Foretellers (The Ydron Saga Book 3) (19 page)

Emmet Lehr had suggested a stroll along the battlements as a way to obtain the privacy necessary to their discussion. He had moved the watch to the fortress’s side and rear parapets, while he and Harad conducted their talk along its front.

“Why here, of all places?” asked Lehr, throwing his arms wide to indicate where they were walking. “I trust my kitchen not to poison my food,” he explained. “Over the years they’ve had enough opportunity and have never attempted it. Likewise, my servants and advisors have also proven their loyalty on countless occasions. Even so, I suspect I may risk straining everyone’s allegiance if they were to learn I am contemplating taking my forces abroad. This would be the first time I’ll have sent my army outside of Dar’s borders, assuming I actually decide to do so.”

Anticipating the question already forming on Harad’s lips, he continued.

“Many in the fortress have relatives living elsewhere, so I am uncertain how they would react if I were to take an action they could construe as jeopardizing their extended family’s safety. While I do not believe any would attempt to harm me outright, they might try to send a word of warning. Word can spread and I prefer to retain the advantage of surprise.”

Harad already knew the answers to the questions he was preparing. He would have preferred to come straight to the point, if doing so would not alert Lehr to his telepathic prowess. Nonetheless, displeased that his bodyguard had been forced to camp outside, angered even more that Lehr had excluded Rodic from this conversation—despite having done so to his own advisors—Harad found himself forced to endure the process of wading through what amounted to, in his mind, the painfully necessary. This dialogue they had begun days earlier with some degree of optimism, was now threatening to unravel and he was hoping to prevent a deteriorating situation from growing worse. Already knowing how Miast’s lord had responded and hoping he might yet salvage that situation, he found himself asking, “Have you heard from Ben Haro?”

Lehr turned to face him.

“I have,” he said, debating how much he should reveal, deciding in the process to toy with Harad. He wanted to see how far he could push this newly acquired ally without alienating him altogether, since Haro had raised concerns about Harad’s fitness and Lehr wanted to test the allegations.

“And?” Harad prodded,

He was about to leave the question hanging, accustomed as he was to employing sarcasm. Then, thinking better of it, he continued in as pleasant a tone as he could muster.

“What did he say?”

“He wasn’t that direct,” Lehr replied. “He inquired as to how many men I’d be able to send into battle.” Lehr turned his eyes south, as if looking towards Miast would help fathom Haro’s thoughts. “I’m sure he’s concerned about my sincerity and intends to determine it by how much I’m willing to risk.”

“Did you tell him I’m involved?”

“He… ” Lehr halted, and Harad could see he was trying to decide how to avoid the insult. Knowing in advance the reply that was coming did not lessen its sting. “He said he didn’t want your assistance.” When Harad remained silent, Lehr added, “He made the same sort of comment about your readiness that I made about Orr.”

“The man doesn’t know me,” Harad protested.

“Quite clearly he’s assuming you are cut from the same cloth.”

“Have you tried to persuade him otherwise?”

Lehr shook his head.

“He has been to Monhedeth. He’s seen the pretty palace and knows how poorly Orr trained his soldiers.”

“Yours are no more battle-ready than mine are.”

Smiling grimly, Lehr replied, “Apparently he bases his decisions on appearances.”

Harad pressed. Trying to keep the anger from his voice, but failing miserably, he asked, “What does your knowledge of the man tell you I must do to convince him otherwise?”

“Conduct a campaign.”

“Against whom?” Harad snapped.

Lehr turned his back and said, “I’m hard pressed to advise you on that account. If you can keep your forces south of Lake Ossan and nearer the river, I will let them pass unchallenged.”

“Surely you’re not talking about my personal escort.”

Lehr faced him and stared him in the eyes.

“No. I am sure you will need many more, especially if you dare to head south and pass through Miast. You will have to alert Haro about your intentions, of course, and hope he takes you at your word. Assuming he does—and rest assured I will do my best to convince him of your good intentions—Yeset’s not so fierce that you cannot defeat them, should you choose to attempt it.” He smiled, adding, “Perhaps Haro will be pleased to see you eliminate a potential enemy encamped at his back door.”

“Are you serious?” Harad demanded. “Are you suggesting I risk my men so that you and he can join forces and ride over the ones that are left as you go to attack Meden?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“How would you put it?”

Pleased he had gained the upper hand, Lehr replied, “Perhaps, when you succeed, we three can meet in barakMacom to put our heads together.”

Harad stared intently at Lehr and replied, “If you will be kind enough to allow me to return home with my bodyguard, I have a better idea.”

“If you are thinking of coming back to attack me… ”

“Don’t be obtuse! As much as I hate to admit it, we need one another. The thought curdles my stomach as much as I’m sure it does yours, but the fact remains that we do.

“That said, I have another plan in mind that just might appeal to you. If you’re not in any great hurry to get to your dinner, I’d like to explain.”

… … … … …

Shortly before dawn, Lehr sent a servant to Harad’s chamber, waking him with a detailed written message stating his acceptance of Harad’s proposed strategy and his terms of agreement. Having slept through the night, it was only then that Harad was certain of Lehr’s final disposition.

After reading the document, he placed it in the hearth and set it on fire as the last paragraph instructed. When all of the paper turned to ash, he used a poker to stir what remained until he was certain no remnant could be read.

Now, outside the fortress, he and Rodic stood, reins in hand, watching Harad’s soldiers ride toward them through the drizzle.

“Really?” Rodic asked. “He’s willing to let you command his men?”

“Not all of them,” said Harad. “Just four or five hundred to add to my own. Enough to insure a successful outcome.”

