Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 03] - Owlknight (3 page)

“Already,” Lord Breon said with satisfaction. “The girl's got her Whites—not the record, maybe, but she's ready for other duties. Anda hand-picked her himself as his assistant, so she'll be groomed for permanent service here!”

“Breon! That's excellent news!” Barda said heartily, beaming at him. “I hope she's as happy with the posting as her parents will be! Well, heyla, with all this increase in attention, perhaps we can see some funding for better roads and a second bridge!”

“I don't know why she wouldn't be,” Breon replied—and behind his back, Val rolled his eyes at Darian, who smothered a grin. Val and his lady were about to take Breon's place at Court, and Val could hardly wait to get away, out from under his father's well-intentioned restrictions. Not that Val was going to be irresponsible when the parental ties were severed—he wasn't the adolescent who'd yearned for “the clash of sword on sword” two years ago. It had been Darian who'd seen how he chafed under the burden of being “only” the son, but it was Starfall who'd suggested that Val would make an excellent representative for his father at Haven and the Court.

That Lord Breon had embraced the suggestion so readily told Darian that he himself hadn't worked out what to do with a young man full of energy and ideas with nothing to do.

“I want Herald Anda to meet you, Val,” he said, turning to his son, who quickly assumed a more appropriate expression. “But as soon as he's settled in, it'll be a good time for you to leave; any later and I might not be able to spare you a proper escort.”

Val grinned back at his father. “I'd have been disappointed if you'd asked me to go to Court before he arrived,” he assured his father. “If there was ever an excuse for a Tayledras celebration, this will be it!”

Snowfire grinned, and Kel chuckled. “What an excellent suggestion, Val!” Snowfire said facetiously. “We would never have thought of that, we are so completely serious-minded. We'll take it under advisement!”

Val knew the Hawkbrothers too well now not to recognize the teasing for what it was, and just grinned back. “I'd be happy to advise you on the menu as well,” he suggested.

Nightwind raised an eyebrow. “Not that you would ever volunteer to cook any of the proposed menu,” she said dryly.

“You beat me to it,” chimed in Ayshen.

“You wouldn't even suggest that if you had ever tasted his cooking, lady,” Lord Breon replied with an exaggerated shudder. “I won't even let him make tea when we are out on a hunt.”

Val opened his mouth to protest, then realized that he might get himself into something he didn't want, and shut it again. Darian smirked.

“Well, before we get into too many celebration plans, I've got a protest to lay before the Council,” Barda announced. “Ard Kilmer and Fern Holl are not happy with Ghost Cat at the moment, and they want me to make a formal objection.”

Chief Vordon looked surprised. “What could this problem be?” he asked. “Not Boys' Raids again, surely?”

He was referring to the last protest against Ghost Cat, when boys wanting to earn their Manhood status had begun raiding villagers. Everything that was taken was returned, and the items taken were all of little value—but the fact that those items had come from inside people's homes, and had been taken in the dead of night, had been more than a little unsettling to the good people of Errold's Grove. They did not like the idea of “half-wild barbarian boys” creeping around in their homes while they slept, and who could blame them? After all, their daughters might be next to be stolen, and the daughters might not
want
to be returned!

The Chief and Shaman, after long consultation with the Council, had agreed to a new way of earning Manhood tallies that would demonstrate even more raiding skill than snatching things from villagers. Now the boys who wanted to count coups had to slip up close enough to a sleeping
dyheli
to put a handprint in paint on its side. Tyrsell liked this game; it forced the herd to regain some of the alertness it had been losing since life at k'Valdemar was so unchallenging. The young bucks of the herd appreciated it as well, and had taken to “counting coup” back, sneaking up behind a stalking boy and giving him a sharp nudge with a horn to his backside.

“No, not Boys' Raids,” Barda replied. “They've heard your folk have been buying their
chirras
with intent to breed, and they're afraid you're going to challenge their market.”

