Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  "That I shall intercept those Clans going to the Anduras Fair in Jkatha and send them here. It is not so far from here, a week's ride, and they were going out behind us. Some Clans drew lots to send their beasts abroad beyond Kata'shin'a'in, and that was one of the places. They were to wait for us and your armed escort before returning to the Plains."

  The last time that the Shin'a'in had gone to Anduras Fair was when Tale'sedrin had been ambushed on the way home, and only Tarma left as a survivor. Kero clamped her teeth on her first reaction; that the fear of glut must have been very great to send horses again to a place so ill-omened.

  "As I said, they set out after us; and Anduras is not so great a distance that we cannot coax the buyers here to wait, I think." Sa'dassan smiled slyly, and Kero chuckled.

  "And in return for that coaxing, you will, of course, get a percentage of their profits." She shook her head.

  Sa'dassan spread her hands wide. "Value for value, and reward for the deserving—that is how the Clans have always been, cousin. And lest you hold up to me that first fair, and the horses we brought you—let me point out that you are Clan by blood, and we only delivered to you your own share that had been unclaimed."

  Kero shrugged. "I won't argue with you, if that's the way you see it—but look, will you trust me and mine with your earnings in return? You're going to lose time going down and back and the best is going to be gone by the time you return; if you'll leave your needs and your coin with Scratcher, I think he can get everything you want at the price you want."

  Sa'dassan thought the idea over with her head tilted to the side, then nodded. "He provisions your people; doubtless he has the skill and the contacts. Done, then, and that is a kinly offer."

  I think they're going to get a pleasant surprise, Kero thought, leading Sa'dassan back to the accounting office and Scratcher's domain. They're good—but he's better! He hasn't lost a bargaining session once that I ever heard of!

  With that settled, the Shin'a'in saw no reason to linger; they left their tents, but gathered up their belongings and headed south with a speed and efficiency that Kero could only envy. She saw them off, then made her rounds of town and fortress—

  Only to discover that everything was running perfectly smoothly. By nightfall she had inspected every aspect of fair and training and provisioning, and concluded that she might as well not even be there.

  She sat down on her bed, pulled off her boots, and looked out of her window as a cool breeze stirred her hair. The fortress was quiet—the recruits and veterans alike were kept too busy by training and the fair to carouse much in the barracks after the sun went down. Besides, why carry on at home, when there were both the old familiar haunts of the town and the new amusements of the fair to tempt you out of the gates each night?

  Lights burned out beyond the walls and the sounds of music and voices drifted toward the barracks on the breeze; both the town and the fair kept late hours. She found herself wondering where on the road those Valdemar men were tonight. They had been in such a hurry that they hadn't even looked at the fair.

  And that made her think, think ahead. Tarma had taught her to think in terms of the greater picture as well as her own little part of it. You never knew when something happening hundreds of leagues away would affect you. If I were a Queen looking to strengthen my forces, what would I do? Assuming that I have a stupid prejudice against hiring mercs.

  For a moment, as she stared out at the lights of the fair, and the colored shapes of the tents lit up from within, like fire-flowers, she thought she heard Eldan's voice, faint and far off, protesting, "That's not fair!"

  She ignored that imagined voice. You're not real, and you aren't here, and anyway, you aren't interested in me anymore, she thought sternly, to exorcise the persistent ghost.

  There were no more outbursts from her overheated imagination.

  Well, as far as she, a strategist, was concerned, it was a stupid prejudice. Merc Companies had, more than once, won wars. People who refused to hire them had, more than once, lost those wars.

  The young and idealistic fight for medals and honor, she thought cynically. The experienced and worldly-wise fight for money. You see a lot more retired mercs than old farmers with a chest full of medals. That was, after all, the goal of a successful merc; to live long enough and collect enough to retire, usually on one's own land. Many mercs came out of multichild families without a chance for land of their own, and this was their only way to earn it.

  But that was a digression. If Kero were this Queen, what would she do?

