Debis’s hair was woven into a towering coil of plaits secured with pearl-headed pins. Patri’s gleaming midnight locks hung loose around her shoulders, held off her face by finely carved coral combs. Quilar’s mass of tight black curls was threaded through with strips of gold, criss-crossing in a gleaming lattice. Each one was tipped with a trembling silver flower and twin leaves of gold, framing her strong features with musical whispers.
As before, exotic cosmetics made a mask of each woman’s face. Nevertheless Zurenne believed that she was learning to read their expressions. Not Quilar’s; the darkest-skinned woman remained as inscrutable as ever. Patri was looking around the tavern with as much frank curiosity as Lysha though, while Debis looked longingly at the fire. She had the fine Dalasorian shawl which Zurenne had given her at breakfast wrapped tight around her shoulders. Zurenne hadn’t thought twice about doing so, seeing Debis shivering in the great hall’s chill.
Now she looked down to see that the women were still wearing their sandals. Zurenne’s own feet would have been blue with cold after walking from the manor to the tavern and she couldn’t believe that Archipelagan women were so different, whatever the colour of their skin or the bright lacquer on their toe nails.
‘Do warm yourself.’ She rose, ready to fetch a chair for Debis, but the silent bodyguard was there before her.
‘Thank you, Lafis.’ Debis stretched her feet gratefully towards the hearth. ‘And thank you, my lady, for this gift. It is so warm and yet the weave is so fine. May I ask where you find such cloth?’
Quilar gestured towards their clean-shaven attendant in his humble homespun. ‘It is not from the same beast as that?’
‘No, that is wool, from a sheep. The yarn which wove the shawl is spun from a goat’s hair, from a land far to the north.’ Zurenne saw the women looking at Kheda for explanation.
The tall Archipelagan sat at the next table with the three Archipelagan bodyguards while the white-clad servant perched on a stool beyond. Reven and Kusint remained standing either side of the doorway
‘Imkar.’ Kheda smiled at Zurenne. ‘That is the word in our tongue for goat.’
Quilar was frowning. ‘No goat—’ she pronounced the new word with care ‘—in our islands has a pelt to make such yarn. They make indifferent leather though their meat is tasty.’
‘Dalasorian goats live in the hills beyond the Dalas river. They grow thick fleecy coats against the winter cold. They’re shorn, like sheep, at the turn of Aft-Spring and For-Autumn.’ Ilysh coloured slightly as everyone looked at her. ‘It says so in my father’s book about the grassland nomads.’
‘How far distant are these lands?’ Patri leaned forward, her eyes keen.
Zurenne’s interest in maps extended only as far as the routes from Halferan to Attar or Claithe and Pinerin where she visited favoured merchants. She was grateful to see Ilysh tallying on her fingers, concentration wrinkling the girl’s forehead.
‘Five hundred leagues as a courier dove might fly but it would be a journey of six to seven hundred leagues from here, depending on the route you took.’
‘All on unbroken land?’ Patri marvelled at the prospect.
‘How far is it from the north of the Archipelago to the furthest south?’ Ilysh asked shyly.
‘Forgive me, I do not know how you count such things.’ Patri said something to Kheda in her own tongue.
‘Twelve hundred leagues, near enough,’ he explained to Ilysh.
‘And all islands?’ She smiled at Patri as she echoed the young Khusro woman’s fascination.
Debis turned to Zurenne as the conversation threatened to falter. ‘Neeny is well, I hope?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ She sought some inoffensive excuse for her younger daughter’s absence. ‘She begged leave to spend the day with her dolls.’
‘They are young for so short a time; we should let them enjoy such pleasures.’ Debis’s smile saved Zurenne from her sudden apprehension that Neeny’s absence might seem discourteous.
‘There is time enough for her to learn her duties once she’s of an age of reason.’ The glint in Quilar’s eye suggested she knew full well that this was more motherly prudence than indulgence.
Raselle’s reassuring presence and Zurenne’s promises and pleading had seen Esnina join them for dinner in the great hall last night and for breakfast without incident but nothing could persuade the little girl to say a single word to these unnerving visitors. So Zurenne had told Neeny she could stay safe with Raselle in her bedchamber. This enforced sojourn in the Halferan tavern promised to be sufficient trial without fearing a childish tantrum.
