by David Weber
But she'd decided that she didn't have a choice, and then managed to convince Yalith to see it her way. The bulk of the output from Theretha's workshop and her six employees consisted not of her beautiful art pieces, but of those everyday, practical items. That was what earned the routine revenues Kalatha needed and paid the salaries of the people who worked for her. It was essential to maintain the outlet through which those wares might be sold.
Thalar wasn't a very large or especially wealthy town, but it was the largest and wealthiest in the holding of Lorham. More to the point, it had the biggest, most active market, and Theretha had established what she'd thought were good relationships with the merchants who distributed her more mundane products. Especially with Herian Axemaster, who handled over half of all the glassware and pottery which moved through Lorham. Herian was also a factor for Clan Harkanath, the powerful Dwarvenhame trading house. But those relationships seemed to have suffered serious damage, along with every other aspect of Kalatha's relations with Lord Trisu and all of his subjects. If she wanted to maintain her access to the Thalar market, and through it, to the world beyond, she'd decided, she had to come along and see what she could do to repair them And, as she had somewhat delicately suggested to the mayor, the fact that her Thalar contacts also knew about her art pieces, and that Herian had actually handled the sale of several of them for her, ought to give her a bit more clout than she might have had otherwise.
Unfortunately . . .
Theretha bit her lip as she looked in through the open door of the market master's office and saw Soumeta leaning over Master Manuar's desk. The lamps were already lit in anticipation of the rapidly oncoming evening, and Soumeta's short blond hair gleamed in their mellow light as she stabbed an angry index finger repeatedly onto the desk's top. It was impossible for Theretha to hear anything from here, but from Soumeta's flushed face and Manuar's thunderous expression she strongly suspected that the two of them were shouting at one another.
She stopped rubbing her hands together under her cloak, but only so that she could actively wring them. This was bad. This was very bad! Lillinara knew enough other war maids had experienced difficulties in Thalar's market, just as they had in what seemed to be every town, village, and hamlet throughout Trisu's domain. There'd always been some discrimination against war maid merchants, farmers, and craftswomen, but it had grown much worse over the past several months. In fact, it had reached the point that the market masters, the magistrates whose responsibility it was to oversee the fair and legal operation of the markets, appeared to have washed their hands of it. Some of them actually seemed to be actively harassing any war maid who entered their jurisdiction, or even flatly refusing to sign the permits required to trade in the markets they supervised. But Theretha hadn't been able to believe that Manuar, who'd always been a gruff stickler when it came to the discharge of his duties, could possibly be one of those.
Manuar suddenly shoved himself up out of his chair, and leaned forward over his desk. He braced his weight on the knuckles of his fisted left hand while he shoved his face within inches of Soumeta's and slammed his right palm on the desktop. If he hadn't been shouting before, he obviously was now, Theretha thought glumly, and took two involuntary steps towards his office before her memory of Yalith's instructions stopped her.
Soumeta closed her mouth, muscles bunching along her jaw as she clenched her teeth. She glared at the market master, her anger almost physically visible from where Theretha stood. Then she turned on her heel and stormed out of Manuar's office.
Not good, Theretha thought. Not good at all.
"That . . . that . . . that man!" Soumeta spat. Rain was beginning to sift over them again, glistening on her hair and the bare skin exposed by her chari and yathu, and she reminded Theretha of nothing in the world so much as a furious soaked cat.
"It looked like it didn't go very well?" Theretha's tone turned the statement into a question. She hated it when she did that. It always made her feel indecisive, more like a mouse than ever.
"You might say that," Soumeta snarled. "Just like you might say it's been a little damp this spring!"
"How bad was it?" Theretha sighed.
"Just for starters, he says Jolhanna is the one who's done all of the antagonizing here in Thalar. It wasn't any of the town's merchants—oh, no! For some reason known only to her, our representative—the person whose job it is to keep our access to the market open—has taken it upon herself to pick fights with virtually every important merchant in Thalar!"
"What?!" Theretha shook her head in confused disbelief. "Why in the world would she do something like that?"
