Daughter of Prophecy (18 page)

Harred bore the High Lord's penetrating gaze. “I had that honor, High Lord.”

“And the year before?”

“That one, too.” Harred gestured deferentially. “But it is well known how you won the Dinari bouts ten years running before allowing others a chance. That is a feat of arms none is likely to surpass.”

Maolmin tilted his head in acknowledgment. Then he turned back to Rhiannon and regarded her silently. “How do you feel about your family's dealings with the Broken Stone Land?” His lips twitched in what seemed amusement. “Are the Sabinis so bad that you must deal with pagans?”

“As you know,” Rhiannon said carefully, “that decision lies with my father and his advisors.”

The hint of a smile continued to play around Maolmin's mouth. Then, abruptly, his manner and his eyes changed. Maolmin's body seemed to swell; his black eyes rippled. “I believe you will be among those eligible to be presented to Prince Larien at our Gathering.”

“Yes, High Lord,” Rhiannon said, unnerved. “I will be of age by then.”

“Have you been to Faber Castle?”

“No, High Lord.”

“Have you met the prince?”

“I have not had that honor.”

“Of course not,” Maolmin stated with finality.

A chill crept into Rhiannon's bones even as sweat popped out on her forehead. She swallowed again, trying to work moisture back into her mouth. Maolmin's dark eyes bored deeper into her mind, and she felt herself drawn into—

“Mistress Rhiannon,” Lakenna said shakily, stepping rudely in front of the High Lord. “I must talk to you, Mistress.”

Rhiannon sagged at the release. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

The skin on the tutor's face was taut, her eyes concerned. For a commoner to interrupt two nobles talking was unheard of, and Lakenna's expression showed she was aware of that.

“Be gone, woman!” Maolmin's fingers curled like talons. “You have no part of this!”

Lakenna paid no heed. “Mistress Rhiannon, I must talk to you . . . alone.” The tutor's mouth pressed firmly together and sweat shone on her upper lip.

Those milling about the pavilion watched with interest but politely maintained their distance. Lord Gillaon talked to Lord Baird and Lady Lola. A few paces beyond, the three Sabinis merchants had cornered Tellan, Mererid, and the two Fawrs, though Aigneis was doing most of the talking.

Branor walked up on wobbly legs and halted next to Harred. The Keeper seemed to be still struggling with an inner combination of shock and disbelief as he gazed at the High Lord.

Harred kept looking over to Gillaon, then back to Maolmin. “I say again, woman,” Maolmin growled, his eyes peering over Lakenna's shoulder at Rhiannon. “This is a clan matter. Leave us!”

As if pushed, Branor stumbled forward to stand next to Lakenna. He seemed surprised, then shook himself. “High Lord,” he said, gently easing Lakenna aside. He turned to face Maolmin. “It is a pleasure to see you again. May you walk in the Eternal's light.”

As she looked over Branor's shoulder, Rhiannon could have sworn something
moved
inside Maolmin's eyes. The black orbs finally left her face and rested on the Keeper.

A warm hand enclosed hers. It was Lakenna, who smiled and gave an encouraging squeeze. Then the tutor's lips firmed, and she turned to Maolmin and Branor.

Clan High Lord and High Lord Keeper stood face-to-face. Harred stepped back, a puzzled frown creasing his features as his eyes darted back and forth between the two men.

Maolmin was again the cultured noble. “Greetings, Your Grace. I heard a rumor this morning that a six-knot Keeper was in Lachlann—staying in one of Tellan's rooms.” His expression hardened. “But I discounted it since I received no notice of such an august visit.”

“I came for private consultation with Abbot Trahern. You are aware a major change looms.” Branor's hand toyed with the knots on his belt. “After the abbot, my plans were to call on you—in a purely unofficial capacity, of course. You are aware of how much . . . ” Branor swallowed, “ . . . of the rewards an early commitment can reap.”

Maolmin studied the Keeper. “I must deal with Lord Tellan's association with agents of the pagan Broken Stone Land. I am sure you agree that is an ominous development. I will have your support in taking sense to Tellan, correct?”