‘Your laws and customs reckon the age of reason to be seven summers?’ Ilysh looked at Patri, curious.
The Archipelagan woman nodded. ‘And the age of discretion is fourteen years.’
‘When youths and maidens alike may assert their own judgement against their parents’ advice,’ Quilar added.
‘While we parents can only look back on our own foolish certainty when we were so young,’ Debis intervened with a wry laugh, ‘and hope that we have earned our children’s trust, so that they will still follow our guidance through the reefs and rocks ahead.’
‘May I ask how old your own children are?’ Zurenne enquired politely.
Debis smiled fondly. ‘We have five sons and seven daughters.’
‘Our sons are twenty-three years, nineteen, fourteen, eight and five years old,’ Patri related. ‘At the moment we believe that Khusro Rina will designate Khusro Anai as heir, our second son, but that may yet change.’
‘We have one daughter of twenty-four years, two of twenty, one of thirteen and two of twelve, and one of three.’ Quilar smiled with maternal pride. ‘The eldest three have already made marriages useful for Khusro and now honour their new names with their trading successes.’
‘You must be very proud.’ Zurenne longed to ask which of these women was actually mother to each of these children but her nerve failed her.
‘Trade that fine goat’s hair fabric into the Archipelago and you would bring honour to Halferan,’ Patri urged Ilysh.
Disconcerted, Ilysh looked at her mother. ‘I wouldn’t know how—’
‘We would be delighted to offer you our assistance,’ Patri assured her. ‘Trading Khusro’s embroidered silks is my particular responsibility so I have many good friends among the other domains’ wives where textiles are highly valued.’
‘Perhaps we can discuss it later.’ Zurenne really didn’t want to cause offence by explaining that no Caladhrian noblewoman would dream of engaging in commerce.
She looked towards the kitchen door. When would Mistress Rotharle summon up her courage and serve the promised orgeat?
The clean-shaven Archipelagan rose and bowed low before speaking to Debis Khusro.
She turned to Zurenne. ‘Soviro wishes to return to your home, to assist with the survey of our strong boxes. May I have your permission to send him back?’
‘Of course, of course.’
Kheda had told Zurenne to expect this. The Khusro wives wouldn’t insult her by insisting that one of their own watched over their treasures but it was hoped, he said delicately, that she would appreciate the value of an eye-witness account when the women returned home to tell their husband what had become of his possessions.
Having seen the quantity of locked and leather-strapped chests removed from that final carriage, and the quality and quantity of the women’s jewellery, Zurenne wasn’t in the least insulted. She was profoundly relieved that everyone would be safeguarded against accusations of dishonesty.
Now she only had to worry about word of such wealth within Halferan’s walls spreading beyond the demesne, luring would-be bandits to lurk on the high roads in hopes of ambushing the Archipelagans on their way back to Attar. Whatever Kusint’s objections, she would be sending every able-bodied Halferan trooper to guard them on that journey.
She looked over towards the door, her voice determinedly bright and courteous. ‘Sergea
nt Reven, be so good as to escort our guest to—to the muniment room.’ She remembered just in time how assiduously the Archipelagan women avoided making any mention of wizards.
Presumably Jilseth was already inside the manor, though Zurenne hadn’t seen her since her arrival in Halferan. The lady mage’s only communication had been this morning’s letter posing all manner of unanswerable questions, though at least Hosh’s news from Col seemed encouraging.
That would suffice for the moment. Better yet, since the magewoman couldn’t work her bespeaking magic for Zurenne in person, she hadn’t had to explain what was going on here to Corrain. Let the Archmage to do that since he had forced these Archipelagans on Halferan.
‘My lady.’ The young sergeant opened the door, looking expectantly at the white-clad Aldabreshin.
‘Lady Patri,’ Ilysh asked suddenly as the two men departed. ‘How can Soviro be in the same room as—’ Lysha flinched ‘—as your treasures without coming to harm?’ She moved her foot out of Zurenne’s reach. ‘If there is any magic to be found?’