“Why didn’t you see it coming? With the way you read minds… ”

“He had never considered the possibility until I brought it up and it took him until this morning to reach a decision. I was delighted to learn he feels the same way I do… at least about them,” Harad said, inclining his head toward the southwest. “They have had run-ins over the years about such things as where Lehr may or may not hunt for game. He would like to expand his borders southwest, beyond Lake Ossan, just as I want to extend Monhedeth directly south to the River Em.”

Rodic grinned. “They’ll never see it coming,” he said. “Unless… ”

“Peniff has gone south. He’s not there to warn them and he’s taken my little nuisance with him,” Harad replied. Then, reading the question forming in Rodic’s mind, he said, “Lehr and I will have no trouble communicating. He has given me half a dozen pigeons to match the ones I’ve given him. I wish I had brought more, but if we use them wisely, we will have no trouble organizing our attack against the Haroun.”

“A merchant from Rutan is waiting outside, M’Lord,” the page informed him. “He says you asked to see him.”

Harad had returned from barakDar two days before and his mind was still focused on Lehr’s message. Preoccupied, for the moment, with the charts in his map room, he was about to have the page turn the merchant away, when he recalled his conversation with the blacksmith three weeks earlier. His face brightened.

“Please send him in,” he said, rolling the parchment and setting it aside.

The doors swung open and a large bearded man with a mane of wavy black hair entered, and for a moment Harad imagined he was facing a lion. The merchant was dressed entirely in black leather and three silver chains, each bearing several silver medallions, hung across his chest. He grinned broadly, flashing perfect ivory teeth and, with both hands extended, presented a black onyx scabbard. The hilt that protruded, from its black leather-wrapped grip with its silver wire inlay, to the silver guard and silver pommel cap, was identical to the hilt of the sword Harad had purchased at the market.

“My Lord,” said the merchant, halting three feet from the table. “I have been told my product pleases you.”

He bowed his head and stood waiting for Harad to acknowledge him.

“It does indeed,” Harad replied. Looking up from the sword to the merchant, he said, “I am interested in purchasing as many as you have. May I offer you a chair?”

Harad glanced briefly at the page and pointed at the one near the door. Once the boy had positioned the piece so that Harad and the merchant could sit facing one another, he instructed the lad, “My best wine for this gentleman.”

“Yes, Lord.”

The youth was starting to bow when Harad added, “When you return, please serve my guest as you would serve me.”

“Certainly, M’Lord,” the page confirmed, then completed his obeisance and left the room.

After centering the weapon on the table, the merchant seated himself and, cocking his head while sporting an inquisitive half-smile, waited for Harad to break the silence.

Harad studied him. After finding only polite curiosity, he reached for the sword and unsheathed it. He held it aloft and regarded its details, studying its balance before turning the blade to reflect the light. Reaching out, he extended a finger intending to trace the metal’s engravings, but stopped short as before, a bare inch away, thinking it a crime to mar its finish with a touch. He returned the sword to its scabbard and regarded his guest.

“It is remarkable,” he admitted. “How many can I buy?”

The merchant paused, then smiled broadly.

“Not as many as you would like, I am sure.” When Harad’s face turned sour, the merchant hurried to add, “You may purchase all that I have.”

Harad’s expression softened.

“But you must understand that very few posses both the knowledge and skill to produce such a weapon and the process requires a great deal of time. Each artisan has several in production at any given moment, all in various stages of manufacture. Even so, I can provide you with, at best, a dozen swords a month and I am sure that is fewer than what you were hoping to hear.”

“You cannot arm my troops?”

The merchant shook his head.

“Your troops number into the thousands, I am sure,” he said, “and producing that many would take decades. I can supply large quantities of lesser swords, but only a few like this one.”

Harad looked away in disappointment. He had envisioned an army equipped with peerless weaponry: an invincible force. Still, he considered, stroking his chin, the thousands of soldiers he commanded were a definite improvement over the handful of scoundrels he usually employed.

“What I can do,” said the merchant, “is supply the majority of your troops with weapons superior to any your southern lands can produce—not as good as the one before you, but excellent still and as many as five hundred blades per month.”

Mustering a smile, Harad replied, “I will need several like this one immediately. How many do you have?”

“Including the one before you, I have brought ten.”

“And then I must wait another month.”

“Actually, no. Since these were completed two weeks ago, in a fortnight I can return with a similar number, perhaps a few more. Shall I bring the lesser ones as well?”

Before Harad could reply, the page returned with a golden tray imbedded with precious stones, upon which sat a gold pitcher and two goblets of identical design. As the lad moved into view, the merchant’s eyebrows came up and Harad stifled a grin. He was intending to impress his guest with this small indication of his purchasing power, and by the Rutanite’s expression, he could tell he had succeeded.

Once they had been served and were once again alone, Harad told the man, “I am facing a minor military operation. It will provide an excellent opportunity for some of my best to test in combat the ten you’ve brought with you. I don’t believe it will take more than a week to complete it. Can I count on you to return with the next ten to a dozen, shall we say,” he asked, placing an emphasis on the higher of the two quantities, “a week thereafter?”

“And the rest?”

Harad sighed and replied, “You can bring them as well. If I like what I see… ” He left the rest of the sentence hanging.

Apparently satisfied, the merchant took up his goblet and, swirling the contents, inhaled the aroma. A smile formed across his lips as he raised the vessel in a toast.

“Here is to the beginning of what I hope will become a long and mutually rewarding relationship,” he said.

Harad lifted his own in response and returned the gesture, then licked the drops that had fallen onto his wrist when some of the wine splashed over the brim. Failing to notice the merchant’s raised brows and disdainful sneer, Harad beamed.

“You have no idea,” he said, “how much I look forward to it.”