Defiant Peaks (The Hadrumal Crisis) (58 page)

Halferan Manor, Caladhria

1st of For-Spring

Z
URENNE WATCHED
I
LYSH
lift the white jug of elderflower cordial from the shrine table. It had stood overnight before Halcarion’s alabaster statue and now the sunrise proclaimed the goddess of love and luck’s sacred season. Halcarion’s carved diadem of stars between twin crescent moons was hidden beneath a garland of sunspeed with white frostbells nodding among the golden blooms.

Ilysh wore a similar garland along with Neeny and Raselle and every other maiden gathered outside on the courtyard’s cobbles. Every roadside bank throughout Halferan was glorious with these flowers as the mildest winter in living memory turned to a hopeful spring.

‘Both moons are waxing. That’ll see the goddess favour our lady in the season to come.’

Zurenne could hear the matrons honoured to join the Halferan noblewomen for these rites whispering behind her. She gave no sign that she had heard as Ilysh curtseyed to the goddess and carried the heavy ewer through the open shrine door out into the courtyard.

Applause and cheers greeted her, slender in a white silk gown with bodice and skirt overlaid with fine lace. Even the humblest of the village girls wore lace this morning; a collar carefully sewn to their finest dress or a tippet draped around their shoulders to be admired by friends and would-be swains before it was carefully wrapped in calico until next festival-tide. Ilysh was also adorned with her rope of pearls, carefully threaded and knotted on white horsehair. She had insisted it was fitting to wear these symbols of the Lesser Moon.

The brightness of true sunrise was strengthening in the east beyond the manor’s wall. As Ilysh carried the cordial to the great hall, Zurenne followed with Neeny and Raselle and the women who had joined them in the shrine while the crowd followed after at a respectful distance.

No one was in the least concerned about Corrain’s absence, Zurenne reflected as she followed her daughter up the stone stair. The demesne folk wanted to see their true-born lady celebrate these rites.

Zurenne wanted to know where Corrain was. She was absurdly conscious of her silver pendant’s trifling weight on the breast of her gold velvet gown. Should she bespeak the Archmage this morning? She could wish him good fortune at this turn of the season by way of an excuse. But Planir had nothing to tell her when she had last stirred the pendant’s wizardry three days ago. Corrain was travelling north in hopes of finding allies for Hadrumal. He was expected to return to Col within a handful of days.

She wanted to ask what need could the wizards have of allies and besides, why must Corrain go in search of them? Was Halferan to be bound to the wizard city’s concerns for ever and a day in return for the magic which had saved and restored the manor? She hadn’t dared to challenge the Archmage. Besides, Zurenne had no doubt that Corrain had his own reasons to go on this journey. She could only trust that his loyalty to Halferan remained his lodestone, first and last.

She would leave her pendant untouched for another three days, Zurenne decided as she followed Ilysh into the hall. Then she could reasonably request some answers from Planir.

Doratine stood beside the long tables where dishes were piled high with sweet cakes. Mistress Rauffe waited to receive the cordial from Ilysh. Jugs of water drawn fresh from the well stood ready to dilute the overpowering sweetness into scented refreshment. Every cupful would offer the promise of lengthening days for those now breaking their night’s fast and sharing their hopes for the spring seasons. Laughter and chatter swiftly put the shrine’s reverent silence to flight.

Zurenne watched Ilysh help Mistress Rauffe distribute white cups of cordial, exchanging nods and greetings with the manor’s yeomen and tenantry.

‘She looks so like her father, Saedrin bless his memory.’

‘Halcarion and Drianon bless her and send her a true husband when she’s of an age to warrant one.’

Two village women passed behind Zurenne.

‘You believe that the captain-as-was will step aside, when she asks him to?’

‘If he doesn’t, he’ll find every man loyal to Halferan ready to thrash him like he’d slighted their own daughter.’ From the woman’s chuckle she didn’t expect to see it.

No, no one was missing Corrain today. It wasn’t even as if he had any family still living to think of him. Though Zurenne guessed that old Fitrel would spare a passing thought for the orphaned youth he’d once sheltered.