‘That is a fair question.’ Debis answered with a smile suggesting that she knew Zurenne had done her best to curb her daughter’s curiosity. ‘Soviro is zamorin.’
This time they all looked at Kheda for a translation, Khusro wives and Halferan’s ladies alike. Zurenne was startled to see colour darkening on the Aldabreshin man’s cheekbones as though he were blushing.
He cleared his throat. ‘Zamorin have been cut, as a horse master cuts a stallion to make a better workhorse of a gelding.’
It took Zurenne a moment to realise what he meant. Lost for words, she looked at Ilysh to see the same understanding dawn on her daughter’s face.
‘How—?’
Zurenne would have cuffed her around the ear and answered for it to Raeponin himself if Debis hadn’t cut the girl’s question short with a firm answer.
‘Soviro may take some taint from whatever magic is discovered but he chooses to face that risk in our service.’
‘Zamorin are among our most highly valued slaves,’ Patri added, ‘since their loyalty is never divided between a warlord’s family and their own kin.’
‘Freed from such distractions, they are often diligent scholars, highly prized,’ Quilar observed. ‘Soviro is both shrewd and erudite. We can hope that he learns something which will help him identify anything further which we may hold in our strong rooms, unaware that it is stained by magic.’
‘Since zamorin can have no children and seldom take lovers, man or woman, they have no one to share such pollution through ties of blood or affection,’ Patri explained to Ilysh.
Zurenne had thought she was beginning to understand these Archipelagan women, that they weren’t so different. Now these gaping chasms of comprehension opened up between them.
To her inexpressible relief, the kitchen door opened to reveal Mistress Rotharle. She held a tray with a cloudy jug of orgeat and the brilliantly polished silver goblets which Doratine had sent over from the manor at dawn.
‘May we offer you refreshment?’ Zurenne managed a fair attempt at a smile.
‘That will be most welcome,’ Debis assured her.
Mistress Rotharle managed to set down the tray though the crystal wine jug rattled against the goblets.
‘Thank you, we will serve our guests.’ Zurenne didn’t care if this was correct etiquette. She wasn’t about to risk poor Mistress Rotharle staining those opulent silks with a shaking hand.
‘May I?’ Ilysh stood to pour drinks for them all.
‘Thank you.’ Debis took a sip of the almond drink and nodded with approval before looking around the tavern with open interest. ‘Tell me,’ she invited, ‘what recreations do your people enjoy here?’
‘Recreations?’ Zurenne covered her hesitation with a swallow of orgeat. ‘They sing songs, I believe, and tell tales to each other.’
She instantly regretted that answer. She knew no more of tavern ballads than she did of the Caladhrian parliament’s debates and the only chimney-corner stories she knew were the ones she told to Neeny, as her own nurse had told them to her.
‘They play games,’ Ilysh ventured.
‘Games of chance?’ Patri’s eyes brightened.
‘Yes, with these.’ Ilysh reached for her elegantly embroidered reticule. To Zurenne’s mortification, her daughter produced a shabby leather pouch and undid its drawstring to tip a battered set of runes onto the spotless table cloth.
‘What are these?’ Patri picked up one of the stubby lengths of bone.
‘What do these designs signify?’ Quilar’s quick fingers turned over the remaining eight to examine each different face.
‘May I?’ Ilysh took the first rune from Patri. ‘This is the heavens rune. See, this is the sun—’ she turned the length of bone to show them the radiant circle made up from eight lines pointing outwards to the points and half points of a compass circle ‘—and this is the greater moon, and the lesser moon.’ She showed them the lozenge and the single broad dot carved lifetimes ago by some unknown knife.
‘What of the rest?’ Debis was studying each bone in turn, equally intrigued.
Zurenne swallowed the remonstrance on the tip of her tongue. The Khusro wives weren’t to know such common pastimes were considered unsuitable for noble ladies. She could scold Lysha for such impropriety once the Archipelagans had gone home.