“Pagan?” Puzzlement joined the mixture of emotions dancing across Branor's face. Then, seemingly to himself, “Why would that—”

“Keeper,” Tellan broke in, “is there a problem?” He had left Mererid with the merchants and the Fawrs and made his way across the pavilion.

As if in a daze, Branor's head swiveled to Tellan, back to Maolmin, then back to Tellan. The Keeper's mouth opened and closed twice before a word came out. “Problem?” he croaked. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead, and a nauseated look appeared. “I am sure there must be a way out of this . . . dilemma.”

“Yes,” Maolmin almost purred. “Surely the three of us can reach an understanding that does not violate the Covenant.”

Tellan's faced hardened. “Is that why you meddle with one of my family heads behind my back?”

A smile played on the corners of Maolmin's lips. “I was acting more as a follower of the Eternal than as High Lord. As such, I felt I could take a few liberties. Now that High Lord Keeper Branor is here, he can address that aspect of this treacherous deal with Lord Gillaon.”

While Branor gaped at Maolmin in bewilderment, Rhiannon's heart thumped madly at the way her father and Maolmin regarded each other. If looks were swords, both men would be bleeding. From the light blazing in Tellan's eyes, she had real fear he verged on launching himself at Maolmin.

The High Lord waited, a faint smirk on his lips, huge hands relaxed at his side. His blue coat swelled, and Rhiannon could almost hear the seams popping.

Harred must have sensed the same. He took a half step backward, right hand groping for a sword hilt as his eyes darted between the two men.

Then a thought struck Rhiannon. Could this be the High Lord's plan? Was this the reason behind last night in the stables and now—to goad Tellan into an unheard-of personal attack on his High Lord? Then all Rogoth lands and titles would be forfeit.

Thankfully, Girard and Llyr appeared at Tellan's side.

“Easy, m'lord,” Llyr warned in a low voice.

“Yes, m'lord,” Girard murmured. “You cannot do this.”

Tellan came back from the brink. The light in his eyes dimmed a bit. He took a deep breath.

Rhiannon let out her pent-up breath as well. She noticed everyone crowded shoulder to shoulder around them, watching and listening.

Maolmin smiled. “Lord Tellan, I am curious. Why do you seek to go against both my wishes and our clan's long-standing obedience to the Covenant and begin trading with the Broken Stone Land?” He shook his head sadly. “Even before Destin Faber, the Dinari and the Broken Stone peoples were rivals. Our ancestors worshiped the Mighty One of the North while theirs followed the Lady of the West—as they do to this day.”

Branor's eyes widened. He regarded Maolmin in puzzlement.

Tellan said, “I have seen how the Sabinis do business.” He lifted a hand to the three merchants, who were standing nearby. “Across the Great Sea they trade regularly with pagans, including those from the Broken Stone Land, and yet you do not accuse them of breaking the Covenant. The Sabinis and their friends grow richer while my kinsmen grow poorer. I will have no more of that.”

Maolmin's face darkened. “What do you mean?”

“As kinsmen lord, my duty requires me to seek the best offer I can. Ask your Sabinis friends to explain why Lord Gillaon can pay two silvers more than they and then transport the wool across the Ardnamur Mountains instead of barging it down the Clundy River, and still make a profit.”

Maolmin turned to the Sabinis.

Ryce Pleoh stepped forward. He gave a greasy smile. “Markets go up and down, as I am sure my lords are aware. We are at the mercy of overseas demand.” His pig eyes darted among the three sets of kinsmen lords and their advisors. “Droughts, floods, wars, rumors of wars, pestilence—all these can drive prices down. Many times we have sold at a loss due to factors beyond our control. Worse, ships set sail and are never heard from again.” He looked directly at Lord Gillaon. “After such setbacks, those who overextend themselves by paying too much for their goods go bankrupt.”

“I have pledged my honor,” the barrel-chested Arshessa stated coldly, “that I will be back next year and the year after. Against that, you offer parchment and ink.”

“One's honor lasts only as far as the grave.”

Gillaon's hand dropped to his clan dagger. “Is that a threat, Sabinis?”