"Exactly my point!" Soumeta's voice was harsh. "Jolhanna has—we have—no reason to be confrontational. Not here, not about this, and certainly not without provocation. But according to Manuar, that's exactly what she was. And because of her 'misbehavior,' the rest of us are not welcome here."
"He's officially excluded us from the market?" Theretha stared at the other war maid in shock.
"No, not officially," Soumeta replied, almost as if she hated conceding Manuar even that. "But he didn't have to. What he said was that, of course he would sign our permit and see to it that anyone trading with us complies with every requirement of the law and the charter. However, he pointed out, not even the charter requires people to buy from us if they choose not to. And apparently," she bared her teeth in a smile totally devoid of humor, "it just happens that every merchant in Thalar has decided not to trade with us. Completely spontaneously, of course."
"I'm sure Herian wouldn't feel that way," Theretha protested.
"Maybe not, but it doesn't matter," Soumeta sighed. "Herian isn't here."
"What?" Theretha blinked. "That's ridiculous. Herian is always here!"
"Not according to Manuar, he isn't," Soumeta said, biting off each word as if she were chewing horseshoes. Theretha looked at her in consternation, and she shrugged irritably. "Figure it out for yourself, Theretha. If Manuar's lying and Herian is here, then there's no point in even hoping he'll enforce the charter's provisions for us, whatever he says. And if Herian isn't here, that may be even worse. It may mean he's chosen to join in this boycott of our people and just doesn't want to openly admit it. Either way, I see no reason to stay here and batter our heads against a wall that isn't going to come down for us!"
"But—" Theretha began, only to have Soumeta cut her off with a sharp shake of her head.
"We're not staying," she said flatly.
"But we must!" Theretha protested. "We need the markets—the income! We can't just—"
"Oh, yes we can," Soumeta told her. "I don't like the feel of this one bit, Theretha. I'm not sure it's even safe here, certainly not sure enough to risk exposing you to danger."
"Me? In danger here in Thalar?" Soumeta seemed to be speaking a foreign language, and Theretha shook her head, trying to understand what the other war maid was thinking. "You should have let me talk to Manuar," she said with mingled plaintiveness and frustration. "He knows me. For Lillinara's sake, I've eaten lunch in his home, Soumeta!"
"I know you have. And I know that's one reason you were sent along in the first place. But he made it fairly obvious that there are people here in Thalar who are really upset over our supposed demands and Jolhanna's supposed hostility. He seems to think some of those upset people might just try to find someone to take revenge on."
"Revenge for what?" Theretha demanded in total confusion and exasperation. "All I want to do is sell some bottles! This doesn't make any sense!"
"That's because no one is feeling particularly sensible just now," Soumeta told her harshly. "And, for the second time, I don't have any idea what started it all. The one thing I'm positive of is that it wasn't Jolhanna who went crazy. After that, I don't have a clue. Unless—"
"Unless what?" Theretha asked when the other woman paused.
"Unless Trisu and his cronies are trying to concoct some sort of a bizarre pretext, a justification for the way they've been systemati
cally infringing on our rights and boundaries."
"That's preposterous." Theretha wished she sounded more certain of that than she felt.
"Of course it is. But that doesn't mean it's not happening." The older war maid shook her head. "You know, I didn't want to believe it, myself. Not even when the Voice at Quaysar warned Mayor Yalith that the Mother was uneasy. But now—"
She shrugged, and Theretha nodded slowly and miserably. The Voice hadn't been very specific, or not, at least, in any of the messages from her which Theretha knew anything about. But when a priestess of Lillinara—especially the priestess, at the Quaysar Temple of Lillinara—warned a war maid free-town of impending danger, it was best to pay attention.
"But that's why we're getting out of here, now—this evening," Soumeta continued flatly. "If I knew what was going on, I might not be so concerned over whether or not I could handle it. But this whole thing is so crazy, so bizarre, that I can't begin to figure out what's happening, or even what's already happened. In the meantime, though, it's my job to be sure you get home safe and sound. You and your art commissions are more important to Kalatha in the long run than opening the local markets, and if Manuar's telling the truth, not just blowing smoke out of his arse because he's pissed at me for calling him on his dereliction of his duties, then there might be a genuine danger of something . . . unpleasant happening to you.
