Daughter of Prophecy (15 page)

The Rogoth party walked across the stone bridge arching over the Clundy.

“This move by the Sabinis has everyone talking,” Creag informed Rhiannon importantly. They walked behind their parents, who were flanked by Llyr, Girard, and Keeper Branor. Lakenna and Phelan brought up the rear. “The contract will change the way wool is sold from now on.”

“And who told you that?”

“I read it the same as you!” He frowned at her look of doubt. “Girard helped me some, but I read it! The change is plain if one thinks about it. A known price for three years? Lord Gillaon was concerned. Ask Girard. Llyr spent most his time talking to the other rhyfelwr.”

Rhiannon's interest increased, but she spoke with studied casualness. “Lord Gillaon's rhyfelwr? He is young for that, don't you think?”

“Llyr doesn't seem to think so. While we were walking back to the Bridge, Girard asked Llyr what he thought after talking to—Harred?” At Rhiannon's nod, Creag went on. “Llyr said Lord Gillaon knows what he is doing and that Harred is solid.”

That gave her a warm glow. They walked in silence for a moment, then Creag lowered his voice. “What did High Lord Keeper Branor say about the winged horrors last night? Are more Keepers coming? I asked Llyr, but he said Father will need to tell me.”

She gave him a brief account of the night's discussion. Creag's eyes widened when he heard that Branor was the one who had given Rhiannon's birthing prophecy and widened even more when he heard about Lakenna's role in killing the horrors.

He snorted. “It was all High Lord Keeper Branor. Everyone knows that Albanes don't fight, much less their women!”

“Without Lakenna,” Rhiannon hissed, angry at his smug tone, “we all would have been . . . !” She bit back the rest when Mererid glanced over her shoulder at them with a frown.

Faint tentacles of morning mist still hovered above the grass of the festival area when they arrived. The buzz of excitement increased steadily. All present were dressed in their finest. Many called out greetings and best wishes for a successful day as the Rogoth party made its way through the throng. Rhiannon held back to walk with Lakenna and Phelan. She could sense the tutor's excitement at the spectacle before them.

Merchant booths displayed all manner of expensive wares: bolts of brightly colored cloth, jewelry, glassware, oil lamps with fancy globes, leather goods, dyes, exotic spices from distant lands with unpronounceable names. All were being eagerly picked over by wives and older girls, though hardly any buying was going on at the moment. Later, once the sales had concluded at noon and gold and silver coins had traded hands, they would drag husbands and fathers back to show them the latest thing their family must have.

Noting how Lakenna's head swiveled back and forth as they walked, Rhiannon asked, “Do Albanes have festivals?”

“Yes, but not the size of this!” Lakenna gestured at the booths. “There is more here than we have at three of our festivals put together.” She gave a wry grin. “Admittedly, Albanes have the deserved reputation of squeezing coins until they cry out. I guess many merchants choose more fertile fields.”

“Just wait until we go to the Fall Gathering,” Creag said over his shoulder. “It is three times bigger than this. Those who have been to the festival during the Raedel in Ancylar say that is ten times bigger than that.”

Lakenna shook her head in amazement.

Beyond the booths were places set aside for contests of strength, agility, and other skills. Targets for archery, knife, spear, and ax throwing dotted the area. In addition, ropes ringed off spaces for engagements with wooden practice swords. That event took place in the afternoon with heavy wagering on the outcome as kinsmen and family groups backed their favorites. Rhiannon sighed, keenly missing the weight of her sword hanging from her waist.

In the very center of the fairgrounds, women and servants tended large cooking pits where sausages and thick pieces of bacon roasted. Fat drippings sizzled on the hot coals, sending up rolls of gray smoke heavy with spicy aroma. Ove, the Rogoth ancient household servant, was in her glory as she moved her spare frame about the pit, gesturing with her cane, ordering her workers about with a no-nonsense attitude and a sharp tongue. Rhiannon's stomach rumbled as they passed young boys and girls scurrying back and forth carrying wooden platters to clansmen and merchants doing business among the bales of wool.

Opposite the pits stood the pavilions of the three kinsmen lords. Their colorful banners fluttered on poles high above the throng.