  Conscript those private troops the Guardsman talked about. Get them equipped with the best. While they're in place, start calling up volunteers, and if you can't get enough volunteers, start conscription. Rush those troops through training. And start calling in any debts my allies owe me.

  She had a mental map of everything as far north as the mountains above Valdemar, and as far south as the Bitter Sea; west to the Pelagirs and the Plains, east to the High Kingdom of Brendan. And the only allies she could think of that Valdemar might possibly have in this conflict would be Iftel and Rethwellan.

  Iftel would be logical, but—dear gods, they are strange there. The Shin'a'in Warrior doesn't intervene half as often as the Wind Lords. I can't see Iftel mixing up in this unless they're threatened. Which leaves Rethwellan. Now, Karse is between Rethwellan and Hardorn, but they might be able to persuade King Faramentha that Hardorn could threaten Rethwellan if they overran southern Valdemar. Which means the next logical step will be for the Queen to send an envoy to the Rethwellan Court.

  The fair really interested her very little, these days. Most of her entertainment came from acting as her cousins' agent. She used to help train the new recruits, but that was back in the days when they were shorthanded. There were others that were better trainers, and she knew when to get the hell out of the way. Basically, all she did in winter quarters, was keep herself in training, study strategy, keep the books straight, get familiar with the strengths and weaknesses of the recruits, study the political situation with an eye to offers in the spring, and carve her little gemstones. Of all of them, Scratchier could keep the books by himself, the new recruits wouldn't be showing anything distinct for another couple of months, the gemstones could wait—and the rest could be done elsewhere.

  Furthermore, right now, living here at the Fortress was—painful. She kept looking for faces that wouldn't be here anymore. It happened every year, certainly, and it took her a couple of months to get over it—but they'd never made it home this early before, and she kept seeing the backs of head that looked familiar—until the owner turned, and it was a new recruit. It would be a relief to get away until the pain faded with time, the pain that always came when she sent someone out who didn't come back again.

  It will be a relief to sleep in a strange bed. Maybe the dreams won't find me there.

  And yet, part of her wanted them so badly—

  No.

  Before she realized it, she'd made up her mind to leave. And that trip to Rethwellan seemed a bit more important than it had before.

  Lord Baron Dudlyn had plainly just begun his diatribe. Daren jabbed his heel into the side of his hunter, making the gelding jump and dance in surprise, and giving him an excuse to concentrate on the horse.

  Because if he didn't, he was going to laugh in Lord Baron Dudlyn's face. The hunt's hardly started, and already he's complaining. Too bad we're at a walk. I wish the dogs would scent something besides rabbits; once we take off, he'll be left behind.

  The old man moved his fat old palfrey out of the way of the gelding's path, and actually shook his finger up at Daren. "I tell you, I don't know what this Court is coming to!" he shouted querulously. "It's a disgrace, I tell you! You brother is King of this land, and he can't go accepting barbarian mercenaries that are no better than bandits as equals to members of his Court and ambassadors from other realms! That mercenary female, that so-called Captain, is making a mockery of all of us! I haven't seen such
a disgraceful display since that wild Shin'a'in female showed up, back in your blessed father's day—"

  Daren decided to end the lecture by dancing his gelding out of the Lord Baron's vocal range. Not that the Lord Baron didn't try to increase his volume—

  But aged lungs can only produce so much wind.

  He grinned as he spurred his gelding to catch up with the front of the hunting party. His brother was up there, as the King had to be, which had left Daren to be polite to the old dotards, show-offs, and those with more bravado than sense in the rear. For a while, anyway. Depending on what the hounds turned up next, at least half of the party might well be left behind or turn back voluntarily, as they had during the morning hunt.

  I haven't had so much fun in a year, he thought with glee, as the gelding spotted his stable mate and put on an extra burst of speed to catch up with him. It's a good thing that Kero and Faram hit it off so well, though. Otherwise the Lord Baron might not be the only one complaining. And it would be damned hard to keep the peace around here.

