Daughter of Prophecy (14 page)

While Gillaon and Tellan exchanged pleasantries, Harred allowed himself to be eased aside by the other rhyfelwr, a gravel-voiced man named Llyr. They moved a few paces from the others.

“We saw bodies on the way here,” Llyr rumbled.

Harred related the encounter, brief and to the point.

Llyr waited for more, then nodded. They talked generalities, but beneath it, they probed each other: two warriors instinctively assessing strengths and weaknesses. Harred decided he could best the older man now—but when the Dinari was still in his prime? Probably, but it would have pushed him.

“This goes as planned,” Llyr said, “the Sabinis won't go away quietly. Stay on guard when you leave with the wool. And through the mountains.”

Harred grinned like a wolf. “When you go bear hunting, sometimes the worst thing that happens is finding the bear.”

Llyr's hard gaze bored in; Harred met it square on. Finally, Llyr seemed to reach a conclusion. The tension eased in his meaty shoulders. “You need anything after the sale, let me know. Your fight will be ours.”

Harred nodded, aware he had passed a test of sorts. And he was more than a little pleased.

They rejoined the others. Gillaon was reading the parchment Lord Tellan had brought. Finishing, he rolled it up. “Interesting. My rhyfelwr and I will study this.”

“As will I and my advisors.” Tellan gave a short bow. His face glistened with a salve for his burn. “We meet in my pavilion later?”

Gillaon returned the bow, and the Rogoth party took their leave. When they were out of sight, Gillaon cursed vehemently and thrust the parchment at Harred. “Read!”

Harred struggled with the unfamiliar phrases but got the import of the proposed Sabinis contract. “Why would any Dinari agree to this, m'lord? Our price is two silvers higher.”

Lord Gillaon did not reply. He paced back and forth in the wet grass, hands behind his back, clasping his leather gloves tightly. Stopping, he stared across the way to where bales of wool were stacked and knots of Dinari clansmen gathered around split-rail pens holding breeding stock for sale. Weathered sheepherders vigorously debated the merits of different bloodlines: their hardiness and resistance to disease, ease of lambing, wool quality, even carcass traits when slaughtered for meat.

Following his lord's gaze, Harred searched the grounds for Elmar. At Lord Gillaon's request, Harred had set the mountaineer mingling in the growing crowd, listening for speculations about the upcoming sale. Elmar was perfect for that role. His potbelly and ambling walk hid a keen mind; his easy smile and open manner made friends of new acquaintances within moments.

Finally, at the far edge of the gathering, Harred spotted Elmar with his foot propped on a sheep pen rail, talking and laughing easily to a group of Dinari clansmen.

Gillaon stopped his pacing. His whole body quivered with suppressed emotion. “With the price we offered and Tellan's backing, I thought we had done it. But the Sabinis have countered brilliantly. I sense High Lord Maolmin's input in this.” Gillaon gestured to the parchment and fixed Harred with an anvil-hard stare. “Do you perceive the twofold approach? It is very characteristic of Maolmin. Beyond that, do you sense the subtle threat lurking? It is pure Sabinis.”

As his lord's blue eyes bored into him, Harred realized these were not rhetorical questions, but that he was being tested again. His mind raced, marshalling all he had learned since being appointed rhyfelwr, all the while trying to make sense of the particulars he had just read.

“The twofold approach,” he began slowly, “is vinegar in one hand and honey in the other.” Gillaon's face remained unreadable as he waited for more. “Everything hinges on our partner in the Broken Stone Land,” Harred continued, thinking harder than he ever had before, realizing this was more demanding than any sword bout. “We need his ships to get the wool across the Great Sea and break the Sabinis monopoly. But the Broken Stone Land worships the Mighty Ones. That is the vinegar.”

Gillaon grunted. “Among the nobility it has long been understood that ‘foreign goods' means pagan goods. The Sabinis have used their overseas connections to grow rich by serving as middlemen for pagan and Land trade.” He snorted. “Less than a century ago Queen Cullia's kinsmen group was a minor trading house—until they began handling pagan goods, falsely claiming that they had come from lands that worship the Eternal. Ever since Destin Faber and the Founding, the Dinari have been the staunchest in not dealing with pagans.”