Before she could reflect on that, she noticed Doratine counting heads as men, women and children continued to file through the open door. The cook swiftly despatched her most trusted kitchen maids to reheat their griddles and cook more sweet cakes. It seemed that everyone in the household, from the village and manor’s demesne beyond, had decided to celebrate For-Spring’s first sunrise here today.

‘Thank you.’ Zurenne accepted a cup of cordial from Raselle and a cake from Neeny. The little girl had crumbs around her mouth to suggest she had already eaten her own.

‘Halcarion’s blessings, Mama.’ Neeny smiled sunnily before scampering off to join a gaggle of little girls around the table where the cakes were laid.

Zurenne smiled. She didn’t begrudge this demand on the manor’s stores or the coin she’d had to spend to buy the elderflower cordial. If she must go another season without wine for the high table, that would be her penance to Halcarion for her hopeless helplessness last year, prisoner to her own fears.

After Lord Licanin’s troopers had put the renegade Minelas’s henchmen to flight, there had been nothing to stop her harvesting elder blossoms from the demesne’s coppices with her daughters before directing Doratine to make the manor’s own cordial. But Zurenne had been too overwhelmed with grief, too terrified of corsairs, too fearful of Baron Karpis’s predatory ambitions.

This year would be different. She and Ilysh and Neeny would gather the household’s women and honour the moon maiden as they prepared the cordial for the following year in token of their faith that they and their loved ones would see another spring.

The shattering crash of a cup on the flagstones momentarily silenced the merry conversation.

‘Oh my boy!’ Abiath’s quavering delight turned every head towards the great hall’s door.

Hosh stood on the threshold, Kusint at his shoulder. For a moment, Zurenne thought that the lad would turn and flee. Not as he had done before, shamed by his disfigurement, but overwhelmed by the shouts of welcome and congratulation.

He didn’t get the chance. Kusint urged him on just as Abiath’s sewing circle bustled her forward. Zurenne expected the old woman to gather her son in a close embrace. Instead Abiath framed his face in her wrinkled hands and gazed, smiling, at his face no longer dragged askew by the broken bones beneath. Hosh smiled back, tears of joy filling his eyes.

Village and manor folk alike voiced their awe as readily as they besieged the lad with questions. Kusint clapped Hosh on the shoulder and left him to his kith and kin. He cut through the throng to reach Zurenne as quickly as he could. ‘My lady.’

‘What is it?’ Zurenne’s heart beat a little faster. She could see that Kusint had more on his mind than his friend’s return.

‘Hosh wasn’t the only one knocking at the gates with the sunrise. We have another visitor. You should speak to him first, before we let him loose around the manor or the village.’

‘Who is he?’ Zurenne followed the young captain out of the great hall. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the gatehouse guard room.’ As they emerged into the daylight Kusint answered her questions in turn. ‘His name is Yadres Den Dalderin and he wishes to offer his best wishes for the new season’s blessings to Baron Halferan and his family.’

Zurenne remembered that name. ‘He’s the Tormalin who was spying on Corrain in Ferl.’

Kusint nodded. ‘Just so, my lady.’

For a moment Zurenne’s pleasure in this spring day was curdled by resentment. Why couldn’t Halferan be left alone to celebrate these gentle rites in peace? Why must the barony be perpetually besieged by other people’s intrigues and scheming? Tormalin concerns were none of Halferan’s.

Though of course such selfishness among the neighbouring barons had left Halferan alone and undefended when her beloved husband’s desperation had led them to disaster. Such blinkered thinking had seen the parliament’s inland lords refuse to join forces against the raiders, leaving Corrain with no choice but to pursue the perilous course which had brought catastrophe to the corsairs, followed by the unease and upheaval which was still spreading like ripples from a stone thrown into a pond.

More immediately, whatever Corrain was doing now, he wasn’t here. Zurenne couldn’t simply close her sitting room door and address herself to her needlework trusting in wiser, male minds to deal with such visitors.

