“Well…until Tesk comes to meet them,” Garander said.
“You’re sure he’s coming?”
“Well, he said he would meet the other group, the ones from Ethshar, so I expect he’ll come.”
“And when are they due?”
“Mid-afternoon.”
“Then we have time, and I want to get this done. Grab that end and lift.” She gestured.
Garander desperately wanted to see what was going on in the west field, but he obeyed; he had to admit that getting the winter dirt out of the bedding and fluffing it up would make sleeping more comfortable, especially when the weather turned warm.
They had arranged everything around the fire, where the heat would dry the straw and fabric and the smoke might drive out some of the bedbugs, and were admiring their handiwork, when his mother asked, “They aren’t expecting us to feed them, are they?”
It was about lunchtime, and she had not seen the size of the baron’s company, so it was not an unreasonable question. “I certainly hope not,” Garander answered. “There are dozens of them; there’s no way we could feed so many.”
Shella of the Green Eyes nodded. “Your father will want his lunch, though. And your sister.”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“I’ll make something you can take for them. And tell them we’ll be out once I’ve cleaned up the dishes.”
Garander nodded.
He ate in the house with his mother and sister—salt pork and turnips, washed down with small beer. When he was done his mother handed him a bag of fried sausages and yesterday’s bread, and a jug of strong beer from last year’s brewing. Garander frowned. “What about Ishta?” he asked. “You don’t want her drinking that, do you?”
“She can come fetch her own water.”
Garander didn’t argue; he accepted the bag and jug and headed out while the two Shellas cleared away the plates and pans.
The scene in the west field was rather different now; the baron’s party had made camp. That field was planted in wheat; Garander hoped they would not chew the soil up enough to ruin the crop.
Grondar was sitting on a camp chair, talking with the woman in the green gown—Velnira, Lord Dakkar’s…something. Garander did not remember her title. Ishta was standing nearby, looking bored. Garander wondered whether the two adults were discussing the terms of the baron’s offer to Tesk, or maybe what sort of compensation would be paid for the intrusion on the farm—or were they just chatting? He trotted toward them.
Velnira looked up at his approach, and Grondar turned. “Ah, son!” he called. “This is Velnira of Varag. Her uncle was my regiment’s quartermaster, old Alden One-Eye.”
Chatting, then. But perhaps they had already covered weightier matters. “I brought lunch for you and Ishta,” he said, lifting the bag.
“Good!” Grondar clapped his hands. He turned back to Velnira. “I hope you don’t mind if we eat; I trust you have your own supplies. While I would hardly deny a guest proper hospitality, I can’t feed a host like this, and I’m sure the baron wouldn’t expect me to.”
“No, of course not!” Velnira said. She had a very nice voice, Garander thought, even if her face was not particularly appealing. “You go right ahead. I think we’ve covered everything important.”
Grondar nodded and rose, then looked around for Ishta. He found her, put an arm around her shoulders, and then held out the other arm for the bag of food.
A moment later the three were seated cross-legged between two furrows, and between bites Grondar was explaining to his son the terms he had set.
“No more taxes, ever,” he said. “A round of copper—a round, not a bit—for every night these people spend on our land. That’s the fee for lodging here, regardless of how the negotiations turn out, and if Tesk agrees to serve Lord Dakkar, we’ll have an additional silver bit apiece for our help.”
“I don’t think he’ll agree,” Garander said.
“No, you don’t understand—the baron has already agreed…”
“No, Father, I mean I don’t think Tesk will agree.”
“Oh, well.” Grondar turned up a temporarily-empty palm before grabbing the beer jug for another swig. “We’ll have the copper all the same.”
“I wouldn’t trust the baron about the taxes.”
“Oh, I don’t. And even if I did, his heir won’t be bound by it. But it might last a few years.”
Garander nodded, and looked around. The baron’s party seemed to be settling in for an extended stay; they had pitched tents and set out firepots. Folding chairs, like the one Grondar had been using when Garander returned, were everywhere, but were still insufficient for the throng, leaving most of the soldiers to sit on the fresh-turned earth. It did not look like a group that had come simply to offer a man a job. “Do you think they’re really just here to recruit Tesk?”