The number of people milling about increased steadily, adding to the clamor of preparations for the festival. Merchants bustled with last-minute preparations of their wares while women waited impatiently. The younger mothers balanced little ones on their hips while toddlers tugged at their skirts. Older children ran excitedly, weaving in and out, barely managing to keep from colliding with the adults.

Gillaon pondered a moment. “This morning I asked the innkeeper about the woman Lady Mererid brought back yesterday. She is their new Albane tutor. Albanes are renowned for their determination not to deal with pagans.” He cut his eyes at Harred. “Your mother's mother was an Albane, correct?”

“Aye, m'lord,” Harred said, once again impressed with Gillaon's memory for seemingly minor details. “She never got over her daughter marrying my father.”

“Do you see any significance with this Albane tutor?”

“No, m'lord.”

“Nether do I, but the last thing we need for our plans to work is these conservative Dinari screaming that the Covenant prohibits trading with pagans.”

When Gillaon went silent, Harred continued with his analysis of the Sabinis contract. “The honey is a three-year guaranteed price from a buyer they have dealt with for years, clansmen and followers of the Eternal.”

“A bold move! The Sabinis, with Maolmin in the background, already control the selling of Dinari export wool. With this they tie up the source as well and prevent us from buying significant amounts for two more years!” He cocked an eyebrow at Harred. “And the threat?”

“For the next three years, the Sabinis will not buy wool without a contract.”

“Exactly. If my Broken Stone merchant cheats me or the Sabinis prevent us from hauling the wool across the mountains, then I cannot repay the gold I have borrowed, and I will be ruined. Then you can be sure that Tellan and any other lords who take our offer will not be able to sell their wool for the next two years.” Gillaon smiled thinly. “Their kinsmen will rise up and take their heads.”

A group of young clansmen walked by. They eyed Harred and Gillaon with speculation, then strolled on, muttering among themselves. More than one looked back over his shoulder, the undercurrent of tension plain. Everyone knew that important events were afoot.

While Gillaon brooded, Harred thought of his dead grandmother, a praying woman who could quote long passages of Holy Writ from memory. With a clarity that was startling, Harred remembered an incident with her that he had not thought about in years. He must have been ten or eleven at most. One day a week, Gran baked sweet rolls for the grandchildren. That particular afternoon Harred lingered after the others left, talking to her, enjoying the warmth and smells of the hearth. Gran brought the conversation around to the Eternal and read several passages from hand-copied portions of the Holy Book. Then Harred knelt with her. They prayed, and in the Albane manner Harred swore fealty and asked the Eternal to indwell him.

After they rose to their feet and Gran wiped the tears from her eyes, a strange thing happened. Seizing his right arm, she held it aloft and intoned: “Thus saith the Eternal! ‘This arm will fight for the Land as did Destin Faber. It will be a mighty tool for my purposes.'”

For a few days afterwards, Harred came by and read Holy Writ with her. Then chores and games with his friends intruded, and he stopped. Gran kept asking him to come again, but he never did. On his first day of formal warrior training, Harred had remembered that afternoon with Gran, but he had not thought of it since—until today.

He brought his focus back. All these layers to what seemed a simple wool sale still amazed him. Knowing more explanations would have to wait until another time, he asked, “What will Tellan do, m'lord?”

“Before hearing your report about the stable last night, I would have said he would have no choice but to sign the Sabinis contract. Now . . . I wonder.” Gillaon pressed his lips together firmly; he slapped his gloves into his hand. “Much will depend on what happens between Tellan and Maolmin at the meeting.”

Chapter Twelve

R
HIANNON

P
HELAN POPPED HIS
head inside the door. “Father's back to escort us to the sale. But something is going on. Everyone is in Mother's room.”

Rhiannon waited impatiently while Lakenna tied the last of the hair ribbons.

The tutor stepped back, gave one last look, and nodded. “The slippers are just right.”