"So climb back up in the cart, Theretha. We're leaving. Now."
Theretha opened her mouth, ready for one, final protest. But Soumeta's expression stopped her. The other woman's face was like a stone wall, a fortress turned against the world in general and Thalar and Master Manuar in particular. There was no point arguing, the glassblower realized.
The rain was falling harder as Theretha clambered up into the cart, in the center aisle between the crates of glassware they'd brought with them so hopefully. She heard the raindrops hitting the taut canvas above her, like an endless series of tiny fists, punching the cover. Here and there, water broke through the fabric, running downward across its inner curve. Some of it seemed to home in on Theretha, and she wrapped her cloak more tightly still about her as Soumeta walked around to the front of the cart and got a good grip on the cart pony's halter. The older woman clucked to the pony, and Theretha grabbed at one of the strapped-up crates for balance as the cart lurched back into motion.
She was going to be cold, wet, and thoroughly miserable by dawn, she thought as the sweet chiming of vibrated glass sang softly to the rain patter from the crates. And the fact that Soumeta was going to be even wetter and colder only made her feel even more frustrated and obscurely guilty. Soumeta was right—Mayor Yalith had made it clear she was to be Kalatha's official representative, and that she was to "look after" Theretha. Yet Theretha couldn't rid herself of the gnawing suspicion that if she'd only spoken to Manuar herself, she might somehow have made a difference.
But she hadn't, and as the cart jolted and splashed through the rain, she settled into the most comfortable position she could find and wondered just when everything had started going so dreadfully wrong.
Chapter Nine
"That was delicious, Tala—as always," Kaeritha said with a deeply satisfied sigh. She laid her spoon neatly in the empty bowl of bread pudding and patted her flat stomach as she leaned back in her chair, smiling at the sturdy, middle-aged hradani woman who'd been sent along by Prince Bahnak as his son's housekeeper.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Milady," Tala said in a pronounced Navahkan accent. "It's always a pleasure to cook for someone who knows good food when she tastes it."
"Or devours it—in copious quantities," Brandark observed, eyeing the empty platters on the table.
"I didn't seem to notice you shirking your share of the devouring, Milord," Tala replied dryly.
"No, but there's more of me to maintain," Brandark replied with a grin, and Kaeritha grinned back at him. Brandark might be of less than average height for even a Bloody Sword hradani, but that still left him a good three inches taller than Kaeritha, and he was far more massively built.
"Aye," Bahzell agreed. "For a sawed-off runt of a hradani who's after sitting on his arse with a pen and a bit of parchment all day, you've a bit of meat on your bones, I suppose."
"I'll remember that the next time you need some obscure Sothōii text translated," Brandark assured him.
"Hush, now, Brandark!" the third person at the table scolded. Gharnal Uthmâgson was short for a Horse Stealer, but taller than Brandark and almost as massively built. Which still left him over a full foot shorter than his foster brother, Bahzell. "It's not so very nice of you to be pointing out as how the thin air up where Bahzell's after keeping his head keeps a man's brain from working. It's not as if it was after being his fault he can't be reading for himself."
He grinned at Brandark, without a trace of the vitriolic hatred for all Bloody Swords which had made him Brandark's bitter enemy when the smaller hradani first accompanied Bahzell to Hurgrum.
"Speaking of obscure Sothōii texts," Kaeritha said in the voice of an adult overlooking a children's squabble as a smiling Tala withdrew, "I wonder if you've come across a copy of the war maids' charter in your forays through Tellian's library, Brandark?"
"I haven't been looking for one," the Bloody Sword replied. "I've done a little research on the entire question of war maids since you and Tellian discussed them the other morning, but I've really only scratched the surface so far. I assume there's probably a copy of the charter and its amending documents somewhere, though. Would you like me to take a look for them?"
"I don't know." Kaeritha grimaced. "It's just that I've realized I'm really pretty appallingly ignorant where any detailed knowledge about the war maids is concerned. Tellian's suggestion that whatever I'm supposed to be dealing with concerns them may well be right, but my training in Sothōii jurisprudence is a bit shakier than my training in Axeman law. If I am supposed to be investigating the war maids' claims, it would probably be a good idea to know what their prerogatives are in the first place."