“I don’t know,” Grondar admitted.
“What do you think they’ll do if he says no?”
“I think he’d rather go to Ethshar!” Ishta said.
“He might,” Garander said. “Or he might want to stay where he is. I mean, he didn’t want to sleep in our barn or anything; I think he likes living in the forest.”
“That’s just not right,” Grondar said. “For a man to live like that.”
“He’s not really a man,” Garander said. “He’s half demon.”
Grondar grunted unhappily. “He’ll be here today, won’t he?”
“He said he would,” Ishta said.
“He did,” Garander confirmed. “And so far, he’s always done what he said he would.”
Grondar started to reply, but a shout interrupted him. He and his children turned to see what was going on.
The baron’s people were getting to their feet, staring and pointing to the south. Garander turned in that direction.
He noticed from the corner of his eye that his mother and sister were approaching from the house, having presumably finished cleaning up, but that was not what had caused the excitement. No, what had the attention of Lord Dakkar’s company was a flying carpet sailing toward them, perhaps a half-mile away and sixty feet off the ground.
And this time there was not just one figure on it, but half a dozen.
Chapter Eighteen
Garander watched as the carpet glided down to a landing a few feet away. He recognized Zendalir, but the others were strangers—finely-dressed strangers. In fact, their clothes were not quite like anything Garander had seen before, even in the pictures in his mother’s books, and he realized these must be the latest fashions from Ethshar. Shella was probably ecstatic about getting a good look at them; he glanced at his sister’s face, and her expression told him he was right.
He guessed that the woman in the maroon velvet gown with the flared waist was Lady Shasha; she seemed to be in charge. The others were probably a mix of magicians and minor officials. Combined with the baron’s party, Garander was sure this was by far the most people who had ever been on the family farm at one time.
Looking back, he saw that soldiers were leaning into Lord Dakkar’s tent to tell him of this new development, and Velnira was marching across the black earth toward the newcomers.
The woman in the maroon dress stepped off the carpet, and seemed a bit startled by how much her slipper sank into the soft ground, but quickly recovered. She marched toward Grondar.
“I am Lady Shasha of Ethshar, advisor to Edaran, Overlord of Ethshar of the Sands, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Armies and Defender of the Gods,” she announced, looking up at Grondar. “May I ask to whom I am speaking?”
“I’m Grondar of Lullen,” Garander’s father replied. “This is my farm.”
Lady Shasha curtsied. Garander had never before seen a woman do that seriously; until now, the only time he had seen anyone curtsey it had been his mother doing it as mockery. When his mother did it Garander had thought it was ridiculous and had laughed; when Lady Shasha curtsied, it was graceful and elegant
and not laughable at all. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said.
“I didn’t…” Grondar began, but then he stopped. After all, Garander thought, what could he possibly say? He had not invited the overlord’s advisor or her companions, but he was hardly in a position to turn them away. He had known they were coming, and had done nothing to stop them. Instead he managed a crude bow and said, “You’re welcome.”
“I have come to speak with the person who presents himself as shatra, on behalf of Lord Edaran,” she said. “Could you assist me?”
Grondar looked about helplessly, and Garander spoke up. “He should be here soon. He knew you were coming.”
She curtsied again. “Thank you, sir. And you are…?”
“Garander Grondar’s son.”
“I am honored to meet you.”
Garander did not believe that for an instant, but he bowed in acknowledgment. Then he gestured and said, “This is my sister Ishta. She was the one who first met the shatra.”
Lady Shasha nodded, but apparently deemed another curtsy excessive. “That’s my mother, Shella of the Green Eyes,” Ishta said, pointing. “And my sister, Shella the Younger.”
The noblewoman acknowledged the two new arrivals with another nod. “A pleasure,” she said. She raised her head toward Lord Dakkar’s company. “And those?”