Raising his hands in mock apology, the fat merchant said, “You misunderstand me, m'lord. I simply meant even honor has its limits.” He turned back to Tellan. “By joining our resources, we three can spread risks that honor may not be able to withstand. If the markets are down, we lose money; if they are up, we realize a better profit as our reward.” Ryce pursed his fat lips and looked meaningfully at Tellan. “Without this contract the price we can pay and the amount we purchase next year will be volatile.”

Lord Baird Leanon had been drinking steadily, his lined face growing more flushed by the moment. Finally, he thrust his pewter tankard at Ryce, causing a cupful of mead to slosh out and splatter the carpet. “I hear a threat woven into those fine words, don't I just.” At Ryce's protest, Baird growled, “Don't be insulting my intelligence, Sabinis. We understand what you are saying.”

He lifted the tankard, drained it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he pointed a bony finger at Sihtric Averill. “Let us say I decide not to sign your contract, and that Lord Gillaon's proposal with the Broken Stone Land proves unsatisfactory. And further, for reasons beyond your control, next year you cannot give us a fair price or even purchase our wool at all.” The lines around the kinsmen lord's mouth deepened; his eyes flattened. “In that case, Sabinis, I would ask how you plan to get the wagonloads of wool you do purchase out of these highlands.”

Sihtric Averill stepped forward. He regarded Baird, his nose wrinkling as though smelling something rotten. “We depend on kinsmen lords to maintain safe passage through their lands—and for High Lords to deal with any not fulfilling their historic duty.” The weasel-faced merchant's mouth quirked. “We are confident High Lord Maolmin will not be found lacking should his authority be challenged.”

All faces turned to Maolmin. The High Lord pulled his eyes away from where Branor and Lakenna stood next to each other talking—or rather, Lakenna was whispering to Branor, who still wore a dazed expression.

Maolmin seemed distracted for a few heartbeats, then brought his focus back to the discussion. “This has strayed from my purpose from coming. Let me state my position, then I will leave you to strike your deals.” He paused and gathered his thoughts, and when he spoke, Rhiannon was struck by the difference between this manner and the much more ominous one she had just seen.

“Beyond the Covenant,” he began, “I ask everyone to consider the balance of power between the six clans. We Dinari must ally ourselves with a larger, stronger clan or risk domination by the others. Hard choices must be made. This contract with the Sabinis meets with my approval. It will bring greater prosperity to each kinsmen group while benefiting the clan as a whole at the Raedel. And I say again,” he looked quickly at Tellan and then the others standing around him, “it allows us to remain under the covering of the Covenant.”

With that, the High Lord and his party took their leave.

To Rhiannon, the sale an hourglass later proved blessedly anticlimactic. When the three Sabinis wool merchants remained firm on their initial offer, her father and Bard Leanon accepted Lord Gillaon's offer of four silvers per standard weight bale. Maolmin watched silently, his face set like stone. Seuman Fawr, after much hemming and hawing, sold to the Sabinis.

Chapter Fifteen

H
ARRED

T
HE WAGON MASTER
maneuvered the quid to the other side of his mouth, then spat a streak of dark liquid onto the grass. “Tell your Lord Gillaon that nobody loads wool until the day after the sale. That way everybody has a chance to enjoy the fair. His wool will be right here tomorrow.”

It was past noon. Groups of empty wagons dotted the area farthest from the activities. Hobbled mules grazed the hillsides, enjoying a rare day of rest. Harred and Elmar stood beside the wagon.

“You'll haul it then?” Harred asked, trying to keep the elation off his face.

They had done it: the wool was theirs! At least the Rogoth and Leanon wool. More importantly, the Sabinis monopoly was broken. Now Harred had to arrange to transport the wool safely to Lord Gillaon's hlaford and then across the Ardnamur Mountains to the Broken Stone merchants. Accomplish those two tasks satisfactorily, and surely the position of rhyfelwr would be his permanently. Harred fervently hoped so. After being by Lord Gillaon's side these days, the role of a common warrior would never be satisfactory again.