by Miles Owens
Harred told them about Da and the daughter.
“Rosada tribesmen,” Ard pronounced.
“I thought those days long gone,” Harred said.
“Some still cling to the old ways.” As the wood crackled and popped, Ard chewed tabac and recounted tales of his family’s experiences from the days before the treaty and the Rosada princess who had married into the Faber dynasty.
Harred listened and learned. During warrior training the Tarenester loreteller had told of the Rosada and their tactics. Harred had listened with half an ear then. Tonight, he determined that upon returning from the mountains and making his report to Lord Gillaon, the old loreteller would be the first person he’d seek out.
A rhyfelwr could learn much from these people and their well-thought-out preparations: the trappers; the beaten circle of hoof prints on the other side of the bridge where the mule had been galloped round and round; Da and the daughter’s rehearsed antics to allay any suspicion; the excellent location for an ambush.
Finally, Ard rose stiffly to his feet and turned in. Elmar remained, quiet and waiting.
Harred stared into the campfire as the flames turned to red coals. “I had no idea being rhyfelwr would be this demanding.”
Elmar smiled softly. “It be like the first days of training. Muscles be mighty sore, but they toughen and strengthen.”
“Six months ago, my biggest concern was the sword bouts at the next Gathering. Now Rosada, and dealing face-to-face with Broken Stone merchants. Pagans.” Harred sighed. “Gran must be turning in her Albane grave.”
Elmar picked up a stick and poked the coals. “Last year, when she be on her deathbed, she called me to her side. We talked about you.”
Harred straightened. “You never told me that.”
“Time not be right. Tonight seems to be. She say, ‘You take care of my Harred.’ I tell her it probably be the other way around. She say, ‘He is destined for great things, only the Eternal knows what. He is preparing Harred, training him.’ Then she raise up and grab my arm, fierce-like. ‘You stay with him, Elmar. Help him. Guard his back. Bigger things are coming for you both. Bigger than you can know.’” Elmar stared into the fire. “The next morning, she be gone.”
They sat silent, remembering a great woman. The coals went from red to gray.
“Gillaon be having his eye on you for a while,” Elmar said. “Remember traveling to our last Gathering? He be talking to you about the swords bouts and the men you be facing and what you think be their strengths and weakness. Then casual like, he’d ask if you think Duncan’s courtship of Katharine be successful?”
“Anyone could see they were not suited for each other. You and I talked about that more than once.”
“Aye. But most be surprised when he started calling on Donia instead.” Elmar stirred the ashes. “Remember Gillaon asking you about that trader from Ancylar and if you thought he be honest?”
“The moment I saw that one, I knew he was wrong. You did, too.”
“Aye. But Gillaon defended him and kept demanding reasons why you be feeling that way.”
“I had no reason, only what my gut was telling me.” Harred shifted to look full at his brother-in-law. “And the next time the trader came, he was caught with rigged scales.”
“I’ll bet my next three meals Lord Gillaon already knew. He be wanting to see what you thought.” Elmar rose to his feet and brushed off his pants. “I don’t know how your Gran knew, but this rhyfelwr be coming for a while.”
“Gillaon asked you plenty of questions, too.”
“He be testing me, same as you.” Elmar yawned as he headed to his blankets. “And here I be, saving your hide.”
Harred chuckled, feeling better. He remained by the dying fire a while longer, alone with his thoughts.
Overreact to anything that happens. Ninety-ninety times out of a hundred, it will be just that: overreaction. But when the hundredth time comes, you and your men will be ready.
Remembering the burning fire in Da’s dark eyes, Harred tucked the day’s lessons away and vowed never to be caught like that again.
Hours to the east and many lengths off the road in a sheltered cove of trees, those same dark eyes also stared into a campfire. Around him, wrapped in blankets on the cold grass, shivered the surviving raiders that had come from his family group. More than half were wounded. One had given his spirit to the Wind Giver during the ride here and now lay buried a stone’s throw from the fire. At least one more seemed likely to join him in the morning. The others would live. Decart had washed their wounds, packed them with salve, and then wrapped them in boiled linen strips. Nattily had brewed a draught for pain that allowed most to sleep, although some still moaned softly.