“The household of Lord Dakkar, Baron of Varag, my lady,” Velnira said, before anyone else could respond. She had joined the family during the introductions. “I am Velnira, chamberlain to Lord Dakkar.”
“Ah. One of the men who meet at Sardiron of the Waters, this Dakkar?”
Even Garander recognized the deliberate insult in this phrasing, in the refusal to acknowledge any of the baron’s titles or authority. He saw Velnira’s expression harden. “Exactly,” she replied. “The one in whose domain we are standing.”
“It was my understanding that this family owns this land.” She gestured at Grondar and the others.
Velnira did not reply immediately, and Lady Shasha turned back to Grondar. “You say the supposed shatra is expected soon?”
Grondar looked helplessly at Garander, who said, “Yes, my lady.”
“Is there somewhere we might speak privately?”
“Well, I…” Grondar began.
“You will do no such thing!” Velnira snapped. “We will not tolerate foreign overlords conspiring in secret.”
“I regret to say that none of the overlords are with us today,” Lady Shasha answered calmly.
“But their representatives are—and you are not welcome.”
“Oh?” She turned to Grondar again. “Are we unwelcome?”
“I…I don’t…”
“It is not his decision!” Velnira shouted.
“Wait a minute,” Grondar protested.
Before anyone could react, Ishta called, “Look!” She pointed.
Most of the people within earshot looked, and saw Tesk moving toward them in that inhumanly smooth way of his. Ishta had not been the only one to notice; several voices in Lord Dakkar’s camp were raised as well, announcing the shatra’s approach. Hands fell to weapons, or were raised to point; Garander saw weapons being drawn, which he thought was a mistake.
And then Tesk was there, standing amid Garander’s family, looking calmly at Velnira and Lady Shasha. “I understand you wanted to speak with me,” he said. He glanced at the baron’s camp. “There are more of you than I expected.”
Lady Shasha immediately curtsied again, and asked, “You are the shatra?”
“I am.” He did not look at her as he replied, but scanned his surroundings quickly.
“I am delighted to meet you, sir. How should I address you?”
“Ishta calls me Tesk,” the shatra replied, returning his attention to the Ethsharite. “I do not find it objectionable.”
“Very good,” the noblewoman said. “I am Lady Shasha of Ethshar, advisor to Edaran, Overlord of Ethshar of the Sands, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Armies and Defender of the Gods.”
Tesk turned to the other woman. “Who are you?”
“Velnira, chamberlain to Lord Dakkar, baron of Varag.”
Tesk nodded, then turned back to Lady Shasha. “You want to hire me?”
“Lord Edaran wishes to offer you a position in his court, yes.”
“And you,” Tesk said to Velnira. “What does Lord Dakkar want?”
“Why, he, too, wishes to employ you.”
“Why?”
Velnira blinked in surprise. “He thinks you… He thinks he could…”
“He is in that tent?”
“Ah…yes, but…”
“He brought all those people?”
“Yes, he…”
“A job interview does not require soldiers and magicians.”
Velnira opened her mouth, but before she could speak Tesk turned to Lady Shasha. “You brought magicians, too.”
“We did,” Lady Shasha acknowledged. “We wish to study your magic—so much Northern magic was lost forever when the empire fell! Zendalir was hired to provide transportation, while the others are here to evaluate your magical artifacts and abilities. And these two courtiers are here to answer any questions you might have about the overlord’s government, and your prospective position in it.”
That actually sounded quite reasonable to Garander; Lord Dakkar’s actions were not as easily explained away.
“And Lord Dakkar brought his soldiers to protect you from these Ethsharite magicians!” Velnira burst out. “You can’t trust these people. You live in the baron’s territory, and he has come to protect you from these intruders.”
Garander had been focused on this discussion, but a sound distracted him, and he turned to see a dozen of the baron’s soldiers advancing toward Tesk, weapons ready in their hands. Behind them stood a man in a gaudy red-and-gold tunic, with a golden band around his head. At first Garander thought this must be another magician, but then he realized it was Lord Dakkar himself.
