“No secrets involved. Stavin, Mary is not betrothed. She was, but he was killed in an accident that many of us think may not have been an accident, now that this plot has been revealed. Anyway, Mary has no suitors. Even among the highest of the Chosen clans, no one has come forward. She’s--difficult. She’s demanding on a level that few men, no matter who they are, are willing to accommodate. She’s also choosy about what she wants in a husband.” He shook his head slowly before he continued. “Stavin, she put out, in writing, her demands in a suitor. First, he must be an officer in the Army. That, sad to say, leaves out about ninety percent of the young Chosen men. Second, he must be acceptable to the king in birth and honor. That leaves out half the ones who are left. Third, and this is the burr under most men’s saddles, he must accept her as his equal. That, my friend, leaves out the rest.”
“But why--?” Stavin raised his hands to shoulder level as he shrugged.
“You not only see her as an equal, but a superior, but you don’t fall worshiping at her feet. She hates sycophants like that. I was there the day you first came to the palace and she named you a Friend of Evandia. You were what, fifteen? It was your first time out of your valley, your first time in Twin Bridges, your first time in the palace, and your first time facing the king and princess. And you stood your ground, even after you embarrassed yourself, and didn’t collapse at her feet.”
“Oh, Gods Below, I felt so stupid,” Stavin grumbled, then sighed.
Dahvin laughed. “And when you took off your helmet you looked like a child. I won’t say that awoke her maternal instincts, but you touched something in her. It took some serious courage to stand there like that with half the court laughing at you and the other half waiting to see if you were going to run away. It’s happened before. I think she’s been infatuated with you since then.”
“Oh, Gods.”
“Don’t worry. You’re married, she’s a princess, and no matter how much Uncle Kal likes you, King Kalin would never have approved of you as the next King of Evandia.”
“That idea is terrifying on a level that I’ve never felt before,” Stavin said as he looked across the room at his friend. “Marina is--she’s so beautiful. She’s the kind of girl, woman, who was always out of reach for me in the valley.” He was silent for a moment, then continued in a bitter tone. “I was always Stavin the Runt. No girl gave me a second glance.” He bit his lips and took a deep breath before continuing in a more normal tone. “At least none that I knew of. Then I went to the cave, determined to prove my bravery or die trying. And I succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. I told you about the fight with Barvil when I got back. All of a sudden I was acceptable to every girl in the valley, except the one I really wanted. But I chose the right one. Shari is my mate, my life-match, not just my wife. The idea that I could attract someone like Marina, even for a moment, is so far out of the realm of possibilities that I never would have thought of it. But then she kissed my cheek and now it’s all I can think of.” And I’m so ashamed of myself.
Dahvin nodded. “It would be best to keep this between us, Stavin. That confession could cause problems for Marina, and would cause no end of trouble for you.”
Stavin nodded and then positioned himself with his legs on the bed and his hands on the floor and began doing arm presses again. “No one but you would believe it anyway. But that’s why I have to work myself to exhaustion before I go to sleep, or I won’t sleep at all. I’ll just dream of the unattainable.” And hate myself for it.
Chapter 14
STAVIN WAS JUDGED FIT ENOUGH TO join Snowcat Watch on their next cycle. He was assigned to watch over Sarvan, with Dahvin as a mentor. The day was long and uneventful. Sarvan was in council all day, along with the king and princess, so all they did was watch the door to the council chamber. Stavin suppressed his urge to fidget by doing stationary exercises, muscle against muscle, without appearing to move at all. Not all of the guards were as well disciplined. Stavin’s respect for his companions was dropping all day as the guards milled about, fidgeted, fussed, and at one point engaged in the kind of grousing that would send a warrior of Kel’Kavin for discipline at the hands of the Warmaster.
Stavin’s helmet kept anyone from seeing the sour expression on his face, which was just as well. Dahvin ignored the other guards for the most part, only talking to the lieutenants assigned to the king and princess. The day finally ended and after turning guardianship of Sarvan over to Draiger Watch, Dahvin led the way back to their room.