"I'm not so sure laying hands on a copy of their original charter would be enough to be telling you that," Bahzell put in. He leaned back in a chair which creaked alarmingly under his weight.
"Why not?" Kaeritha asked.
"The war maids aren't so very popular with most Sothōii," Bahzell said in a tone of deliberate understatement. "Not to be putting too fine point on it, there's those amongst the Sothōii who'd sooner see an invading hradani army in their lands than one of the war maids' free-towns."
"They're that unpopular?" Kaeritha looked surprised, and Bahzell shrugged.
"An invading army is likely to be burning their roofs over their heads, Kerry. But roofs can be rebuilt, when all's said. Rebuilding a way of life, now—that's after being just a mite harder."
"And that's exactly how your typical conservative Sothōii would see having a batch of war maids move in next door," Brandark agreed.
Kaeritha nodded in acknowledgment, yet there was still a baffled edge to her expression. As she'd told Leeana, she'd been born a peasant in Moretz, which was at least as patriarchal a society as that of the Sothōii, but she'd fled that land when she'd been even younger than Leeana was now. And she'd also been educated in the Empire of the Axe, where women enjoyed far broader choices and possibilities then were generally available to Sothōii women.
"Kerry," Bahzell said, "I'm thinking you've too much of the Axewoman in you. You, if any, ought to have realized by now how hard any Sothōii is after finding it to wrap his mind round the very notion of a woman as a warrior."
Kaeritha nodded again, more emphatically, and Bahzell chuckled. If he found his position in Balthar difficult as a hradani, Kaeritha had found hers only marginally less so . . . as the heckler she'd trounced outside the temple made clear. Tellian's men, and those of the city guard, had at least taken their cue from their liege lord and extended to her the same deference and respect any champion of Tomanâk might have expected. Yet it was only too obvious
that even they found the concept of a female champion profoundly unnatural.
"Well, for all that our folk've spent the best part of a thousand years massacring one another," Bahzell continued, "there's much to be said for the Sothōii. But one thing no one is ever likely to be suggesting is that they've an overabundance of innovation in their natures, especially where matters of tradition and custom are concerned. Don't let Tellian be fooling you. For a Sothōii, he's about as radical as you're ever likely to meet, and well-educated about foreign lands, to boot. But your typical Sothōii is stiffer-necked than even a hradani, and the real conservatives are still after thinking the wheel is a dangerous, newfangled, harebrained novelty that will never really be catching on."
Kaeritha chuckled, and Brandark grinned.
"Aye, and some of them are stupid enough to be after thinking they invented fire for their very own selves just last week," Gharnal agreed. His grin was a bit sharper than Brandark's, honed on a core of deeply cherished hostility for all things Sothōii, but that represented a tremendous exercise of restraint for him.
"I won't say there isn't an element of the pot and kettle in that pithy description, Kerry," Brandark said after a moment. "But there's a lot of accuracy in it, too. The Sothōii take a tremendous amount of pride in how 'traditional' they are, you know. Their very name—'Sothōii'—is derived from the Old Kontovaran word sothÇfranos, which translated roughly as 'sons of the fathers.' According to their traditions, they're descended from the highest nobility of the Empire of Ottovar, and they've grown pretty fanatical about protecting that line of descent—intellectually, as well as physically—over the last twelve centuries or so."
"Are they really?" Kaeritha asked. "Descended from the old Ottovarn nobility, that is?"
"That's hard to say," Brandark said with a shrug. "It's certainly possible. But the significant point is that they think they are, and that pride in their ancestry is part of what produces those conservatives Bahzell and Gharnal were just talking about. And the very existence of the war maids is an affront to their view of the way their entire society—or the rest of the world, for that matter—is supposed to work. In fact, the war maids wouldn't exist at all if the Crown hadn't specifically guaranteed their legal rights. Unfortunately—and I suspect this is what Bahzell was getting at—calling that royal guarantee 'a charter' is more of a convenient shorthand than an accurate description."