Larbow refused the draught, preferring the sharp pain of torn and bruised stomach muscles to remind him of his failure. The Arshessa wagons had appeared much sooner than anyone had thought possible—days before all the raiders needed had arrived. But lying hidden along the trail with Decart and seeing how the stupid clan warriors were not even wearing their swords, Larbow had decided the ambush would work. It should have. Why had they suddenly donned swords? And what had tipped the one who had talked to Ren, who next to Decart was their most experienced raider? Ren could not say because he had been among the first to fall. Thankfully, Decart had not fallen as well. Ancient Rosada tactics demanded either the chwaer, the leader, or the second in command, as Decart had been today, to stay removed from the fray and thus be able to gather the broken strands of failure and reweave them into a new rope. Decart had done that by appearing with horses for Larbow and Nattily and telling her to sound the withdrawal before total disaster had occurred.
Eleven Rosada—eleven!—remained at the bridge. Six alone by the big rhyfelwr the fat Sabinis wanted killed. The warning of the bird signal should not have mattered. Larbow’s knifepoint had been almost at his shirt when he had moved. Never had he faced such quickness! Three of his best blades had cornered him on the bridge, yet it had been like a wolf among little lambs.
Larbow shifted in anger—and gasped as white-hot pain shot through his belly. He stared into the flames, welcoming the agony, allowing it to deepen his vow for revenge.
One fine tomorrow, warrior, he thought. One fine tomorrow, we will meet again.
Chapter Twenty
LAKENNA
“OF COURSE, DOING more than your sums is important,”
Lakenna told them matter-of-factly. “Say that you want to increase the size of your flocks. You borrow thirty gold coins from a moneylender for three years at 18 percent interest. How much new wool must you produce to make the first year’s payment?”
Five students were arrayed before her on stools. A long plank served as a makeshift writing surface. They met under a felt awning stretched from one side of the foaling stable. A temporary arrangement, as were many things until the hlaford was finished.
Although her contract called for her to teach no more than five children besides Rhiannon and her two brothers, at Lakenna’s urging Lord Tellan had agreed to triple that number in the fall. The current five had lessons in the morning. Most of the older youth Lakenna taught rose well before dawn to do morning chores before making the trek to the hlaford for their two hours with Lakenna. More than once, Lakenna had pointed out their sacrifice to learn as a stern rebuke to Rhiannon about her lack of interest.
It was pleasant in the open air, the morning bright and sunny, almost hot. Birds chattered, and the roses around the hlaford were in full glory. Surprised at the variety of the roses the Dinari highlands produced, Lakenna had begun making plans for a large garden. Rhiannon, Creag, Phelan, and the other students had brought a cartload of river rocks to enclose the area.
Waiting for a response, Lakenna absently waved a fly from her face. Three of the four boys’ faces wrinkled in confusion, grappling to understand the question, much less the answer. But the fourth, an older lad named Rahl Digon, was with her, as was the lone girl, Vanora Garbhach.
Rahl had a strong build and an unruly mass of dark hair. He was undergoing warrior training with Llyr. Rahl’s father had died, and his mother scrimped out a living with her sewing and Rahl’s herding. His inclusion with the five was due to Lord Tellan’s direct order. After the first day of lessons and seeing the lad’s potential, Lakenna had raised her already high opinion of her employer.
“Let’s see,” Rahl said slowly as he worked the problem in his head. “That will be five and a half gold for interest, then ten coins to repay one-third of the loan. Fifteen and a half gold due the first year.”
“Which is too much.” Vanora folded her arms. “The moneylender takes the profit needed to live on. My father does not like moneylenders and says that is why it is best to work through Lord Tellan to increase our flocks.”
Lakenna suppressed a pleased smile. At Tellan’s request, she had spent a session with Bowyn Garbhach, Vanora’s father, and the other family heads to demonstrate the harsh math of interest rates.