Stavin waited until they had both bathed before saying anything. “Do the guards always act like that?”
“Like what?”
“Whining and crying and acting like their duty is a burden.”
Dahvin stopped what he was doing and looked at Stavin. “Yes, pretty much. I take it that you disapprove.”
“Guard duty is a sacred trust, not a burden to be endured,” Stavin replied, quoting the Code of the Warrior. “If one of my men acted like that--”
“Those are your men, Stavin.”
Stavin stopped himself from saying anything for a moment. “No. No, those men are--”
“Those men are Royal Guards,” Dahvin interrupted again. “You are a Royal Guards’ Lieutenant. They are your men, Stavin.”
Stavin let his mind go blank for a moment, then let the idea that those Royal Guards were answerable to him reform. “We have physical training tomorrow, don’t we?”
“As always.”
“Do you remember who all of them were?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get them up front?”
Dahvin gave Stavin a sidelong look. “What are you planning?”
“An exhibition of why it’s important to remain alert and not let yourself be distracted by boredom.”
“How?”
Stavin grinned. “You’ll see.”
The next morning, Dahvin called the men who had been with them to the front. Once they were there, Stavin faced them while Captain Zel’Astel looked on curiously.
“Men, yesterday I observed you behaving like the rawest recruits. Stand at attention.” He waited until they had all come to attention. “The first one who breaks stance faces me in the circle.” Stavin was at attention now as the rest of the watch section did their exercises. It didn’t take long. Only two spans had passed before one of the men scratched his nose.
“Private Zel’Falen, step into the circle,” Stavin instructed. The private looked at Dahvin for support, but Dahvin was busy doing his exercises. Stavin had placed two practice swords point down in the sand of the circle and picked up the closest as he walked past. “Vigilance requires discipline, Private. You lack the discipline to stand still. Begin.” Stavin took a ready stance and allowed the private to make the first attack.
Stavin met the attack easily and ducked inside the private’s reach, landing a stinging blow on his ribs. He bounced away as a wild swing passed over his head. Then he attacked, landing blows on the private’s leg, arm, and finally a thrust to his chest.
“You’re a dead man and Lord Sarvan lost a protector. Return to formation.” The private appeared to be keeping his mouth closed by will alone as he jammed the practice blade into the ground and then walked back to his place and came to attention. Stavin came to attention where he stood and waited. Less than a span later, one of the men yawned.
“Are you tired, Private Zel’Gorlan?” Stavin asked. The man froze, then resolutely walked into the circle and picked up the practice blade. Stavin didn’t give him as much leeway as he’d given Private Zel’Falen. Two exchanges left the private clutching his arm in pain.
It took two more demonstrations for Stavin to make his point. He and the men remained frozen at attention while the rest of the watch exercised. When Captain Zel’Astel dismissed them, Stavin nodded to the men facing him and said, “Very good. The next time we’re on watch, I’ll expect you to remember this. If I have to remind you again, I won’t be so easy on you.” He picked up the two practice blades and returned t
hem to the rack before going to eat.
Captain Zel’Astel waved him over once he’d collected his plate. “Lieutenant Kel’Aniston, I was told that you didn’t have much experience with a sword.” He was looking at Lieutenant Zel’Fordal as he said it, and Stavin answered immediately.
“Yes, Sir. I told Lieutenant Zel’Fordal last year that I had no experience or training with swords. I was always judged to be too small to handle a real sword.”
“You weren’t worried about facing nine Royal Guards with a weapon you didn’t know how to use?” another captain asked.
“No, Sir. I received instruction from Warmaster Kel’Carin and Warmaster Kel’Horval through the winter. If I hadn’t proven my proficiency by scoring a touch against Warmaster Kel’Horval, I wouldn’t have been allowed to wear that big knife like a sword, Sir.”
The captain looked intently at Stavin as he said, “So you claim to have less than a year of sword instruction, yet you smacked four Royal Guards without an answering blow.”