“You!” the lead soldier bellowed, pointing a sword at Lady Shasha. “Get away from him!”
Lady Shasha drew herself up to her full height—which was not very great; she barely came to Garander’s shoulder. “I do not take orders from you!” she snapped.
Tesk stepped in front of her. “I am speaking with this person,” he said.
“She’s trespassing!”
“No, she isn’t,” Grondar said, startling Garander. “I invited her.”
“The baron says she’s trespassing!”
“The baron does not own this land,” Grondar replied angrily. “I do!”
“The baron—”
“The baron did not clear this land with his own hands,” Grondar interrupted. “I did. The baron did not plow and sow and reap these fields. The baron did not build this house or that barn. This is my land.”
“This land is under the protection of Lord Dakkar, Baron of Varag,” the soldier insisted.
“This is my land,” Grondar repeated. “I say who comes and goes here.”
Garander stared at his father in astonishment. He had never before heard Grondar say anything about the baron but acceptance and praise. It had always been his mother who expressed doubts about leaving the hegemony of Ethshar and siding with the barons of Sardiron.
But until now the baron had always been far away in Varag, not camping in the west field. Lord Dakkar had never before asserted any claim to Grondar’s farm.
Something rustled, and Garander glanced over to see the flying carpet hovering a foot or so off the ground, apparently ready to take to the air. In the other direction, someone in the baron’s camp shouted for archers.
He turned to Tesk, but the shatra was simply watching and listening, standing between the soldiers and Lady Shasha, but otherwise doing nothing to calm the situation. Ishta was staring wide-eyed at the approaching soldiers, while both Shellas, mother and daughter, were backing away.
“Stop it!” Garander shouted, surpri
sing even himself. “Stop it! You’re being stupid!”
“I am merely presenting Lord Edaran’s offer,” Lady Shasha protested.
“I didn’t mean you,” Garander said. “I meant them!” He pointed at the baron’s men. “Don’t you people realize there are magicians on that carpet? Powerful magicians? And that you’re facing a shatra? I know you didn’t see the demonstration last month, but you must have heard stories about shatra!”
“We have our own magicians,” the lead soldier replied.
“Do you have your own shatra? Do you think you can recruit him by starting a stupid fight?”
“Sheathe your weapons!” the man in red and gold called. “The boy is right.”
The soldiers hesitated, but obeyed, and cleared a path as Lord Dakkar marched up to where Tesk and Grondar’s family stood.
“I am Lord Dakkar, Baron of Varag,” he said. “I have come to discuss your future, shatra.”
“As have I,” Lady Shasha said.
“I do not think my future concerns either of you,” Tesk replied.
“Of course it does!” the baron said.
“Lord Edaran hopes you will consider his offer,” Lady Shasha added.
“What will happen if I do not?” Tesk asked, turning to look over his shoulder at the Ethsharite noblewoman.
Lady Shasha turned up an empty palm. “Who can say? But should you not hear his offer before rejecting it?”
“And my offer as well!” the baron snapped.
Lady Shasha nodded a polite acknowledgment, which the baron greeted with a glower.
“Then present your master’s offer,” Tesk said to Lady Shasha.
“Lord Edaran sends his greetings,” Lady Shasha recited, “and assures you that he understands you owe him no loyalty and are not a subject of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars. This offer is to you individually, from Lord Edaran personally, and is not from any government of Ethshar, past, present, or future. The other overlords of the Hegemony are not involved, nor are any other officials. In recognition of your unique situation, he does not ask or expect any oath of fealty or political concession.
“Lord Edaran offers you a home in Ethshar of the Sands, the exact details to be negotiated to suit your preferences. He offers his full pardon for any past offenses you may have committed against the people of Ethshar in the Great War, and in addition to your lodging a salary equal to that of his senior advisors, which would at present be the sum of thirty-six gold rounds annually. He does not rule out further compensation, to be negotiated upon your arrival within Ethshar’s walls. These terms are offered for an indefinite period, to be terminated at your pleasure, not his own.
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