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“Well, as to that, I’ll admit as how I’m more than a mite surprised he’s waited this long to be sending for help. I’ve no sources to match the ones you’ve no doubt got, but those I do have have been telling me as how things have been getting steadily worse in Glanharrow. And just as you—and, no doubt, Lord Festian and Sir Yarran—I’ve no least doubt as how it’s the doing of some of your folk who weren’t so very happy to be seeing Festian replace Mathian.”
“Who would just happen to be the same people who aren’t too happy about the novel concept of Sothoii and hradani living in a state which resembles peace,” Brandark added dryly.
“Exactly.” Tellian nodded. “You have both the right and the reason to know what sorts of problems your neighbor might be experiencing, if only so that you’re forewarned if … unanticipated changes require you to protect yourselves. More to the point, and selfishly, from my perspective, you may be able to offer some additional insight, Bahzell.” Bahzell twitched his ears questioningly, and Tellian chuckled. “I happen to know that your sister Marglyth’s agents in Glanharrow considerably outnumber my own, Bahzell, despite that rather diplomatic comment of yours on our relative sources. Which is as it should be, really.”
“I suppose it is possible I’m after hearing the occasional tidbit, or rumor,”Bahzell conceded with a grin.
“I’m sure,” Tellian said dryly. “But whether you have anything to add or not, I want you there. And you, too, I think, Trianal,” he continued, looking at the dark-haired young man seated at the foot of the table.
Sir Trianal Bowmaster was the oldest son of Tellian’s younger brother. Garlayn Bowmaster had married very young, but, then, Garlayn had always been the quintessential, impetuous Sothoii. He’d also died very young, in a training accident which had resulted largely from that same impetuosity, leaving three young sons and a daughter behind. Tellian had accepted Trianal for training in the military arts when he was only ten, and he’d just turned nineteen only two months before. Despite his youth, he was a thinker, unlike his father, who’d already demonstrated an insight into tactics beyond his years. He’d earned his knighthood, not simply had it handed to him, although he was still short on experience in the field. But for all of his good points, Trianal was considerably more conservative than his uncle. It had taken him quite a while to come to terms with Tellian’s “surrender” to Bahzell, and Bahzell suspected that he still harbored some prickly resentments.
“Me, Uncle?” Trianal sounded surprised, and Tellian nodded.
“You know as much as any of my officers about the situation in Glanharrow, and I trust your discretion. Besides, I think I’d like to get you more actively involved in supporting Lord Festian.”
“Yes, Milord,” Trianal said, and his face flushed just a bit.
So he’s after noticing his uncle’s tone, Bahzell thought, and hid a mental chuckle as he recalled times his own father had done the same sort of thing to him. “Whacking some wit into him,” as Prince Bahnak had described it. And I never enjoyed it at all, at all, Bahzell thought, so more power to the lad that he can be taking his whack without so much as a wince.
“Good,” Tellian said, giving his nephew a nod, then folded his napkin. He set it beside his plate, pushed back his chair, rose, and kissed his wife’s cheek. Then he glanced at Leeana and smiled crookedly.
“I’m not inviting you this time, daughter of mine,” he told her. Brief disappointment flickered in her eyes, but it came and went so quickly it was more imagined than seen, and she returned his smile. “After all,” he continued, “I’m quite sure you have your own sources. Come to the library before bed tonight. Let me know what you’ve been able to pick up about Sir Yarran’s visit on your own.”
“Yes, Poppa,” she murmured in her most dutiful tone, green eyes glinting wickedly, and Tellian laughed. He stroked one hand over her gleaming, golden-red hair, then returned his attention to Bahzell and Brandark.
“Such a submissive child,” he said, shaking his head regretfully. “Not a spark of spirit, not an ounce of spunk anywhere in her.”
“Aye,” Bahzell said, smiling as Leeana stuck out her tongue at him. “I’ve noticed as how all of your womenfolk seem to be beaten down, Milord.”
“Every one of them,” Tellian sighed, and then twitched as his “beaten down” wife poked him shrewdly in the ribs.
Sir Yarran climbed out of the comfortable chair with something that looked rather more like a respectful nod than a bow as Tellian, Bahzell, Brandark, and Trianal entered the study. He’d obviously availed himself of the offer of a wash up, and changed out of his riding boots, but there were still traces of the Wind Plain’s omnipresent springtime mud on his trousers. A tray on the small table beside his chair bore the remains of a fat sandwich, a bowl of thick, savory vegetable soup, a couple of apple cores, and a mostly empty stein of beer, and he brushed a dusting of crumbs from his tunic as he straightened up.
“Welcome, Sir Yarran!” Tellian said, striding across the study to take the older man’s right hand and forearm in a warrior’s clasp. “I trust my people have seen to your needs adequately?”
“Oh, aye, that they have.” Yarran patted his flat belly with his free hand and gri
“You’re quite welcome,” Tellian assured him, giving his forearm a final squeeze before he released it. Then the baron settled into a chair of his own, waving an invitation for Yarran to sit back down. The knight was obviously pleased by the gesture, but he chose to remain standing, in a sort of modified version of the Sothoii stand-easy, as the others found seats facing him.
“I have no doubt you bring me less than pleasant news from Lord Warden Festian,” Tellian continued, “but you are always welcome in my house, nonetheless. I know from my correspondence with him that he has complete faith in you, and if he does, then so do I.”
“Uh, thank you. Thank you, Milord Baron.” The gray-haired knight seemed almost flustered, as if the praise were unexpected. Then he drew a deep breath and looked past Tellian to the others.
“This is my nephew, Sir Trianal, Sir Yarran,” Tellian said in answer to the unasked question. “He’s one of my officers, and he spent the summer before last with Sir Kelthys, so he’s familiar with Glanharrow’s geography. And I invited Prince Bahzell and Lord Brandark to accompany us for much the same reasons. They, too, are familiar with Glanharrow. In fact, I believe you met both of them there in the aftermath of the previous Lord Glanharrow’s … expedition down the Gullet?”
“Aye, Milord, that I did.” Sir Yarran’s lips twitched in a smile, and he flexed his left arm. “As a matter of fact, Prince Bahzell and I met during it.” He flexed his arm again. “I was just a mite more fortunate than some of the other poor buggers who met up with him that day.”
“No lasting damage, I’m hoping? “ Bahzell said politely, watching the knight flex his arm for a third time.
“None the healers couldn’t put right, Milord Champion,” Yarran replied.
“And no hard feelings, I trust,” Tellian said. Yarran looked at the baron quickly, his expression almost shocked.
“Of course not, Milord!” He shook his head for emphasis. “’Twasn’t anything personal, for either of us. I was with Sir Festian—well, Lord Festian, now—and I never thought that trip was a good idea to begin with. Even if I had, I got off lighter than any man should expect to if he’s daft enough to cross swords with a champion of Tomanak!”
“I’m afraid it was personal for quite a few people who were there that day,” Tellian said grimly.