“Yes, Sir. They don’t want to face the Warmaster. He hits a lot harder than I do.”
The captain shared a look around with the other officers before looking back at Stavin. “I have got to see this Warmaster of yours in action.”
“You should get a chance, Sir. The king said something about hiring Charvil and the rest to help train the Royal Guards since I was laid up for so long.”
The table was silent except for a deep chuckle from the end. Everyone turned to find the general grinning. “His Majesty mentioned that to me as well, Lieutenant. It should be very--instructive.”
Chapter 15
KARLIT AND HENLEY KEL’JELTAN, KAVINSTON’S CABINET maker, worked together to refine the lights for different uses. For Shari, they made a single base and frame to hold the bowl, lamp, and bottle at the best angle and distance to cast a single bright spot. For others they made different arrangements.
Barb wanted a larger spot of light. Jorvan Kel’Chamlin wanted one like Shari’s, but he wanted to be able to move the pieces to get different sizes of spot. It seemed that everyone who did small, intricate work during the winter wanted a light. And they were willing to pay for them.
“This is turning into a trade all its own,” Karlit remarked one evening as they ate. “A man could make these lights continuously.”
Marinis nodded and smiled at Sallin. “We have you to thank for this, Salli. You’ll be properly rewarded for your help.”
“It was my duty and pleasure, Mistress Marinis,” Sallin replied with a deep bow.
“It was a kind and wise thing to do, Salli,” Sharindis replied. “You freed me from my dependence on Arandar’s light. Even Master Kel’Zorgan wants a light now. He says he’s getting too old to read by simple candlelight anymore.”
Karlit chuckled. “He asked me yesterday. I need you to do something for us, Shari.”
“Of course,” she immediately answered.
“Shari, Stavin left a full purse with you. I’d like you to give it to Far so he can commission a bunch of bowls in Trade Town. I promise you that you’ll recover every spark of it and more.”
Shari simply shrugged. “I don’t think Stavin would really care, and neither do I.”
* * *
Farlit and Varkal, along with nine other warriors, made the trip to Trade Town again. Varkal led them to the whitesmith they had first approached and walked into his shop.
“Do you remember me, smith?” he asked, and the man nodded vigorously. “I have a commission for you. We will pay two silver crowns each for twenty bowls that match this one.” He laid one of the original bowls on the bench in front of the man.
The smith nodded and made several signs with his hands, but they meant nothing to Varkal. When he got no response, the smith turned and rang a bell. The same girl as before came out and bowed as she watched her father’s hands.
“My father says it will take six days to make twenty bowls,” she translated.
Varkal nodded. “We’ll be around.” With that he turned and left the shop, then looked at the rest of his men. “We’ll make the same offer at each of the whitesmiths. The silversmiths think too highly of their work.”
“And the vintner,” Farlit pointed out. “We need more bottles as well.”
The warriors made camp outside Trade Town proper, not wanting to pay the local officials for the privilege of sleeping in their territory. Varkal followed the normal pattern of having two men on watch continuously, not trusting the sanctity of Trade Town to protect them.
* * *
“Well?” Master Trader Jallan asked as one of his junior associates entered his office.
“They have camped on the outskirts of town, outside our jurisdiction, Master Jallan,” the man answered.
“Nothing in Farindia is outside our jurisdiction,” the Master Trader snarled. His associate said nothing, and he continued after a moment of silence. “I want to know what they are up to. What are they doing with all those bowls and wine?”
“Master Jallan, they may just be--”
“No one needs that many copper and brass bowls!” Master Jallan snapped. “Wine, maybe. I could accept needing it for a festival of some kind, though they seldom buy more than a case at a time. But they commissioned sixty bowls. In addition, one of the silversmiths reported a conversation between two of them last time about someone named Shari already having one. One what? What are they doing with these bowls?”
The man bowed. “Unless they choose to tell us, there is no way to know, Master Jallan.”
* * *
It was on the third day that a group of men came to the warriors’ camp. The leader, a large man gone to fat, walked up and stopped at the edge of their camp. “Who is in charge of this group?” he asked as he looked around.