  Just as he reached the two of them, Kero on her ugly gray warsteed, and Faram on his pure Shin'a'in-bred chestnut, one of the hounds flushed a pheasant. Two bows came up at the same time; two bowstrings hummed at once—but when the retrievers brought the bird back, and the huntsman took it from the dog's gentle mouth to present it to the King, it was obvious that Faram's arrow had gone wide of the mark, and Kero had outshot him once again.

  And for at least the twentieth time this morning, the courtiers were scandalized. There was a hum of comment behind Daren, and he heard the Lord Baron's voice rising unpleasantly above the rest, though he couldn't make out the words.

  "You've beaten me again, Captain," Faram said ruefully, handing the bird to the gamekeepers to stow with the rest. "I'm not exactly a bad shot, but I find myself very glad now that you turned down my offer to wager on the outcome of this contest." He looked back over his shoulder, past Daren, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he suppressed a grin. "I am afraid that my courtiers don't approve of your manner, however. No subject is supposed to outshoot the King."

  Kero chuckled as Daren pulled up next to Kero, putting her in between himself and his brother. "My Lord," she replied, "I may live in your Kingdom, but I've seen the Mercenary Guild Charter for Rethwellan. I'm a Freeholder by that Charter, and no subject of anyone's."

  "An excellent point, and it seems that you are as much lawyer as fighter." The King looked across Kero at his brother. "You did warn me, didn't you, Daren?"

  "I did. About her scholarship and her skills. I said that Tarma called her a 'natural' when we were learning together. I said I didn't think she'd let any of her skills slip just because she was a Captain. And you kept saying I was exaggerating." Daren shrugged expansively. "Will you believe me when I tell you something now?"

  "I suppose I'll have to. You keep telling me 'I told you so' at every opportunity." Faram turned his attention back to Kero, as his horse shook his head. "What I would really like to know is how you learned to shoot so well—we both had the same teacher, but you never seem to miss. I'd suspect you of magic if you weren't so entirely unmagical."

  Kero bit her lip as if she was trying to keep from laughing, and replied, "My lord, the fact is that you have never been either on the front line or dependent entirely on your own skill to keep your belly full. I think you'd find that the two harshest teachers in the world are survival and hunger. I've had both, and trust me, they make a difference."

  "On the whole," Faram admitted, "I think I'd prefer to skip that sort of lessoning. I'm too old for those teachers."

  "You're too fond of your comforts, brother," Daren jibed. Faram was about to retort—but at exactly that moment, the head of the boar-pack belled, and the entire pack started off. Daren's mount lurched from a walk into a gallop, and as he passed the huntsmen who were whistling in the retrievers, he grinned.

  This was a hunt meant to supply the Court with meat for the Sovvan Feast tonight. If Sovvan hunt-luck meant luck for the rest of the winter, as the old folks said it did, the winter would be a prosperous and easy one. Already they'd brought down a half-dozen deer this morning—several bachelor bucks and a couple of does that everyone agreed were past their bearing prime. That was enough venison that Faram had sent back the deerhounds and brought up the boar-hounds. The Queen and her ladies were coursing the woods and meadows nearer the Palace, taking their hawks out after birds and hare.

  Most of the ladies, that is—

  He looked back over his shoulder, to see that the handful of women who'd ridden out with the King's party were still there, keeping up valiantly, and already outdistancing the likes of the Lord Baron.

  Last year there hadn't been any women with the King's party, but since Kero's arrival—and example—there were a respectable number of ladies exchanging their skirts for full-cut breeches, and riding neck-and-knee with the men. And some of those ladies were not young; Lady Sarnedelia, who had a formidable reputation as a rider on her own estate, had hailed Kero's "innovation" with relief and enthusiasm. She was right up there beside the best of the riders, proving rumor to be truth—and she was fifty if she was a day.

  I can't help but wonder how many others would have joined us, but weren't willing to risk losing suitors or enraging husbands. I know the Lord Baron's daughter looked as if she'd rather have been with us. His granddaughter is, and I'll bet that's what kicked off that tirade about "disgrace." Of course, she's safely wedded to young Randel, and she can snap her fingers at what her grandfather thinks, since her loving spouse thinks that everything she does is wonderful. And if I could find a lady that suited me as well as she suits him, I'd probably think the same. Huh. Wonder whatever happened to that little prig Daren, who was horrified at the notion of "Lady Kerowyn" riding to hunt exactly like this? Maybe he grew up.

