Daughter of Prophecy (26 page)

Rahl looked meaningfully at Vanora. “In addition to coins, warriors in service receive five ewes a year.”

Vanora returned his look while slowly wrapping a strand of hair around her finger. The air between them almost shimmered with heat. She opened her mouth—

“That is all for today,” Lakenna said brightly.
Best to head this off.
“As you know, this is the last day of lessons; we will resume when the sheep return from the summer pastures. Although this has been a short session, I am pleased with the progress you five have made.”

The twins, Jaime and Catel Colemon, grinned. They were twelve. Jaime had fair skin and reddish blond hair; Catel was dark complexioned and had black hair. The two did not look like brothers, much less twins. Their father was the Colemon family head and had pledged half the materials for the new building.

Terr Luwin was ten and painfully shy. He was the only child of the Jon Luwin, the third family head of the Rogoth kinsmen. Jon was an accomplished furniture maker, and he and his apprentices had orders from all over the highlands. He had promised a desk and chair for Lakenna.

The boys scrambled up when Serous, Lord Tellan's head herdsmen, walked under the awning. Every day this week, he had collected the four boys to help in the extra work needed to cull and separate the sheep into different herds for the summer.

Serous nodded formally. “Morning, Teacher.” Then he asked the same question he had every day. “My boys learning?” Not
these
boys;
my
boys. And they took pride in it.

The four held their breath as they waited her response.

“A good day of school,” Lakenna said.

All smiled; Vanora, too.

Serous nodded solemnly. His weathered face was a mass of fine wrinkles; his fingers were crooked at odd angles from swollen joints. As Lakenna understood the Rogoth hierarchy, the head herdsman ranked just below Girard and Llyr and was on equal footing with family heads like Bowyn Garbhach. Serous was always overly polite to her without any hint of insult; it was his way of showing respect.

The more Lakenna was around the man, the more she liked him. His dry wit and practical wisdom cut straight to the heart of any matter, and she was impressed with the easy authority with which he handled his herders.

“These are the most eager students I have had.” She raised her eyebrows and looked their way. “I will depend on them to help with the new students when we start again.” That brought five pleased smiles.

Serous grunted approval. Then he sidled up to her and lowered his voice. “You'll be remembering to pray for us herders up there in the high pastures?”

Surprised, she turned to face him.

Faded blue eyes regarded her solemnly. “Strange things have happened up there off and on—even before any of this with the old hlaford and Mistress Rhiannon.” Serous worked his tongue around his two upper teeth. “I know she'll be here with you, but don't forget us herders. Come nightfall, it'll be strong comfort knowing a believer like you is praying for us.”

Her stomach twisted. “Yes. I . . . I will do so daily.”

Relief mixed with pleasure lit up the man's lined face. He called to the boys, and they headed toward the path that snaked along the stream meandering through the valley floor.

“Been talking to Llyr,” Serous told Rahl as they walked away. “He mentioned some things he wants you to work on. Time was, before my joints swelled, there wasn't a hair's difference between Llyr and me. Bring your practice sword with you next week. By the time we get back, I'll have you ready to acquit yourself well.” The head herdsman's voice trailed away in the distance.

Vanora watched them go. The breeze ruffled her long hair, and the sunlight sparked off the new locket around her neck. She and all the boys but Rahl had new clothes and footwear. Signs of freshly spent money brought by Tellan's agreement with Lord Gillaon and the Broken Stone Land—and a source of nagging unease to Lakenna.

She
knew
the deal was a danger to Rhiannon—but how to convince Lord Tellan of that when all evidence thus far seemed to prove otherwise? It had certainly brought more prosperity, and the Rogoth kinsmen needed it. And there had been no further attacks since the wool sale.

“Rahl will be working directly with Serous,” Vanora said with a touch of pride. “Master Phelan will be with them. Serous wants Rahl to help train him.” She frowned prettily. “Women can't go. The summer pastures, I mean. I'm as good a herder as any of them, but I can't go to the high pastures.”

Lakenna regarded the maiden. It was best she stayed here under her father's eye. That was probably why girls weren't allowed to go. Too many opportunities for—

Oh, enough of this! Just because Loane and I failed doesn't mean Vanora and Rahl will, too.