Although her feet were much larger than Mererid's, the doeskin slippers fit perfectly. Rhiannon's tread felt unusually light as she and Lakenna stepped across the hallway to her parents' room.

Mererid stood by the table reading a sheet of parchment. She wore her favorite gown: a dark wine velvet with a high collar of ivory lace. Her hair was swept back off her face, softly twisted behind, and held in place by a silver-topped ivory hairpin.

Tellan, Girard, Llyr, and Creag waited impatiently. High Lord Keeper Branor, dressed in Keeper black, waited as well. His cloak and robe looked clean and ironed. He must have prevailed upon one of the serving girls to launder them for him. The Keeper's eyes flickered between Mererid, Tellan, and Llyr, a faint questioning look on his features.

Rhiannon's stomach tightened at the tense atmosphere. From her father's dark expression, she realized this day—the most important day of the year—was off to a bad start. However, when Tellan's eyes rested on her, his expression brightened. “I scarce believe this is my daughter. Here stands a woman, full-grown and beautiful.” He stepped toward her and gave a slight bow. “Though it is a few weeks early, may I bid
Lady
Rhiannon welcome?”

Warm pleasure infused her, momentarily damping her concern at the tension in the room.

Branor gave her a bow as well. “Lord Tellan is richly blessed to have two such beautiful women.”

Flustered at the unexpected attention, Rhiannon acknowledged the Keeper's bow with a tilt of her head.

When Creag saw her, his eyebrows climbed and his jaw dropped. Then he spoiled the moment, of course. “Where is your sword? Surely you are—”

“Be quiet, Creag!” Mererid said without looking up from her reading. “I will listen to none of your and Rhiannon's bickering this day.”

Tellan turned and gave a bow to Mererid. “Before we go any further, my lady wife, let me echo the Keeper's comments. With you and Rhiannon, the Eternal has indeed blessed me beyond all measure.”

Mererid looked up at her husband and searched his face. “Yes, Tellan Rogoth, we are blessed with each other. No matter what happens this day, let us all cling to that.”

Then Mererid lowered the parchment in her hands and gazed at Rhiannon. Her eyes moistened. “You are radiant this morning, daughter. You will do all our kinsmen proud.”

Rhiannon felt her cheeks heat as she struggled again with an unfamiliar mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.

‘Now,” Mererid said, her focus returning to the parchment sheet. “Loreteller, rhyfelwr, I would hear your opinions on this.”

Girard spoke first. “It seems straightforward. A three-year contract. If we do not accept it but sell to Lord Gillaon instead and his plan is unsuccessful, then for the next two years we will be at the mercy of the Sabinis to purchase our finest export wool at whatever price they choose to offer.”

Mererid scanned the parchment again and sighed.

“The Sabinis will not bid this morning,” Llyr growled, “but guarantee a set price for three years whether the overseas markets go up or down.”

“The price is the same as last year's,” Girard added.

“Which was lower than the year before, which was lower than the previous year,” Llyr finished.

Mererid handed the contract to Rhiannon, and she read eagerly. As the advisors had said, Clan Sabinis offered to buy all the top-grade wool the signee could produce for this year and two more at the price of two silvers per standard weight bale. She handed the parchment to Branor.

“Three years hence, when the contract expires,” her father said as Branor read, “what then? With no competition, what price can we expect? That is what all our efforts with the Arshessa have been about: to receive true market value, not having these Sabinis take turns underbidding each other!” He shook his head. “I recognize High Lord Maolmin's heavy hand in this.”

“Has Lord Gillaon responded?” Mererid asked.

“He consults with his rhyfelwr.”

“And the other kinsmen lords? What are their thoughts?”

“They too consult with advisors and will join us when Gillaon arrives at our pavilion.”

Mererid swung her cloak on with a flourish. “It seems, then, we will have many guests. The food?”

“My wife is taking care of that, m'lady” Girard said. “All will be brought soon after we arrive.”

Mererid slid her arm though Tellan's and looked at the group brightly. “The coming meeting should prove most interesting.”