  He leaned forward into his horse's neck, ducking a low-hanging tree limb. He saw a fallen trunk just ahead of them, and braced himself for the jump.

  The gelding took it, but stumbled; he recovered quickly, but not before he'd made Daren's teeth rattle.

  They broke through a screening of bushes into a clearing, and ahead of him Daren saw Kero's big, ugly mare sail over another fallen tree-giant with a twinge of envy. The Shin'a'in-blood was taking rough ground with a contemptuous ease that left most of the other horses faltering or outright refusing. About the only ones that were keeping up with her were himself, the King, and the huntsmen.

  And probably only because we have Shin'a'in-breds, too. Though not like that. No wonder people would kill to get a warsteed.

  This boar was leading the hounds a merry chase; he was obviously fast and canny. I hope he's the one they wanted us to go after; he's surely acting as if he was the bad one. The local farmers had reported some trouble with an unusually large and evil-tempered boar to the King's huntsmen—a boar who had already killed one swineherd and wounded others, stealing their herds of pigs for his harem when they took the beasts into the forest after fallen acorns. That was why they'd hunted stag this morning; to give the horses a chance to run off any skittishness before going after such a dangerous beast as a boar.

  That's the one time I've seen Kero back down from something, he thought, as the trail wound deeper into the forest, and the horses were forced to slow their headlong gallop. When she said she'd stay a-horse, even Faram was surprised. But then she's never fought on foot, and she didn't even bring a proper boar-spear with her, just that saddle-quiver full of lances.

  Curious weapons, those; Daren had never seen anything like them. She had told him that they were used by the Shin'a'in, and it was obvious that they were not intended for game—those were man-killing weapons, with narrow, razor-barbed metal heads as long as Daren's hand.

  Well, maybe if it runs, she can sting it with one of those and turn it for us.

  The pack was belling ahead of them, and the huntsman sounding the "brought to cover" call on his horn. The horses emerged into a tiny clearing before a covert; tha
t was obviously where the boar had holed up, and now they were going to have to flush him into the open.

  While Kero stayed on horseback as she'd pledged, the rest dismounted and went ahead on foot. The pack was still ahead of them, and the huntsman sounded the "broken cover" call. Daren broke into a trot; he heard Kero's horse behind him, eeling through dense brush that even he was having trouble with, afoot.

  The sound of the pack changed, just as the huntsman sounded "brought to bay."

  Daren vaulted a tangle of roots, and burst out into a clearing. The boar was standing off the pack; he was an enormous brute, with a wide, scarred back. Not a wild boar at all, but a domestic beast gone feral.

  That made him all the more dangerous. Daren pulled himself up before charging into the fray, and looked at his brother.

  Faram read the plan in Daren's look and nod—they'd hunted boar together for years now, and needed only a glance to determine what the other intended. This time Daren would be the bait.

  The huntsmen pulled the pack back at his command, and while Faram moved quietly around the edge of the clearing, Daren shouted at the boar, getting ready to drop to his knee or dodge aside at any moment. The success of this tactic lay in the fact that once a boar this big began a charge, it had trouble changing direction quickly, and its poor eyesight interfered with its ability to follow anything moving in a way it didn't expect. You only had to avoid those slashing tusks—

  Only. "Hey!" he yelled at it, stamping one foot. "Hey!"

  It waved its head from side to side, nose up in the air, seeking a scent that the musk of the dogs covered—then saw him, and charged perfectly down the center of the clearing.

  He leapt aside at the last possible moment; saw the flash of a tusk as it made a strike for him. Then he leapt back before it had a chance to change direction, jabbing down at the heart with his boar-spear, knocked off balance for a moment, as Faram ran in from the side a heartbeat later to plunge his own spear into the boar's back.