of those they faced,” he said. “When you understand why they move, then you know what to offer, and what to withhold.”
The discussion continued as if Val’s outburst had never occurred. “I think we ought to first contact them in a way that impresses them,” Firesong said thoughtfully. Today his mask was of thin, pale doeskin that fit like a second skin—giving a more uncanny impression, somehow, than any of his more elaborate masks. “A show of strength of all kinds, if you will. We should make it quite clear that we can handle anything they have, with ease.”
“I tend to agree,” Lord Breon said, looking keenly at Firesong. “Quite. I assume you mean a display of magic will be included in this?”
“That, and the bondbirds—perhaps some of our other allies.” Firesong turned toward Snowfire. “Didn’t you say that these tribes have totemic animals? If we include apparently wild animals in the display, it might gain us a great deal of respect spiritually as well as physically.”
“As far as I know, they do, and they attempt to imitate the behavior of those animals. Bringing the birds—even the dyheli and kyree—could very well impress them. The last lot had a bear-totem, and their shaman had managed to partially Change them to match that totem.” Snowfire’s eyes took on the sharp look
that meant he was thinking quickly. “If they have another such, we will need to get the upper hand magically at once. Creating Changechildren in these days—”
“Or he managed to partially control the Change within a Change-Circle,” Firesong pointed out, and both Snowfire and Starfall looked startled, then slowly nodded. “That could have been simply a matter of caging bears in the same Change-Circle as the warriors he wanted to Change, and hope that a melding took place. Just because he had specifically Changed people doesn’t imply great power or control. Master Levy is still taking a survey of the Circles to discover if there is a pattern there, one as to which Circles were exchanges of territory, which created monsters, and which simply melded the animals that were already within them. It wasn’t,” he added dryly, “a priority at the time they were occurring to find that kind of pattern, but it might have occurred to others to look for one.”
“But if there was a pattern, and the barbarians noticed it—” That was Ayshen.
“Or they simply took their chances, and it worked once,” Darian put in. “Given the behavior that we witnessed with the last lot, that wouldn’t be out of character. The shaman didn’t seem too worried about wasting lives. He’d have been perfectly happy with a single success, and one success would be all he’d have needed to impress the rest.”
“There is that,” agreed Starfall, as the rest who had been involved in that confrontation seconded Darian’s observation. He sighed. “And it is an interesting thought, but it doesn’t explain why this lot has women, children, and oldsters along. Oh, why won’t these people stay home?”
“Because we have something they want,” replied Firesong, with inescapable logic. “And they think they can just take it away from us. They’re not interested in challenging us to a game of riddles to win it, or a Bardic contest, or paying for it. That’s why we call them barbarians.”
The rest chuckled, though the attempt at humor was a little strained, and so was the response. Even Val laughed uneasily.
“Now, we don’t know yet whether they’ll challenge us, or offer us something in trade, or give tribute,” Ayshen pointed out. “Still—better we be more careful than less.”
“The main thing now is to delay them if they come too close, I think,” Lord Breon offered. “Which brings us back to Firesong’s show of strength. Once the reinforcements arrive, we’ll have a better idea of what their tactics will be, and exactly how forceful we’ll have to be in order to impress them.”
“And just how large our reinforcements will be,” added Snowfire. “Hopefully, we’ll be able to back our show, and not have to resort to bluff. Bluffing makes me very nervous.” He shook his head. “You know what the Shin’a’in say: ‘Bluffs either cost you half or twice.’ Kel, tomorrow I want you to do a thorough count, if you can. Noncombatants, people who might fight, real warriors, and what their herds are.”
Kelvren nodded, hissing agreement. “It will delay me. I will not rrrreturrn until nearrrrly ssssunssset.”
Snowfire waved that caution away. “That’s all right, if you can manage to accomplish it. We need those counts to make reasonable decisions.”
Kel snorted contemptuously. “If I can manage? I am not one of thossse elderrrly layaboutsss at k’ Vala, you know! Fearrr not, I ssshall have yourrrr countsss, and they will be acurrrate in everrry detail!” He paused. “I will be sssseen, howeverrr. Fly high though I will, the sssize and body-ssshape will differrr frrrom a merrre eagle—asss it sssshould be.”
Darian’s lips twitched, and he watched Nightwind hide a smile. Oh, gryphons! How dull life would be without them!
“Now, just to change the subject briefly,” Starfall interjected, before anyone could laugh at Kel and hurt his feelings. “How is our trade balance with you, Lord Breon?”
“Dead even, with this load.” His face relaxed, but Val took on a look of boredom, rolling his eyes upward. It was obvious that Breon’s son and heir would much rather have been discussing possible battle plans. “Is there any way we could get some of that patterned silk from you?”
Starfall pursed his lips, thoughtfully. “We aren’t set up to make any here yet, but if we don’t have what you want in stores, I don’t doubt we can get it made up from k’ Vala. What did you have in mind?”
“It isn’t me, it’s my lady.” He looked sheepish. “The wedding, you know. She’s got a notion that we should all have new wedding clothes in the same patterned silk, but different colors. I don’t think she cares what pattern, but I’d look damned silly in flowers.”
Val groaned, his attention recaptured. Darian didn’t blame him; it was his wedding, after all, but his mother was obviously arranging it to suit her liking, not his. Poor bride! It obviously didn’t matter what her taste was either, for Val’s mother was making all the decisions. “Not flowers! And not rabbits or cute little baby anything, or—”
“How about a simple geometric?” Nightwind interjected before Val could wax eloquent on the subject of what he didn’t want. “Or water patterns? Or leaves? Feathers?”
