Daughter of Prophecy (8 page)

As was often his wont during the trip, Gillaon responded to a question of Harred's with one of his own. “You were with me when Lord Tellan's party returned this afternoon. What did you make of their condition?”

Harred fingered a chunk of bread as he took his time answering. He had assumed that the combat and counselor responsibilities of rhyfelwr were two distinct functions. But tonight a whole new perspective was dawning on him, and he found the possibilities exciting.

“At that time, m'lord, I thought nothing unusual, but now I wonder. Lord Tellan's skin was blistered, his hair and clothes singed. The bottom of the daughter's dress was burned, and her blouse looked as if she had been rolling in the dirt. I assumed they both had been fighting the fire.” Harred tapped the chunk of bread on the table in emphasis. “But the two boys were clean, as was the loreteller. I can't see them standing idly by watching the father and sister. And you have said the hlaford is at least two hourglasses away. With the time necessary for the messenger to come and for them to return, any fire should have been over by the time they arrived.”

“Exactly.” Gillaon's tone was pleased. “Further, Lord Tellan was leading his horse when they arrived back. Its shoulder was swollen. When I asked about it, Tellan said the animal had pulled up lame outside of town. A shoulder lameness of that severity while on the road? Not likely.” Gillaon pursed his lips. “When I inquired about the fire, he politely informed me that it was nothing. Typical closed-mouthed Dinari. But I noticed a glint in his eyes that I am certain did not come from the destruction of the hlaford. He said no lives were lost.” Gillaon gave Harred a level look. “I tell you, something else kindled a fire inside Tellan Rogoth today—flames that only spilled blood will douse.”

Harred was silent for a moment. People were finishing their meals, and the noise level was increasing with the after-dinner talk. A minstrel strolled in and began tuning his lyre. A murmur of anticipation swept the room.

“Whatever it was happened to both him and the daughter,” Harred said.

“Yes.”

“She was as unruffled as he was when they went upstairs.”

“She's Dinari. She sat by Tellan's side during our talks this fall. She listened and asked several questions. I was impressed.” Gillaon's eyes swept the room again as he took another bite of cheese and chewed slowly. After he swallowed, he cocked an eyebrow at Harred. “She will soon be of age to be called Lady Rhiannon and accept suitors. Though her family is not wealthy, her combination of intelligence and beauty is a rare find. If you were noble-born kinsman, she would be worth a lot of effort.”

Some instinct warned Harred to be careful. It was not seemly for a commoner to discuss a noble maiden in such a manner. Nobles
had
married commoners. Bards sang of Lady Elegan and Ober, for instance. But that tragic union of widowed High Lady and sailing master echoed the sentiment of most.

“I am sure many young nobles will be asking their fathers to approach Lord Tellan once she is eligible for courtship,” Harred said, surprising himself. That sounded like something Gillaon would have said.

His lord regarded him with quiet approval. “Good. You're learning. That is how to answer all such comments and questions while we are here. State a truth without it meaning anything.” He took a swallow from the pewter mug, then patted his lips with a cloth. “Do your best to remain by my side tomorrow. But be prepared for an effort to be made to separate us. If that happens, one or more of those guards will be in your face. Their little comedy just now was only plowing the ground.”

Gillaon's eyes flashed, and his small frame loomed large across the table. “It is not by happenstance that the Sabinis have controlled the wool and other trade all these years. Have no doubt that we will be in battle tomorrow, kinsman. But there will be neither drawn weapons nor lives taken. Later perhaps, but not tomorrow and not here.”

Harred nodded slowly. He found himself looking forward to this new challenge. “I'll be ready.” Carefully he continued, “M'lord, why the importance of a simple wool sale?”

Gillaon tore off a chunk of bread. “Clan Sabinis is the wealthiest of the six clans. They control the Land's banking, which allows them to dominate the most profitable trade. Additionally, Queen Cullia is a Sabinis. It is universally acknowledged her family's wealth saved the Faber throne from bankruptcy. With King Balder's long-standing bad health, Cullia has become the true power. She profanes her oath to leave clan ties behind by using her influence to extend Sabinis power. Their fingers are into everything. Most importantly for us, they have gained control of all the harbors and shipping interests. Without their cooperation, no one can ship goods to the lucrative markets across the Great Sea.”

Gillaon paused while the young waitress refilled their mugs. Harred kept his eyes on his plate until she moved away.

“But cracks are appearing,” Gillaon continued. “Cullia over-reached when she announced Prince Larien's betrothal to a Sabinis maiden, which would give them three queens in a row. The other clans voiced such displeasure that the betrothal was broken. The prince is twenty-two and well past the age to be married and producing an heir. With King Balder's health failing, the Ruling Keeper has declared a Rite of Presentation.” Gillaon snorted. “Every seamstress in the Land will be sewing her fingers to the bone. But I digress. The Sabinis realize this business with Tellan Rogoth is just our opening move. Next year at the Radael all six High Lords will ink trade agreements for the coming three years. If we Arshessa have shown we can break the Sabinis monopoly in this area, the other clans will be more amenable to believing we can do so in others.”

“So the Dinari are already with us?” Harred asked as he glanced around the room.

“Lord Tellan certainty is. This fall when I offered four silvers per standard weight bale, his jaw almost hit the floor. He's been getting less than two from the Sabinis.” Gillaon grimaced. “Unfortunately Maolmin Erian, the Dinari High Lord, is against us. He arrived this afternoon. He has close ties to the Sabinis, and my sources say he is most upset with Tellan.”

“He and his rhyfelwr arrived soon after Lord Tellan's party returned. Surely, the High Lord was not involved in the fire—”

“If he was, either Tellan or Maolmin would be dead now.”

