"Perhaps not," Tellian agreed. "But don't sell yourself short, Sir Yarran. There are members of the Council who either can't-or won't-see the same logic."
"Maybe that's because they've not spent their entire lives living down on your border with Cassan," Yarran said with grim humor. "It's an amazing thing how that . . . focuses your thoughts."
Tellian nodded appreciatively, but his gray eyes were distant and the others could almost physically feel the intensity of his thoughts. He sat that way for over two full minutes, then shook himself, like a dog who'd just stepped in from the rain.
"Well, Sir Yarran," he said, his eyes refocusing on the knight. "I can see why Lord Festian sent you. On several levels." He smiled under his brushy mustache as Yarran's eyebrows quirked. "He had to send someone to explain what sort of help he needs, and why," the baron continued. "And since he did, he showed excellent judgment in sending someone who understands the situation as well as you obviously do. I must confess that I already knew some of what you've told me, but I hadn't realized the whole of it. I'm going to require a day or two to think about it before I decide how best to help Lord Warden Festian deal with it. I assure you, however, that it will be dealt with."
There was a world of determination in his choice of verbs, and Bahzell felt himself nodding in approval.
"In the meantime," Tellian said, slapping the arms of his chair and then thrusting himself up out of it, "consider yourself my honored guest, Sir Yarran. I'm very pleased to have you here, and I'll ask Trianal to escort you to the suite Kalan has assigned to you. Once you've had a chance to settle in, I think it would be an excellent idea for you to spend some time speaking with my own senior officers. I'd be obliged if you-and you, Trianal-" he glanced at his nephew "would leave Baron Cassan out of it, but feel free to share any of your other information or conclusions with them, including your thoughts about Erathian and Lord Saratic." He smiled thinly. "Most of my people are smart enough to figure out who'd have to be behind Saratic, so there's no need to be any more specific about it. And unlike some nobles, I've discovered that keeping the people who are supposed to help you handle any wars or other little unpleasantnesses which come your way as fully informed as possible is a good idea. At least they're more likely to keep you from stepping on your . . . sword that way."
Chapter Eleven
"So, Prince Bahzell," a youthful voice said, "can I pick your brains for Father's secrets?"
Bahzell turned from where he'd stood on Hill Guard's curtain wall, leaning on the battlements while he stared out across the endless grasslands of the Wind Plain. The morning's overcast had blown away on the winds of noon, and the afternoon sun was settling towards a western horizon of such crystalline blue beauty that it hurt the eyes. The deep, dark green of the reborn grasslands, nourished by the long, soaking rains, spread out below him like the visible proof of the Wind Plain's short-seasoned fertility. The wind blowing out of the northwest was still on the cool side of warm, but Bahzell enjoyed its slight bite as he luxuriated in an absence of raindrops.
Leeana Bowmaster stood behind him, in one of the simple yet elegant gowns her mother had lately begun to insist she wear. The wind molded the fabric to her long legs, and strands of hair which had escaped her braid danced about her face, flickering like gilded serpents in the sunlight. With her green eyes sparkling with mischievous deviltry, she looked even cuter than usual, Bahzell told himself, steadfastly ignoring the fact that "cute" might not be the precisely the correct adjective.
"I'm not thinking as how my poor brain is after being all that worth picking, Milady," he told her with a smile.
"Don't be silly, Milord Prince." She walked across to stand beside him, gazing out over the same green vista. "Given how hard you work at it, you really don't do a very good job of hiding your intelligence."
Bahzell looked at her profile sidelong. That was coming to grips with a vengeance, he thought.
"It's not so very bad a thing if those as don't much like you spend their time thinking about how much brighter than you they're after being," he said after a moment. "I'll not claim to be a genius, at the best of times, Milady. Yet for all that, it may be I'm not quite the idiot my old da's been known to call me."
"And I imagine it helps that quite a few people are bigoted enough to listen to the way you Horse Stealers talk rather than to what it is you say," Leeana mused.
"Aye, no doubt it does," Bahzell agreed. "If it comes to that, there's plenty of those as are ready to assume any hradani, regardo boot." He gave her a slow smile. "Well, I'm thinking those as call my folk barbarians aren't far wrong, when all's said. But those as think all barbarians are after being stupid . . ."
He shrugged, twitching his ears gently, and she laughed delightedly. It was a lovely sound, like bits of crystal music blown on the wind.
"I can see where that would be a mistake," she agreed. "Especially now that you've demonstrated how smoothly you can avoid answering a simple question."
"Avoid, Milady?" he asked innocently. "What question would that have been?"
"The one about Father's secrets," she said patiently.
"Ah, that question!" He nodded. "Well, do you know, Milady, I don't really think as how it's my place to be saying aught about the Baron's confidences." She opened her mouth, but he held up his right hand, index finger extended. "Oh, I was there when he was after challenging you," he agreed. "But I'm thinking as how he wanted you to be using your regular sources, not bringing in new ones."
"You're probably right," she said after considering it briefly. "On the other hand, any 'regular source' was a new one, once." She shrugged fetchingly. "I have to recruit them at some point, you know."
Bahzell laughed out loud, and she grinned impudently up at him.
"You're after reminding me of my sister Marglyth," he told her. "Maybe with a bit of Sharkah thrown in for spice. Not a scruple amongst the three of you."
"I do so have scruples!" she told him, elevating her nose with a disdainful sniff. "I just don't let them get in the way of business."
" 'Business,' is it?" Bahzell considered her thoughtfully. "I'm hoping you won't take this wrongly, Milady, but are you so very sure as how this is the sort of 'business' as you should be wanting to learn?"
"It's the only one I can learn," she said, and the levity had ebbed from her voice. She continued to look up at him, but now those huge, dark green eyes were serious, almost somber. "It's not as if anyone is going to let me train to be a knight, even if that were what I wanted to do-which it isn't. I'm only a daughter, after all. Most people figure a daughter's only job is to become someone's wife and produce babies. Preferably male ones."
There was a pronounced bite in her tone, and Bahzell felt a stir of sympathy.
"At least Father and Mother aren't like some parents," she continued in the voice of someone conscientiously reminding herself to look on the bright side. "A lot of other girls my age-most of the daughters of the nobility, I sometimes think-seem to have been taught that catching husbands and producing offspring are the only two things that could possibly matter. And the majority of them seem to think admitting that they're intelligent, possibly even-Lillinara forbid!-more intelligent than the men around them, is the one certain way to guarantee that they'll never catch a husband!"
She rolled her eyes, and Bahzell nodded slowly.
"Aye, I've seen the same often enough, and not just amongst your daughters of the nobility, Milady. And truth to tell, I've always thought as how any girl foolish enough to believe that is after deserving the sort of husband she's likely to be catching. I'll not deny that, often as not, it seems as how there's a point in most young bucks' lives where brains, if you'll be forgiving my bluntness, aren't the very first thing they look for in a girl. Then again, it's always seemed to me as how there's a point in most young bucks' lives when their brains aren't good for so very much, so I suppose if a lass is after acting just brainless enough at just the very right moment, she's likely enough to be catching herself a husband. Like as not, though, it's not the husband as she'd soonest be keeping down the road."