When she would also ask where Lysha had learned so much lore about these game pieces. Now the girl was explaining how the symbols covered every aspect of life. Zurenne had no idea what she was talking about but the Archipelagan women seemed to understand at once.
‘The Wolf lives in the Mountains among the Pine trees?’ Patri looked at the three faces of that particular bone.
‘While the Salmon swims through the Reeds that fringe the Sea.’ Debis examined the one with those three symbols.
‘I can understand that the Sea Breeze travels over Water but what has that to do with the Harp?’ Quilar wondered.
‘We often talk of a harp’s music rippling.’ Lysha glanced towards the door and Kusint.
‘Do you have such instruments in your islands?’ Zurenne asked. ‘A harp is a wooden frame, with strings—’
Debis nodded. ‘We know of such things but alas, our wet season’s dampness and the dry season’s warmth alike are no friend to such frailty.’
‘How are games played with these?’ Patri demanded.
‘You take three and roll them. I take three and roll them.’ Ilysh threw trios of runes with either hand and far too much familiarity for Zurenne’s peace of mind.
‘See, you have the Harp and the Stag and the Mountain Wind.’ She showed the Aldabreshin women the upright face of each rune as they had landed.
‘I have the Salmon, the Wolf and the Chime. Oh, sorry, we should have rolled the Heavens rune first.’
Patri promptly did so. ‘But these three, alone of the runes—’ she pronounced the strange word with care ‘—look the same whichever way up they land.’
Ilysh nodded. ‘So if the Sun shows, then the male runes will prevail but if both moons are showing then the female runes will win, with the stronger ones outweighing the weaker ones.’
‘Which signs are male and which are female?’ Quilar enquired.
‘Wolf and Deer are both male, but since the Wolf is the hunter, that’s the stronger of the pair. Eagle and Salmon are both female—’
‘—but the bird eats the fish.’ Quilar nodded.
As Ilysh began to explain the rest, Debis smiled at Zurenne. ‘Our husband will be fascinated to explore the mathematics underpinning this.’
Zurenne could only smile with faint bemusement.
‘The best way to learn a game is to play it,’ Patri declared.
‘But—’ Ilysh looked at her mother, belatedly as apprehensive as Neeny caught in some mischief.
‘Forgive me,’ Zurenne said levelly. ‘We do not carry coin for gambling.’
Patri laughed. ‘All we need are some token
s. Saie!’
She snapped her fingers to summon her body servant and before Zurenne realised what she intended, the Aldabreshin woman plucked a lethal-looking dagger from the warrior’s belt.
Patri lifted a rope of pearls over her head and sliced through its thread. Glistening pearls bounced and rolled over the table linen. Quilar gathered them up and Debis began counting out five separate quantities.
‘I do not wish to play,’ Zurenne said quickly. She had no wish to have her ignorance of this game exposed.
‘My lady of Halferan.’ Kheda spoke from the neighbouring table. ‘Perhaps we could discuss what is to be done after today? We must establish how you will exchange letters with the Khusro domain, to receive news of those Halferan slaves whom Khusro Rina still hopes to return.’
Debis looked up. ‘That would seem wise. Lafis, please remove this before something is spilled.’
Her body slave took the tray of orgeat to his table and poured drinks for himself and his two companions. Doratine had been scandalised when these men refused everything her kitchen could offer, only to eat and drink their mistress’s leavings at last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfasts. But once again, Kheda had explained this Archipelagan custom ensured that such bodyguards were always vigilant against poisoners.
‘Ladies, excuse me.’ Zurenne rose and took her goblet to the neighbouring table.
Kheda smiled. ‘Your daughter is a credit to you. The Khusro women would be delighted to establish ties of trade with your barony.’
Zurenne shook her head. ‘That is out of the question.’
‘Why?’ Kheda challenged her under cover of the laughter from the other table. ‘Khusro Rina and his wives wish to restore trade with the mainland and Halferan could profit handsomely by leading the way. If Patri can offer the central domains such new luxury as that fine shawl, while Debis can swear by all the stars that they have rid their domain of magic, they may yet persuade Miris Esul’s wives not to turn their faces southwards for good.’
Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) Page 26