“Feathers would be good, or leaves, or water patterns,” Val told her, relief suffusing his features. “As along as it doesn’t make a girl squeal, ‘Oh, that’s adorable,’ it’ll be all right.”
Oh, dear. Obviously some of the arrangements have been getting that response. After taking part in the joining-ceremony and vetoing a few such arrangements himself, Darian had sudden sympathy for poor Val.
Nightwind laughed. “I think we can manage,” she promised. She studied Breon and his son. “I think, a rich golden brown for your side of the wedding, and—what’s the bride’s coloring?”
Val started to get a love-struck look in his eyes, and Breon caught it. He interrupted swiftly before Val could go into a flowery description. “She’s brown-haired, fair. Pinkish fair.”
Val looked indignant at such a callously abbreviated depiction of his beloved, but Nightwind sailed on, settling the question of color for the benefit of trade.
“Blue, then, for the bridal party. We’ve got good silk dyes for both those colors, and both are popular with us. If we don’t have something here, k’ Vala will have it in stores. Silk is light, especially silks for a warm-weather wedding; I can ask for a gryphon to fly them straight to Kelmskeep. It will be a good excuse for Kelvren’s lady-friend to fly in for a visit.” She cast a sly look at Kel, who contrived to look as if he hadn’t heard her, but twitched his tail and shifted his hips. “Tell your good lady she’ll have her fabrics in a week at the very most.”
No one mentioned that in a week they might be facing off against the barbarians.
Worry about that when we know what we’re facing; no point in getting ahead of ourselves. Besides, taking care of wedding arrangements will keep noncombatant minds off the barbarians.
“And you’ll want—what?” Breon asked.
“Same as the last time. Our needs don’t change much. Have your seneschal or factor negotiate with Ayshen for the price,” Starfall said offhandedly, and Breon nodded with satisfaction. Since k’ Valdemar had already presented Breon with the Vale’s official wedding present (an exquisite set of colored glass goblets in sufficient quantity to allow the young couple to hold a reception for the Queen and her entire Council, brought for the purpose from k’Vala) he wasn’t looking for anything but a reasonable trade.
“Right. Now, barring a war with barbarians, we’ve got Harvest Festival coming up at the same time as the wedding. What had your people planned to bring to the Faire?” This was the signal for a far more mundane discussion, and Kel excused himself—and so did Val and Darian. Darian chose a direction at random, and Val followed him.
I think I’m about to hear more from the would-be warrior.
Val’s thoughts had obviously turned back to the barbarians, and he accosted Darian as soon as they were out of hearing of the adults. “Say, Darian—you’ve fought before, right?”
Darian made a sour face. “Fought the barbarians the first time around, and had some skirmishes w
ith bandits in Valdemar. That’s fighting people—we took out some Changebeasts in Valdemar, too, but that isn’t what you meant, is it?” He continued walking, and Val kept right up with him.
“No, I meant combat. Real fighting. The clash of sword on sword, the thrill of meeting man to man, facing your enemy and bringing him down—” The cliches poured from Val as his face grew more and more animated. He obviously suffered from a surfeit of heroic ballads and tales. Darian decided to quash him. It wasn’t that he disliked Val, that was far from the truth. If anything, he liked Breon’s heir too much to let him go down that particular path of delusion.
That path leads to an early grave, given bad odds.
“I’ve done that,” he said flatly. “You want to know what it’s like?”
Val nodded eagerly, his earnest face alight.
“All right. Here, sit down.” They’d come as far as the lake while talking, and Darian gestured to a boulder. He took his seat on another, and gave careful thought to exactly how he was going to say his say. “First off, this isn’t a duel, it’s a combat. No rules. Do you know what that means, at all?” When Val shook his head, he continued. “It means that the enemy is going to try to kill you before you can get close to him, so he’ll be flinging mucking great rocks at you, shooting at you, doing everything he can to keep you from getting close. He would much rather kill you from a distance, given the choice. If you get stuck with an arrow or knocked out by a rock, he’s going to rush at you and try and whack something off while you’re down and helpless, because it’s easier to kill you then. If you don’t get taken out by flying objects, every fellow on the other side is checking out the people coming at him, and he’s going to try to make sure that he is bigger than you. If you’ve got fancy armor or weapons, he’s going to want them, too, so his best bet is to cut a leg out from under you or whack off an arm and leave you lying there, screaming and bleeding to death. The other. thing is that he’s a greedy bastard, and anyone who looks even slightly important is going to have a lot of people coming at him, all at once, all trying to be the one to get that fancy sword and armor. If he can’t manage to cut off a limb, or at least cut it half off, he’ll try to bash in your skull because that’s the second easiest way to kill you. There’s no fancy swordwork going on; there’s no room for it, you’re mashed in with a bunch of other people, all whacking away. Meanwhile, as you’re trying to keep him from doing awful things to you, and trying to do awful things to him, you’re stepping on and stumbling over all the poor beggars who didn’t manage to keep that from happening. They’re bleeding, screaming, and dying; if they don’t have fancy armor, their guts are spilling out and you’re stepping right in them. Some of them are people you know. Some of them are friends. Some might be relatives. And you’ll be seeing them as nothing more than things you don’t want to fall over.”
Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 02] - Owlsight Page 31