“M'lord, most consider High Lord Maolmin to be the best swordsman in the Land—maybe the best ever. His quickness and strength are said to be unbelievable.”

“That would not have stopped Tellan. Would it have you?”

“No,” Harred admitted.

“Maolmin knows our plans will weaken his bargaining at the Radael. He and his rhyfelwr came on ahead to plan with the Sabinis. The rest of his party should arrive anytime. We need to be prepared to shield the Rogoths from any . . . conflict.”

“How so?”

Gillaon's look betrayed nothing. “Which of our warriors do you trust the most?”

“Elmar,” Harred said without hesitation.

“Where is he?”

“He was going to the stable to tend the stone bruise on your horse.”

“As soon as you escort me back upstairs, find him. I want the two of you to strike up a conversation with any Rogoth warriors you can find. We need to find out what really happened to Tellan and the girl today.”

The Mighty One of the North's displeasure washed over the siyyim like a winter storm battering a rocky beach and sent waves of cold fear rippling through the body he inhabited. His dominion of the appropriated body faltered. The bowels loosened and threatened to let go. With iron will, he reestablished control.

Is the girl dead?

“No, Mighty One.” The North knew, of course. But this was how it was done. The siyyim steeled himself even as he seethed in rage. “The attack on the hlaford should have succeeded! How was I to know Tellan would take the girl to Lachlann two days early?”

You allowed all four to be destroyed! You know how difficult it is to get one, much less four, past the Covenant's barrier.

Two more pulses of raw displeasure slammed through the mist, the second on the heels of the first. The demon reeled, almost losing control of the bowels again. He was startled at the level of rage displayed. After all, he was not a minor underling.

“I was too far away to maintain total control. I must protect my position. We cannot have any hint of . . . ”

And on the road?

“The power necessary to whip them into a daylight attack took all my concentration. And then . . . ” the siyyim had been dreading this part of the tale . . . “two different sources entered into the spirit realm and hit me with the authority of the Eternal. I was prepared for one. The second caught me off guard. I lost my link with the horrors, and the Rogoth warriors did the rest.”

Two different sources?
Silence reigned in the mist as the North digested that unwelcome news.
You should have killed the girl years ago. With the new development, the other Mighty Ones are even more insistent she be removed from the playing board.

The lesser demon seethed again. He had reasons for taking this long. His revenge had been slow and sweet. “She shows no sign of walking in her prophecy. I have kept her family growing poorer each year. They lack the prestige and resources to even hope to . . . ”

The Mighty One of the West in particular fears the girl's potential. The West boasts she is ready to position one of her lilitu and threatens that if I do not see this matter resolved, she will.

The siyyim began to see the reason behind the North's rage. Lilitu were very powerful, just one rank below a siyyim like himself.

I am the one who has labored for generations to bring the Faber dynasty to this low ebb. Only one healthy male remains. Never before have we been this close! I WILL BE THE ONE TO REAP THE REWARDS OF ENDING THE COVENANT, NOT THE WEST! DO NOT FAIL ME!

Another pulse of rage slammed through the mist, and the siyyim was left quivering on the floor, struggling to maintain control of the body.

Chapter Six

R
HIANNON

R
HIANNON STEPPED OUT
the rear door of the inn and headed for the stable. It was past time to feed Nineve. When her father had agreed she could begin training a mount for herself, she vowed to be the only one to feed, groom, and saddle the horse.

Besides, Rhiannon desperately needed time alone to think through the events of the morning without Phelan's endless questions. Even her room was not suitable for contemplation. The new tutor—Rhiannon had been surprised at how young the woman was—had taken her meal into Rhiannon's room to eat. The two of them would share the room until other arrangements were made.

So when the family servant took Creag and Phelan downstairs to the washroom, Rhiannon slipped out with them. She had already bathed, having spent a long time soaking in the tub soon after arriving back at the inn.

Now, as she moved away from the inn and into the night, her scalp prickled as the star-studded sky seemed to loom above her with unseen menace. In her mind she heard the guttural hiss:
Kill red-haired girl.

Her breath caught and her steps faltered. Again she saw unblinking yellow eyes. Her mouth felt the grit of dirt; her legs tingled with the remembered heat of flames. Her heart thudded; cold sweat beaded on her skin.

Stop this!
she commanded herself firmly.
I will not give in to fear! I am Dinari.
Lifting her chin, she grasped the hilt of her sword.
Thrust for their eyes
. She strode on.

The yellow glow of lanterns shone through the open stable doors. As she entered, the familiar odors of horses, oiled leather, hay, and manure mingled in her nostrils. A walkway divided the building in half with a row of stalls facing each other. Two stalls in the middle were enclosed, one for feed storage and the other serving as living quarters for the old man who ran the stable. His door was shut with no light showing through the cracks.

Already at some tavern,
Rhiannon thought as she lifted the heavy latch on the feed room door. Every morning the man's sour breath and shaking hands gave ample evidence of how he spent his nights.

She filled a bucket with oats from a wooden bin and carried the feed to Nineve's stall. Rhiannon was pleased to hear the filly whicker at the smell of the oats. The poor thing had been wide-eyed and trembling when the party had found her several measures from where the winged horrors had attacked. Rhiannon did her best to calm her mount during the ride back to Lachlann, but knew more smooth words and hand rubbing were needed.

After emptying the bucket into the trough, Rhiannon scattered the oats around several fist-sized stones. Nineve was a greedy eater, taking such hasty mouthfuls of grain that she risked having half-chewed boluses lodge in her throat. Rhiannon followed her father's advice and put the stones in the feed trough to force the horse to nibble around them and eat slower.