"Why do people build such places?" Tervy asked from behind him.
"A keep is a stronghold, to live in and defend against attacks," Sturm said.
"Lived in by other ironskins."
"Yes, and their families."
"Ironskins have families?"
"Well, of course, where do you think little ironski – knights come from?" he asked, amused.
A haze hung over the old keep, which was little more than a ruin these days. After the Cataclysm, marauders had burned the keep. The walls still stood, but the tower was an empty shell.
Closer in, the haze proved to be dust and smoke from tramping feet and campfires. A sizable body of troops was encamped around the outer wall. No banners flew. Sturm could not tell whose troops they were, but their presence explained the need for large numbers of cattle. Such an army needed huge amounts of food.
Riders slipped in on both sides, observing the oncoming herd. Sturm scrutinized them in return. Their armor was plain, undistinguished as to origin or age. The cavalry men wore barred visors on their helmets and carried long lances.
Their proportions appeared human, but they kept to such a distance that it was impossible to be sure.
Tervy was intrigued. "More ironskins," she breathed.
Sturm corrected her. "Not all men in armor are knights," he said. "You be very careful around them. They may be evil." He felt her thin arms tighten a little around his waist.
Whatever her failings in education, Tervy knew evil.
The keep grew larger as the day wore on, and the outrid ers thickened on the herd's flanks. Sturm rode past Onthar while making his circuit. "What do you make of those men?" asked Sturm.
"Cavalry," Onthar said. He chewed a long blade of grass.
"Glad to see 'em. Won't be any raiders about with them out there."
Onthar halted at midday for a word with his men. "I do the talking, and I do the dealing. Any man speaks out of turn at a parley like this loses his head. I don't know if these are mercenaries, or some warlord's new army, but I don't want any trouble. So keep your mouths closed and your hands empty."
Half a mile from the keep, a column of horsemen galloped out to meet the herd. Sturm was on the right edge of the for mation then, and he saw the men ride out. Onthar met them, and the cattle milled to a stop and fell to cropping the grass.
Sturm couldn't hear what was being said, but Tervy mumbled something. He said, "What did you say?"
"I'm catching their words," she replied.
"You're what?"
"Catching their words. If you watch their mouths move, you can catch the words they speak, even if you're too far away to hear them."
Sturm turned sharply to her. 'You're jesting with me!"
"Cut my heart out if I lie, Ironskin. The man, Onthar, said he has brought his animals because he heard a great lord was buying cattle for top coin. And the man in the iron hat said, yes, they can use all the fresh meat they can get."
"Can you really tell what they are saying?"
"I can, if you let me look." Sturm wheeled Brumbar around so that Tervy had the best view of the parley.
"Onthar says he will bargain with the great lord himself, no one else. Iron Hat says, 'I speak for the great lord in small things.' 'Listen to me,' Onthar says, 'my herd is not a small thing. Either the great lord speaks to me, or I will drive the cattle over the mountains to Palanthas, where beef always commands a high price.' Iron Hat is angry, but he says, 'I will go and speak to the great lord; wait and I will return with his tidings."' She smiled at Sturm. "How was that?"
The cavalry officer did in fact bring his horse around and gallop back to the keep. Sturm asked, "Where did you learn such a trick?"
"An old man in our band practiced this art. He was the best scout on the plain. He could catch words true from a bowshot away. He taught me before he died."
"Where did he learn it?"
"From a kender, he said."
They waited in the broiling sun until the cavalryman returned. His fine mount pranced out to where Onthar sat slouched on his stubby pony. Tervy squinted into the glare and caught their words again.
"He says to drive the herd into the baney, the bailey -?"
"Bailey," Sturm said. "The courtyard inside the keep."
"Yes, and 'the great lord will treat with you personally.'
Onthar agrees." le With many whistles and pricks of the goad, the herders got the cattle moving again. The nine hundred beasts fun neled into the keep's gate. The bailey easily accommodated the animals. When the last calves were spanked, bawling, into the gate, soldiers drew the bars shut.
There were clusters of tents all along the outer wall.
Onthar and his men tethered their horses on a picket line and followed a plumed soldier along the tent line.
"Are these all the men you have?" said the soldier. His face was hidden by his visor. "I would have thought such a large herd would require more handlers."
"Not if the men are good," Onthar said.
Sturm was counting tents. Four men per tent, sixty tents so far – he had an uncomfortable feeling about this.
They came upon a very large tent, trimmed with dark blue brocade and golden fringe. Guards snapped to atten tion and crossed halberds at their approach. The visored soldier spoke to them, presenting Onthar and his company.
The guards resumed normal positions. The plumed officer extended his hand, and the herders went in alone.
The interior was sumptuous. Carpets covered the ground, and tapestries, hanging from the ridge poles, gave the illusion of being in a solid building. While the others were gawking at the richness of their surroundings, Sturm was staring at the designs of the rugs and wall hangings. The recurring motif was that of a rampant red dragon, clutching a sheaf of spears in one claw and a crown in the other.
"Ironskin," Tervy said, too loudly.
"Not now."
A curtain of shimmering red beads closed the corridor.
Onthar feigned disinterest and swept the curtain aside.
Sturm thought the red 'beads' looked very much like rubies.
Two halberds swung down to bar Onthar's progress. He regarded the guards idly, as if he'd seen such beings many times and they bored him. Beyond the guards, a large, pow erfully built man sat at a three-legged table that was draped with a golden cloth. He wore scale armor enameled in red and blue, and a fearsome helmet sat facing outward on the gold-topped table.
The man looked up. His hair was white, though he was by no means elderly. It swept back from his massive brow to fall around his shoulders. His skin was pale.
"Come in. You are Onthar the Herdsman, are you not?" said the man.
"I am, my lord. May I ask what I shall call you?"
"I am Merinsaard, Lord of Bayarn."
Sturm clenched his fists tightly at his sides. Merinsaard!
The name spoken by Sturm's storm phantom! Sturm con centrated on the hard face and long white hair. Danger ema nated from this man. Sturm tried to catch Onthar's eye, but could not.
There were no chairs for Onthar and his men. Ordinary folk did not sit in the presence of the great lord.
Merinsaard stated, "I am pleased that you chose to drive your fine cattle here. It was been some weeks since our last supply of fresh meat was consumed. How many head did you bring?"
"Nine hundred, more or less. Six hundred steers, two hundred cows, and one hundred yearling calves. What bulls we brought we will drive back with us," Onthar said. He crossed his hands at his waist and did not appear at all excited.
The great lord took out a ledger book and opened it. With a sharp quill, he made a notation. "And how much are you asking, Master Onthar?"
"Twelve coppers per calf, fifteen per steer, and one silver piece per cow," he said firmly.
"A high price, but fair considering the quality of the beasts in the bailey." Onthar permitted himself a smile.
Merinsaard snapped his fingers, and two more soldiers entered from a door in the wall behind his table. They car ried a chest into the room and set it down. "Your payment," said the great lord.
Onthar reached out with steady hands. This was a for tune! His household would celebrate for days when he returned with such a bounty. He lifted the lid and let it fall back on its hinges.
The chest was empty.
"What?" Onthar said. Sturm snapped his sword out.
"Take them!" Merinsaard barked. Soldiers poured into the room from two sides.
"Treachery! Treachery!" The herders scattered. Sturm gathered Tervy to him.
"Stay behind me!" he said. A soldier thrust the point of his halberd at Sturm, but the knight parried the heavy steel head away. The herders, with only their flimsy goads, were quickly subdued by the soldiers.