“Ours is the red one on the right, the white ram with triple spiral horns,” Phelan pointed out proudly to Lakenna as he held on to her hand. “The middle banner, the sky blue one with the pair of grasping lions, is the Fawr kinsmen. They are the largest in the Clundy valley, and Mother says Lady Aigneis never lets anyone forget it.”

“Phelan!” Rhiannon chided.

“The black banner on the left,” he went on unfazed, “the one with the red raven, belongs to the Leanons. Lord Baird is old; he and grandsire were great friends. When Lord Baird drinks too much and no women are around he curses every other word and tells better stories than Girard—”

“Phelan Rogoth!” Rhiannon said, giving him her sternest glare as they entered through the folded-back opening of the Rogoth pavilion. “That is enough!”

Lakenna winked at Rhiannon. “I do look forward to meeting all these, Master Phelan. You can tell me more later.”

Carpets had been laid out to floor the pavilion. Under Girard's wife's direction, several children hustled about placing platters of food on two long tables covered with red and white linens. The platters contained steaming sausages and bacon, cheese, nuts, and loaves of dark bread. Each end of the tables held stacks of pewter plates, mugs, and pitchers of hot punch.

The first person to greet the Rogoth party as they entered was Bowyn Garbhach, a sheepherder and the head of the largest of the three family groups that made up the Rogoth kinsmen. He was the acknowledged spokesman for the other two and, as such, was always present when the wool was sold. A thick bear of a man, he possessed a large head and flat nose with widely spaced nostrils. His short-cropped hair was peppered with gray. He nodded respectfully. “M'lord, m'lady. The Eternal's blessing on you on this day.”

Tellan and Mererid echoed the greeting. Mererid hurried on toward the tables.

Bowyn remained in front of Tellan. The family head's voice took on an edge that Rhiannon had not heard from the man before. “'Tis a buzz about the grounds about this Sabinis offer, m'lord.” He shifted his feet and squared his shoulders. “Me and the other family heads are a'wondering how you'll be responding.”

Mererid halted and turned back; a slight frown wrinkled her brow. Branor and Lakenna stopped side by side. They eyed each other, then edged apart. Lakenna moved to Rhiannon's side. Branor stood a pace from them, hands clasped behind his back.

Tellan regarded the family head calmly. “Tell me what the others are saying.”

“Lord Tellan, Lady Mererid,” Bowyn began gravely, as if he had not just greeted them. He raised his chin. “Lord Tellan, Lady Mererid, begging your pardons, but I'll be having a hard time explaining to my people why we did not take this offer.” He removed a parchment from inside his shirt. “Once this is signed and sealed, it becomes like a letter of credit. It can be brought to any moneylender as collateral. Coins to buy more stock, clear more pastures, expand production. Many of us have children grown and married and longing for their own start. This gives them a way.”

Tellan, Mererid, Girard, Branor, and Llyr exchanged looks. Looking back at Bowyn, Tellan said, “And where did that insight come from?”

Mererid moved closer until she stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband. “Yes,” she said, eyes glittering, “matters of trade, letters of credit, and dealing with moneylenders normally are handled by nobles. Pray tell us, kinsman, whom do we thank for this information?”

Bowyn did not flinch. “High Lord Maolmin. One of his men came at first light this morning and brought me to him. The High Lord read me this contract and explained about letters of credit and how they can be used.” He met Mererid's gaze levelly. “It may be nobles' dealings, m'lady, and I may be naught but a simple sheepherder, but I understood it right enough.”

“A simple sheepherder!” Tellan edged in front of Mererid, who took a small step back. “Always have I relied on your advice. Bowyn Garbhach's wisdom has kept me from more mistakes than I care to think about.”

The tension in the family head's stance relaxed a bit, and a pleased expression flickered across his features.

While Rhiannon noted how the respect and man-to-man inflection in her father's voice was bridging the gap threatening to open between them, she recognized the glint in her father's eyes and understood well the reason. One of the sacred duties of a clan lord was to shield his kinsmen from any nobleman who might use his position to take advantage of commoners. But the reverse was equally revered, and it was a grave breach of clan protocol for Maolmin to have undermined another lord like this
.