“Better to buy more ewes with money you have saved,” Vanora said. She was Bowyn’s youngest child and only daughter. She had waist-length, mahogany-colored hair and sparkling brown eyes to go along with the ripening curves of young womanhood. As Lakenna had learned of clan custom, the maiden’s unbound hair signified that her parents deemed her not ready for courtship. Still, it was plain as the nose on a face that she and Rahl were besotted with each other.
Rahl looked meaningfully at Vanora. “In addition to coins, warriors in service receive five ewes a year.”
Vanora returned his look while slowly wrapping a strand of hair around her finger. The air between them almost shimmered with heat. She opened her mouth—
“That is all for today,” Lakenna said brightly. Best to head this off. “As you know, this is the last day of lessons; we will resume when the sheep return from the summer pastures. Although this has been a short session, I am pleased with the progress you five have made.”
The twins, Jaime and Catel Colemon, grinned. They were twelve. Jaime had fair skin and reddish blond hair; Catel was dark complexioned and had black hair. The two did not look like brothers, much less twins. Their father was the Colemon family head and had pledged half the materials for the new building.
Terr Luwin was ten and painfully shy. He was the only child of the Jon Luwin, the third family head of the Rogoth kinsmen. Jon was an accomplished furniture maker, and he and his apprentices had orders from all over the highlands. He had promised a desk and chair for Lakenna.
The boys scrambled up when Serous, Lord Tellan’s head herdsmen, walked under the awning. Every day this week, he had collected the four boys to help in the extra work needed to cull and separate the sheep into different herds for the summer.
Serous nodded formally. “Morning, Teacher.” Then he asked the same question he had every day. “My boys learning?” Not these boys; my boys. And they took pride in it.
The four held their breath as they waited her response.
“A good day of school,” Lakenna said.
All smiled; Vanora, too.
Serous nodded solemnly. His weathered face was a mass of fine wrinkles; his fingers were crooked at odd angles from swollen joints. As Lakenna understood the Rogoth hierarchy, the head herdsman ranked just below Girard and Llyr and was on equal footing with family heads like Bowyn Garbhach. Serous was always overly polite to her without any hint of insult; it was his way of showing respect.
The more Lakenna was around the man, the more she liked him. His dry wit and practical wisdom cut straight to the heart of any matter, and she was impressed with the easy authority with which he handled his herders.
“These are the most eager students I have had.” She raised her eyebrows and looked their way. “I will depend on them to help with the new students when we start again.” That brought five pleased smiles.
Serous grunted approval. Then he sidled up to her and lowered his voice. “You’ll be remembering to pray for us herders up there in the high pastures?”
Surprised, she turned to face him.
Faded blue eyes regarded her solemnly. “Strange things have happened up there off and on—even before any of this with the old hlaford and Mistress Rhiannon.” Serous worked his tongue around his two upper teeth. “I know she’ll be here with you, but don’t forget us herders. Come nightfall, it’ll be strong comfort knowing a believer like you is praying for us.”
Her stomach twisted. “Yes. I . . . I will do so daily.”
Relief mixed with pleasure lit up the man’s lined face. He called to the boys, and they headed toward the path that snaked along the stream meandering through the valley floor.
“Been talking to Llyr,” Serous told Rahl as they walked away. “He mentioned some things he wants you to work on. Time was, before my joints swelled, there wasn’t a hair’s difference between Llyr and me. Bring your practice sword with you next week. By the time we get back, I’ll have you ready to acquit yourself well.” The head herdsman’s voice trailed away in the distance.
Vanora watched them go. The breeze ruffled her long hair, and the sunlight sparked off the new locket around her neck. She and all the boys but Rahl had new clothes and footwear. Signs of freshly spent money brought by Tellan’s agreement with Lord Gillaon and the Broken Stone Land—and a source of nagging unease to Lakenna.
She knew the deal was a danger to Rhiannon—but how to convince Lord Tellan of that when all evidence thus far seemed to prove otherwise? It had certainly brought more prosperity, and the Rogoth kinsmen needed it. And there had been no further attacks since the wool sale.