“Fair is fair, Barda,” Lord Breon protested. “They wouldn't have any room to protest if it was someone
else
from
their
village that was raising chirras in competition.”

“I know that,” Barda replied irritably, “but it's my job to present the protest. So I have.”

“If they are so concerned, they could sell us only geldings,” Chief Vordon rumbled, “And then we will take our trade goods elsewhere. Our people came here hungry. The memory of crying bellies has not left us. We seek to breed those animals, so we will have enough food to keep a reserve. If they do not consider our value as peaceful neighbors they help feed, then we will seek out others farther away who will sell to us.”

“That could get ugly.” Val whispered to Darian.

:Competition keeps the breed strong,:
was Tyrsell's only comment.

The Chief looked to Lord Breon for further support, and possibly advice, and Breon was not loath to give it. “I move that the protest is noted but not valid—they're only protesting because they think the Chief won't know it's groundless and they think they can get a settlement from the Council for nothing. In fact, I move the protest be dismissed. All in favor?”

A show of hands (and talons, paws, and hooves) all around—including Barda's—made it unanimous without Chief Vordon having to get involved at all. Since Lord Breon was the one on record as putting it to the vote, and countering the protest, it was unlikely that anything more would be said by the two farmers.

Barda sighed. “That was the stickiest bit. Market prices are down, but they can't blame anything but the good crop of early vegetables. The Fellowship wants to send a parcel of wedding shawls with your boy as presents to people he thinks might do us some good.”

“You mean bribes, don't you?” Vordon asked slyly.

“Anybody who understands bribery can't be that much of a barbarian,” Val whispered.

“Presents, bribes, whatever.” Barda shrugged the insinuation away. “We aren't asking for anything specific, and I certainly don't want him to go giving them to tariff-officials, or anything of the sort. These are a different design that we're hoping will catch on, and we're looking for someone who'll give us a decent price for the privilege of exclusivity. We made too many agreements back when the village wasn't as prosperous with traders who are making a great deal of money from our work. We aren't going to go back on those agreements now, but—well, you know.”

Lord Breon turned to Val. “Think you can handle that?”

Val took his time in answering, his dark brows knitted as he thought. “If you don't expect results immediately,” he said at last. “If you trust me with this, I need to take my time with it. And I'll want the use of a couple as outright gifts from Kelmskeep to important people.”

“That's reasonable,” Barda agreed. “In fact, that might well whet the right appetites, if you give those gifts out first. Nothing like having someone with influence take a liking to your work for getting traders interested. It's always better for the buyer to come to you.”

“Done, then,” Val said instantly, and another agreement was concluded.

“We want someone as—” Chief Vordon searched for the word he wanted and finally leaned over and whispered something in Starfall's ear. Starfall whispered back, and Vordon straightened. “As
agent,”
he said carefully. “For our goods. Someone who bargains well.”

Barda nodded. “I didn't want to mention this before, because I didn't know how your people would feel about it, but I've been thinking you could get better return if you had someone in the village working for you.”

Harrod bobbed his round head earnestly, and his lank, blond hair fell into his eyes. “My wife will do it, if you like,” he offered diffidently. “She's sharp enough that the Lutters complain all the time about the prices they have to pay for jars. If you'd rather pick someone else, though, just say so.”

“No, no, your wife-mate will be good,” the Chief said instantly, giving Darian the feeling that he'd been on the wrong end of a bargain with Harrod's wife himself a time or two. “Honest and—what was it?—sharp. Good.”