Girard's and Llyr's feelings on the matter were plain. The loreteller's mouth was a thin slash with turned-down edges. Llyr regarded Bowyn with a piercing stare that would have had a lesser man's feet shifting in a nervous fidget. Branor's face was unreadable.

But Rhiannon knew Bowyn would not be cowed easily. He had strapped on his sword innumerable times and ridden at the head of his men when Tellan called the Rogoth kinsmen out to deal with lawbreakers and other matters of clan justice.

The family head nodded gravely at the compliment. “Aye, m'lord, you've always given my opinion due consideration. That makes my duties easier. Most matters that come to me, I see solved myself. But when that's not possible and I say I'll take it before you, my people know they will receive justice.”

Girard's wife had finished the food preparations. She came up to the group and stood by her husband, but then she seemed to detect the tense atmosphere and she frowned.

Bowyn scrubbed a thick hand through his hair. “Difficult times these last years. We've all felt the pinch, and the extra coins from Lord Gillaon's offer would be welcome indeed. But as followers of the Eternal, many of us have strong feelings about our wool going to the Broken Stone Land.”

Lakenna suddenly stiffened as she stood beside Rhiannon. That revelation affected Branor as well. He went deadly still, and his forehead broke into small frown lines.

“We deal with Lord Gillaon Tarenester, Clan Arshessa,” Tellan replied evenly. “What he does with his property after he purchases it is between him and the Eternal.”

The big shepherd's eyes flicked knowingly to Branor, then back to Tellan. “High Lord Maolmin desires all Dinari to remain true to the Covenant. He is most concerned about the Arshessa and their new friendship with the pagans. Like the High Lord explained this morning, the Sabinis contract will give us a way to increase our flocks and realize extra coins while staying true to the Covenant and not angering the Eternal. That's a strong consideration.”

Branor's frown deepened. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Tellan's reserve cracked; his lips whitened and his nostrils flared, but Mererid gently put a hand on his elbow. With visible effort, the Rogoth lord regained control.

“I hear you, kinsman,” he said. “First, will you help in dealing with letters of credit and moneylenders? I have not asked for your participation before because that is how my father and his father before him did. As I said, I have need of your wisdom.”

Bowyn rocked back and forth on his heels as he tried unsuccessfully to keep another pleased expression off his face. “I am at your service, m'lord.”

“Excellent. Now, advise me how should I deal with a family member who approached me with a matter before coming to you.”

Bowyn frowned. “And who was that? Send him to me, and I will set him straight on our line of authority.”

“Just so.” Tellan's voice hardened. “Next, advise me how to deal with High Lord Maolmin about his interference with one of my family heads.”

Bowyn's rocking ceased. He glanced from Tellan to Mererid, then Girard, Branor, and Llyr. The silence stretched. Finally, Bowyn cleared his throat. “I . . . I did not see it in that light. The High Lord requested my presence, and I went.”

“In the future, if any person requests your presence before any lord—Maolmin, Gillaon, or any other lord but myself—you escort that person immediately to me. If he resists, even a warrior or nobleman, you truss him belly down on a horse and send it trotting right along. I will be responsible for the consequences.” Tellan jutted his chin forward. “Fail to heed me in this, Bowyn Garbhach, and you will encounter my wrath.”

Bowyn bobbed his head. “Yes, m'lord. I will—”

The large Fawr party burst noisily into the pavilion, filling it with their presence. As always, Lady Aigneis led the way. Slender and dignified in a light green gown and a necklace of emeralds and white opals, she eyed the pavilion's furnishings with a faintly disapproving air.

Tellan took no notice. “And if it is my decision to sell our Rogoth wool to Lord Gillaon for half again more than the Sabinis offer?”

Kinsmen lord and family head stood face-to-face with locked eyes. Tellan's expression was hard enough to chop wood.

Finally a slight slump came to Bowyn's shoulders, and Rhiannon knew the challenge was past. “As always, m'lord, we follow your lead.”

Tellan clapped the man on the shoulder.

“Lord Tellan,” Branor said, worry evident behind his eyes. “I must urge you in the strongest possible terms not to go against High Lord Maolmin in this matter—”

In came the much smaller Leanon party. Even this early, Lord Baird had his ever-present tankard. Rhiannon had rarely seen the man without it.