“Rahl will be working directly with Serous,” Vanora said with a touch of pride. “Master Phelan will be with them. Serous wants Rahl to help train him.” She frowned prettily. “Women can’t go. The summer pastures, I mean. I’m as good a herder as any of them, but I can’t go to the high pastures.”
Lakenna regarded the maiden. It was best she stayed here under her father’s eye. That was probably why girls weren’t allowed to go. Too many opportunities for—
Oh, enough of this! Just because Loane and I failed doesn’t mean Vanora and Rahl will, too.
“I will work with Mistress Rhiannon and Master Creag each morning during the summer,” Lakenna said as Vanora prepared to leave. “But my afternoons will be free. I plan to catalog the different varieties of roses and plant one of each in the new garden. Would you like to help?”
“Oh, yes!” Vanora’s brown eyes lit up. “I know where bushes stand several cubits high and so thick you have to walk around them. And colors! Red, pink, white, and yellow. After the herders leave next week, I can show them to you.”
“I look forward to it.”
Wearing an ear-to-ear smile, Vanora took her leave. Her family lands lay a good hourglass’s walk in the opposite direction of Serous and the boys.
Living among clansmen was not what Lakenna had expected. To her, as a non-clan inhabitant of the Land, clansmen had always seemed secretive, guarding both their centuries-old trade advantages and precious clan lore with fanatical devotion.
Nonetheless, Lakenna found clansmen—the Rogoths, anyway—to be just like her close-knit Albane community. True, her role in the winged horror attack had helped them accept her readily. But the longer Lakenna was here, the more she suspected that Serous’s quick endorsement of her had smoothed her settling in. Still, it was amusing to encounter red faces and half-finished sentences when someone mentioned something in her hearing that had to be part of secret clan lore.
Albanes were found in all six clans, but most were women who had married into a clan or were the offspring of such marriages. That seemed to be the only way to become a clan member: marriage or birth, although there were stories of adults being made clan members. Lakenna had no idea how that happened.
She sighed. Marriage. A husband. Home and hearth. All things she did not have—and might never experience. She pondered her lack of attraction to men. Though she did not possess the beauty of Rhiannon or Vano
ra, Lakenna knew she was not totally unattractive. Growing up, many of her female friends and a few boys had mentioned how expressive her eyes were. And some had noticed her thick hair.
Loane in particular had been fascinated with it. The one time she had unpinned it in his presence, his eyes had widened in wonderment as the heavy waves cascaded about her neck and shoulders. He had reached for her like a man beholding the most precious thing imaginable. She had stepped into his arms, exulting in his desire for her . . .
I cannot allow these thoughts. I must try harder! A true Albane could do so.
A true Albane. Like she used to be.
She walked to the edge of the awning and looked uphill at the soon-to-be-completed hlaford, knowing what a relief it would be for Mererid to move in and get her family back in order.
Day by day, Lakenna grew closer to Lady Mererid. Beyond the tight quarters of the pavilion and their common agenda of the children’s education, Lakenna recognized the noblewoman’s loneliness and hunger for companionship.
The rich farmlands of Lakenna’s home were densely populated compared to the far-flung homesteads here in the rugged highlands. The Fawr kinsmen were south of Lachlann, with Lord Seuman and Lady Aigneis’s hlaford more than half a day’s ride—which Mererid maintained was a blessing. Lady Iola Leanon was two hours’ ride north, but Mererid said the two of them, while friendly, had never been close. That had been shared last night during an after-supper walk that was becoming a nightly ritual for the two of them.
Lakenna’s mouth firmed as she realized it was past time for lessons. She turned back toward the stables. Then she noticed Creag and Phelan coming, leather folders under their arms. She glanced toward the pavilion. No sign of Rhiannon. Lakenna suppressed a sigh. Late again.
For the hundredth time since arriving, Lakenna pondered her role with Rhiannon. Despite the girl’s tendency to give short shrift to her lessons, Lakenna could see something changing: if not yet an eagerness to learn, at least a noticeable improvement.