The rest of the meeting was concerned with other such things; requests from the village for Tayledras products and that Lord Breon supply the new village militia with some replacement arms, since the blacksmith of Errold's Grove, though good with ploughs and hinges, knew little of arms and armoring. The
kyree
wanted permission to dig emergency lairs in the bluffs along the river near the village, and the
hertasi
wanted help from Ghost Cat on a fishing expedition. Most meetings were like this, where the details and difficulties of three cultures living in the same area got taken care of and smoothed over. Sometimes there were arguments, and twice there had been a point when Darian thought things might come to blows, but somehow everything got sorted out under the eyes of the Hawkbrothers. They'd even established a Council common treasury as the means of paying for things that all factions needed, and to pay off aggrieved parties if there was no other way to settle a dispute. The cash was anything but petty, but they were all in agreement that when time and diplomacy could not solve a problem, sufficient pay-off would. As he had hoped, k'Valdemar was proving to be a neutral ground where the territory's difficulties
could
be dealt with. The fact that it was the most pleasant and most relaxing place of all the possible spots where meetings could be held helped tremendously to get things settled peacefully. It was no accident that the Vale had turned out that way either. Tayledras were past masters at the strategic use of pleasure and comfort.

There weren't going to be any serious arguments today, that was clear enough. Darian suspected that the imminent arrival of this Herald might have something to do with that. Barda had been awfully quick to drop the Errold's Grove protest, and even voted against it herself—perhaps because she knew that if she supported the protest, it would certainly come up again in front of the Herald.

No one wants to look bad in front of the important stranger,
he thought, with a mental smile.
As if he won't have had to deal with arguments just as petty, or even more so, before this.
Of all of them, Darian had the most experience with Heralds; when k'Vala had helped the people of Valdemar clean out some nasty pockets of trouble left over from the mage-storms, he'd been the one, as the only Valdemar native, who spent the most time with their Heraldic liaisons. Stories came out over the campfire, often very funny stories, and Darian had about as good an idea of what it was like for a Herald on circuit as anyone who wasn't himself a Herald.

“Is that it, then?” Lord Breon asked, looking around the table. “Everything taken care of?”

“As much as we can in one meeting,” Harrod replied, and Starfall nodded his agreement to that.

“Well, then, I have a proposition to make. We can take it as read that we're going to have a bloody great celebration to welcome Heralds Anda and Shandi, right?”

Starfall laughed. “And you can take it as read that k'Valdemar will host it. No one else has the facilities—unless it was held outside, and it's springtime, and you know what that means. Mud.”

Breon made a face. “Rain. Mud. Guaranteed. If it doesn't rain on the welcome, it'll rain on Spring Faire. At least if it rains in the Vale, it'll be a warm rain.”

“I think we can even spare the magical energy to keep rain out of the Vale for a single day,” Starfall replied evenly. “A little borrowing from some other sources should make up the difference. Clearly, though, you have a request for the plans?”

Breon cleared his throat. “You all remember that I made Val a Knight when we decided he'd go to represent us at Court? Did I ever explain why?”

Snowfire wrinkled his brow in thought as the Errold's Grove representatives looked blank; they hadn't sat on the Council at the time. “Not that I recall. I thought it was simply something your people did from time to time.”

“We-e-ell, yes, in a way. A Knighthood confers rank—like Chief, or Warchief, Baron, or Elder. Not equal rank to those, but similar in concept,” Breon explained, using examples familiar to everyone around the table. “Most rank in Valdemar comes with land attached, though—Knighthood is the only one that doesn't. It matches the ones that do, however—it's meant to serve as notice to other people that the Knight is someone to be honored and respected, someone with the power to make decisions. It goes to younger sons who won't inherit, for instance, or someone like Val who is going to serve as a representative for his parents. But it can also be used to reward people who've distinguished themselves ; there're Knights in the Guard, for instance. It's a way of ennobling someone who's not highborn and make them equal to the nobles.”

“All right,” Nightwind said. “So?” “So I'd like to make young Darian a Knight of Valdemar.” Lord Breon sat back in his chair and enjoyed the various reactions of the rest of the Council.

Darian paled. He was too surprised—and concerned—to take any notice of the others. His first reaction was elation, but immediately following that was worry. “Lord Breon,” he said, before anyone else could voice their opinion, “I appreciate the honor, but why? And—I've already got other commitments; I
am
adopted into the Tayledras, and I couldn't take any oaths that would conflict with that—”