“I will work with Mistress Rhiannon and Master Creag each morning during the summer,” Lakenna said as Vanora prepared to leave. “But my afternoons will be free. I plan to catalog the different varieties of roses and plant one of each in the new garden. Would you like to help?”

“Oh, yes!” Vanora's brown eyes lit up. “I know where bushes stand several cubits high and so thick you have to walk around them. And colors! Red, pink, white, and yellow. After the herders leave next week, I can show them to you.”

“I look forward to it.”

Wearing an ear-to-ear smile, Vanora took her leave. Her family lands lay a good hourglass's walk in the opposite direction of Serous and the boys.

Living among clansmen was not what Lakenna had expected. To her, as a non-clan inhabitant of the Land, clansmen had always seemed secretive, guarding both their centuries-old trade advantages and precious clan lore with fanatical devotion.

Nonetheless, Lakenna found clansmen—the Rogoths, anyway—to be just like her close-knit Albane community. True, her role in the winged horror attack had helped them accept her readily. But the longer Lakenna was here, the more she suspected that Serous's quick endorsement of her had smoothed her settling in. Still, it was amusing to encounter red faces and half-finished sentences when someone mentioned something in her hearing that had to be part of secret clan lore.

Albanes were found in all six clans, but most were women who had married into a clan or were the offspring of such marriages. That seemed to be the only way to become a clan member: marriage or birth, although there were stories of adults being made clan members. Lakenna had no idea how that happened.

She sighed. Marriage. A husband. Home and hearth. All things she did not have—and might never experience. She pondered her lack of attraction to men. Though she did not possess the beauty of Rhiannon or Vanora, Lakenna knew she was not totally unattractive. Growing up, many of her female friends and a few boys had mentioned how expressive her eyes were. And some had noticed her thick hair.

Loane in particular had been fascinated with it. The one time she had unpinned it in his presence, his eyes had widened in wonderment as the heavy waves cascaded about her neck and shoulders. He had reached for her like a man beholding the most precious thing imaginable. She had stepped into his arms, exulting in his desire for her . . .

I cannot allow these thoughts. I must try harder! A true Albane could do so.

A true Albane. Like she used to be.

She walked to the edge of the awning and looked uphill at the soon-to-be-completed hlaford, knowing what a relief it would be for Mererid to move in and get her family back in order.

Day by day, Lakenna grew closer to Lady Mererid. Beyond the tight quarters of the pavilion and their common agenda of the children's education, Lakenna recognized the noblewoman's loneliness and hunger for companionship.

The rich farmlands of Lakenna's home were densely populated compared to the far-flung homesteads here in the rugged highlands. The Fawr kinsmen were south of Lachlann, with Lord Seuman and Lady Aigneis's hlaford more than half a day's ride—which Mererid maintained was a blessing. Lady Iola Leanon was two hours' ride north, but Mererid said the two of them, while friendly, had never been close. That had been shared last night during an after-supper walk that was becoming a nightly ritual for the two of them.

Lakenna's mouth firmed as she realized it was past time for lessons. She turned back toward the stables. Then she noticed Creag and Phelan coming, leather folders under their arms. She glanced toward the pavilion. No sign of Rhiannon. Lakenna suppressed a sigh. Late again.

For the hundredth time since arriving, Lakenna pondered her role with Rhiannon. Despite the girl's tendency to give short shrift to her lessons, Lakenna could see something changing: if not yet an eagerness to learn, at least a noticeable improvement.

Creag's progress was most satisfying. By this time next year, he would be where he should be compared to others his age.

Phelan was a delight. The boy possessed a mind like parched earth, soaking up every drop of knowledge poured out and eager for more.

She looked to the pavilion again.
What does Protectoress of the Covenant entail? And how can I bring Rhiannon closer to the Eternal when I feel farther from him than I ever have?