‘Where did he spend last night?’ Zurenne walked as swiftly as she could towards the gatehouse, though that still inevitably meant Kusint curbing his far longer stride. ‘In the village?’

‘He arrived on horseback but I would guess so,’ Kusint said thoughtfully. ‘He doesn’t look as if he slept under a hedgerow.’

‘Send Linset to ask Mistress Rotharle.’ Zurenne was sure she had seen the tavern mistress among the throng in the great hall. ‘Tell him to ask what questions this visitor was asking and what answers he may have gleaned.’

She was pleased to find Reven sitting with the visitor at the guard room table. The young sergeant would have offered this stranger nothing beyond the festival cakes on the plate before him and his choice of elderflower cordial or ale.

Reven rose and bowed before retreating to stand by the door with Kusint.

Zurenne took the seat which the sergeant had vacated.

‘Good day to you, Esquire.’ She extended her hand according to what she knew of Tormalin custom. ‘May the new season bless you.’

The young nobleman sprang to his feet, abashed and hastily brushing crumbs from his excellently tailored coat and subtly scented linen shirt. He gently brushed his lips against Zurenne’s knuckles before releasing her hand. ‘May Halcarion bless you and your household, my lady.’

‘Please be seated,’ she urged him when he remained standing, ‘and do take another cake.’

‘My thanks, my lady.’ He grinned, boyish, as he did both.

Zurenne contemplated the young Tormalin, as tall as Kusint and somewhat stooped as though through self-effacing habit. While he was slightly built, his hands and the breadth of his shoulders suggested that he would grow into a more impressive physique. Whether he would have a similarly commanding personality was less certain. His fresh-complexioned face was amiable without being handsome and his soft brown eyes looked more honest than forceful.

If Zurenne had met him while she was visiting a neighbouring baron’s house, she wouldn’t have given the esquire a second glance beyond wondering if he knew the steps to Caladhria’s dances and hoping that he paid at least some heed to the latest fashions in Tormalin’s court.

So she offered him a polite and meaningless smile befitting a meek Caladhrian widow. Let him wonder if Corrain had told her of their earlier encounter.

Den Dalderin smiled back with charming entreaty. ‘I was hoping to offer my good wishes to the baron himself but your sergeant tells me he is away from home.’

‘He is in Col.’ Zurenne had no doubt that the esquire already knew that so admitting it cost her nothing.

‘What takes him there?’ Den Dalderin wondered with apparent surprise.

‘Matters of trade,’ Zurenne said vaguely.

‘Trade with the Archipelago?’ The young Tormalin sat a little straighter in his chair. ‘Further to your visit from Khusro Rina’s wives? I was in Attar,’ he explained with ready candour. ‘An Aldabreshin galley in the harbour at this season was the talk of the town.’

‘I’m sure,’ Zurenne agreed.

‘But surely Baron Halferan had already left for Col, before these Archipelagans arrived?’

Den Dalderin’s seemingly belated recollection was extremely convincing but Zurenne had seen the gleam in the young man’s eye.

‘Quite so.’ She left him to continue the conversation again. After a fleeting hesitation he obliged.

‘So you played hostess to these ladies alone? I confess I am surprised, given what I know of Caladhrian custom. Though it would hardly seem remarkable at home,’ he confided. ‘From the Emperor down, Tormalin menfolk have the highest respect and regard for our mothers and wives and daughters. The princely houses are very well served by their insights in many areas beyond marriage and child-rearing.’

Zurenne smiled agreeably. ‘As a mother of daughters, I find that most pleasing.’

There was another pause before Yadres spoke more bluntly.

‘My own House of Den Dalderin has an interest in seeing trade with the Archipelago restored. Should I advise my uncle the Sieur of our Name to open negotiations with Baron Corrain since Halferan is taking this initiative with the Khusro domain?’

Zurenne fluttered startled hands. ‘I couldn’t say, truly.’

‘Truly?’ Den Dalderin looked just a trifle sceptical.

‘I would not presume to advise your uncle, nor to predict what the baron might wish to do once he learns of the Khusro ladies’ visit on his return,’ Zurenne assured him earnestly.