Varkal stepped forward, but gave no bow of respect to the man. “I am,” he replied. “Who are you?”
“I am Master Trader Jallan Bel’Terstan. Who is your Master Trader?” he demanded.
“We have no Master Trader,” Varkal replied. “We’re just here to purchase some bowls and wine.”
“You’re buying a lot, and that means you must be selling it somewhere. That’s Trade, and we demand that Trade only be conducted by credentialed Master Traders.”
Varkal’s eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. “Master Jallan, this purchase is for use in Kavinston,” he replied in a tightly controlled tone. “We need no Master Trader.”
“I say you do,” Master Jallan snapped.
Varkal’s sword was against his neck in an instant. “You say?” he growled.
The Master Trader’s eyes were as round as moons as he faced his own death. “You can’t do this,” he squeaked. “You can’t defy the Traders’ Guild.”
“And precisely why not?” Varkal asked in a soft voice.
“You’ll not be allowed to take contract here anymore,” one of the other Traders said, nodding his head sharply as if he’d trumped Varkal.
Varkal shrugged. “There’s always Aravad.”
“That’s twice as far away from Kel’Kavin,” another of the Traders said. “You’ll lose money that way.”
Varkal sheathed his sword with a snap. He said, “I will inform the Elders that we’re no longer wanted in Trade Town,” with a small smile and saw a look of panic cross several of the trader’s faces.
“You can’t do that!” one of the men toward the back of the group said. “Kavinston provides more than half of the guards for the spring shipments. There were caravans that had to go without guards this year because you only sent four teams. Whole caravans were lost to bandits.”
Varkal shrugged. “If we can’t purchase a wagon-load of supplies for our community without one of House Kel’Aniston’s Master Traders with us, then I don’t see why we should bother with you.”
Farlit grinned. “Indeed. My brother is on very good terms with House Zel’Vandar in Aravad. He could probably be convinced to establish a line in Kavadia.”
“Your brother?” Ma
ster Jallan asked suspiciously.
“Master Trader Stavin Kel’Aniston, of the Evandian House of Kel’Aniston, also known as Friend of Evandia Stavin. I’m sure he’d sponsor the necessary number of us to provide all the Master Traders he needs.”
“That would be suicide,” the trader who had said they wouldn’t be allowed to take contract whispered.
“For you,” Farlit replied.
“What will it be?” Varkal asked. “Do we have your permission to buy a few things here, or do we take all of our business to Aravad?”
Master Trader Jallan started to say something, but he was grabbed by the rest of the Traders and pulled back. Another man stepped forward and bowed. “The Warriors of Kel’Kavin are always welcome in Trade Town,” he said, bowing again. Then the whole group hurried away.
Farlit stepped up beside Varkal and watched the trader’s leave. “I don’t trust them.”
“Nor I, but we’ve only three more days to wait until the bowls are done,” Varkal replied without taking his eyes off the Traders. “The Council is going to be very interested in this development.”
When Varkal led the group into Trade Town to collect their bowls and wine they found themselves the subject of very intense scrutiny. It seemed that everywhere they went they were watched by men in the uniform of the Traders’ Guild Guards. The glares they received weren’t overtly hostile, but they couldn’t be called friendly. Varkal was reminded of the way men usually watched rattlesnakes: wary and on the verge of frightened.
“Someone is still upset with us,” one of the other warriors said softly.
“Agreed,” Varkal answered, “but so long as no one does anything threatening, I think we’ll be all right.”
They collected the bowls from all three whitesmiths and were headed out of town when a small figure slipped out of a shadow and cautiously approached them. The figure said, “Warrior, my father says you are in danger,” and vanished into an alley.
It took until she turned away for Varkal to recognize the mute whitesmith’s daughter. She was gone before he could question her and he shook his head as they continued to walk away. “Everyone on alert. Guards four and four. Let’s not let anything unfortunate happen while we’re here.”
The Andarian Affair Page 11