She realized how sheltered her twenty-five years had been within the cocoon of the Albane community. The stories of Destin Faber and Stanus Albane's encounters with the Mighty Ones' creatures were told frequently, both for their own sake and to illustrate points of doctrine. At the end of every Albane meeting, it was standard practice to offer up prayer binding the Mighty Ones and their creatures. All took pride in the fact there had been no outbreaks of winged horrors in Albane settlements in living memory.

Those thoughts brought up Serous's request for prayer. Here at the Rogoth hlaford she was surrounded by respect, both for her position as tutor and for her part in defeating the winged horrors. Yet deep inside Lakenna knew she was an imposter in the spiritual battles that undoubtedly must be fought if Rhiannon was to fulfill her birthing prophecy.

Could prayer bind a clan High Lord? And if it couldn't, then what?

How she wanted to talk to someone about her insight concerning Maolmin. But aware of the privileged position a High Lord held within his clan, and fearing she might run afoul of some code of clan honor, she had not done so. As the budding relationship with Mererid continued, perhaps an opportunity would present itself.

I need to talk to that Keeper. I am sure he sensed the same thing about Maolmin!
But Branor had disappeared immediately after the wool sale, and as far as anyone knew, he was still behind Kepploch's walls.

Although it stuck in her craw, she remembered the relief that had flooded though her when Branor had edged her aside so he could come to grips with Maolmin, one nobleman to another. As a commoner and non-clan member, she knew she had been risking much by stepping between the High Lord and Rhiannon. But
something
had to be done. That she had actually done so, in spite of . . . everything, still amazed her. Her boldness must have come from the Eternal.

Lakenna neatened a stack of cheap parchment. Every day it grew harder to make herself pray even a short morning prayer. She felt a hindrance, a heaviness. And when she did pray she felt the sense of a gathering storm that lingered long after she rose from her knees.

Creag and Phelan stepped under the shade of the awning. Each greeted her, took a stool, and removed parchments from his leather folder. She put them to work on their handwriting.

Finally, Rhiannon rushed in with her smooth, long-legged stride, red mane flowing behind her. “I was sketching a design for a new type of sword to fight winged horrors.”

“Swords!” Creag set down his quill. “You need bows and arrows against winged horrors.”

Rhiannon plopped her folder next to him on the plank. “Not if they are astride you like they were Father and me! The new sword will—”

“Father's sword got chewed up. If
he
couldn't kill one with a sword, what makes you—”

“That was before Teacher Lakenna began praying,” Rhiannon replied loftily. “If they come again, things will be different.”

Lakenna's stomach rippled. “That is quite enough about winged horrors,” she said. “Mistress Rhiannon, take out the map we are making. I want you to finish drawing out the course of the Clundy River from its beginning here in the highlands to its mouth at Shinard. Master Creag, listen to Master Phelan repeat the multiplication tables and tell me if he makes a mistake.”

As the three went to work, Lakenna gnawed her lower lip. It seemed everyone from Rhiannon to Lord Tellan to Serous and his herders remained confident in her ability to keep the winged horrors from drawing power from the Mighty Ones.

Her failure loomed ever larger. What did they think, that she was an anointed prayer warrior like the Founders? Able to stand in the gap and pray the fire of heaven down? That she would find herself clothed in supernatural armor and a flaming sword in her hands to battle siyyim and even the dread Mighty Ones as Destin Faber did with
Asunder
?

He and Stanus Albane were pure, unsullied believers, giants of the faith. I am a woman alone, a sinner with innocent blood on my hands. I came here to escape, and here I am in the midst of it! Dear Eternal, take this burden from me!

“Teacher?” Rhiannon asked.

“Yes?”

“What do you think ‘Protectoress of the Covenant' means?”

Creag groaned, but Lakenna almost jumped. A cold barb stabbed her heart. She found herself giving the only answer she could: “Tonight before bed let us read and discuss scripture, seeking to learn what it meant to serve the Eternal in general and some hint of what ‘Protectoress of the Covenant' might entail specifically.”

Rhiannon smiled. “I would like that.”

Feeling an impostor, Lakenna returned the smile. “Back to work.”

As Phelan finished reciting his multiplication tables, Rhiannon looked up from her map. “Phelan, would you open the geography text and read me the distances between Ancylar, Strath, and Shinard?”