Wind Rider's Oath: Chapter Twenty Two

    At least Chemalka seemed to have decided to take her rainstorms somewhere else.

    Kaeritha grinned at the thought as she stood on the porch of the Kalathan guesthouse with a mug of steaming tea and gazed out into a misty early morning. Tellian and his armsmen had refused the war maids’ hospitality and departed late the previous afternoon. They probably hadn’t traveled far—there was a largish posting inn at the crossroad with the high road to Magdalas, about three miles from Kalatha, and she felt confident they’d stopped there to rest their horses for at least a day or two. However urgently he might want to return to Hanatha at Hill Guard, Tellian was a Sothoii. He would not damage a horse if he had any choice at all about it.

    She felt equally certain that the baron hadn’t declined Yalith’s offer out of anger or pique, but it had probably been as well he had. Whatever he might feel, the attitudes—and anger—of several of his retainers would have been certain to provoke friction and might well have spilled over into an unfortunate incident.

    Her grin vanished into a grimace, and she shook her head with an air of resignation before she took another sip of tea. Tellian’s warning that many of his followers were going to blame Kaeritha for Leeana’s actions had proved only too well founded. All of them had been too disciplined to say or do anything overt in the face of their lord’s public acceptance of the situation, but Kaeritha hadn’t needed the mage power to recognize the hostility in some of the glances which had come her way. She hoped their anger with her wasn’t going to spill over onto Bahzell and Brandark when they got back to Balthar. If it did, though, Bahzell would simply have to deal with it. Which, she thought wryly, he would undoubtedly manage in his own inimitable fashion.

    She drank more tea, watching the sun climb above the muddy fields which surrounded Kalatha. It was going to be a warmer day, she decided, and the sun would soon burn off the mists. She’d noticed the training field, and an extensive weapons salle, behind the town armory when she passed it on the day of her arrival, and she wondered if Balcartha Evahnalfressa, Yalith’s senior guard officer, would object to her borrowing the salle for an hour or so. She’d missed her regular morning workouts while she and Leeana pressed ahead as rapidly as possible on their journey. Besides, from all she’d heard, her own two-handed fighting technique was much less uncommon among war maids. If she could talk some of them into sparring with her, she might be able to pick up a new trick or two.

    She finished the tea and turned to step back into the guesthouse to set the mug on the table beside her other breakfast dishes. Then she looked into the small mirror—an unexpected and expensive luxury—above the fireplace. Welcome as the guesthouse bed had been, the communal bathhouse had been even more welcome. She actually looked human again, she decided, although it was still humid enough that it had taken her long, midnight-black hair hours to dry. Most of her clothes were still drying somewhere in the town laundry, but she’d had one decent, clean change still in her saddlebags. There were a few wrinkles and creases here and there, but taken all in all, she was presentable, she decided.

    Which was probably a good thing. It might even do her some good in her upcoming interview with Yalith.

    Then again, she thought ruefully, it might not.

    “Thank you for agreeing to see me so early, Mayor,” Kaeritha said as Sharral showed her back into Yalith’s office and she settled into the proffered chair.

    “There’s no need to thank me,” Yalith replied briskly. “Despite any . . . lack of enthusiasm on my part when you handed me a hot potato like Leeana, any champion deserves whatever hospitality we can provide, Dame Kaeritha. Although,” she admitted, “I am a bit perplexed by exactly what a Champion of Tomanak’s doing here in Kalatha. However exalted Leeana’s birth may have been, I don’t believe we’ve ever had a candidate war maid delivered to us by any champion. And if that was going to happen, I would’ve expected one of the Mother’s Arms.”

    “Actually,” Kaeritha said, “I was already headed for Kalatha when Leeana overtook me on the road.”

    “Were you, indeed?” Yalith’s tone was that of a woman expressing polite interest, not surprise. Although, Kaeritha thought, there was also an edge of wariness to it.

    “Yes,” she said. Her left elbow rested on the arm of her chair, and she raised that hand, palm open. “I don’t know how familiar you are with champions and the way we get our instructions, Mayor Yalith.”

    Her tone made the statement a tactful question, and Yalith smiled.

    “I’ve never dealt directly with a champion, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “I once met a senior Arm of the Mother, but I was much younger then, and certainly not a mayor. No one was interested in explaining to me how she got her instructions from Lillinara. Even if anyone had been, my impression is that She has Her own way of getting Her desires and intentions across, so I assume the same would be true of Tomanak or any of the other gods.”

    “It certainly is,” Kaeritha agreed wryly. “For that matter, He seems to tailor His methods to his individual champions. In my own case, however, I tend to receive, well, feelings, I suppose, that I ought to be moving in a particular direction or thinking about a particular problem. As I get closer to whatever it is He needs me to be dealing with, I generally recognize the specifics as I come across them.”

    “That would seem to require a great deal of faith,” Yalith observed. Then she wrinkled her nose with a snort of amusement at her own words. “I suppose a champion does need rather more ‘faith’ than most people do, doesn’t she?”

    “It does seem to come with the job,” Kaeritha agreed. “In this instance, though, those feelings He sends me already had me headed in this direction. As nearly as I can pin things down at this point, Kalatha was where He wanted me.”

    “And not just to escort Leeana to us, I suppose.”

    “No. I had some discussion with Baron Tellian before I left Balthar, Mayor. Frankly, the reports from his stewards and magistrates, which he shared with me, lead me to believe that relations between your town and its neighbors are . . . not as good as they might be.”

    “My, what a tactful way to describe it.” Yalith’s irony was dry enough to burn off the morning mist without benefit of sunlight. She regarded Kaeritha without saying anything more for several more seconds, then leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest.

    “As a matter of fact, Dame Kaeritha, our ‘neighbors’ are probably almost as angry with us as we are with them. Although, of course, my Town Council and I believe we’re in the right and they aren’t. I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, however, but I fail to see why our disagreements and squabbles should be of any particular interest to Tomanak. Surely He has better things to spend His champions’ time on than refereeing fights which have been going on for decades. Besides, with all due respect, I’d think matters concerning the war maids are properly Lillinara’s affair, not the War God’s.”

    “First,” Kaeritha said calmly, “Tomanak is the God of Justice, as well as the God of War, and from Tellian’s reports, there seems to be some question of exactly what ‘justice’ means in this case. Second, those same reports also seem to suggest that there’s something more to this than the sort of quarrels which usually go on between war maid communities and their neighbors.”

    Yalith seemed less than pleased by the reminder that Tomanak was God of Justice—or perhaps by the implication that in that capacity he might have a legitimate interest in a matter which she clearly considered belonged to Lillinara. But if that was the case, she chose not to make a point of it. Yet, at least.

    “I suppose there may be a bit more to it this time,” she conceded with a slightly grudging air. “Trisu of Lorham’s never been particularly fond of war maids in general. His father, Lord Darhal, wasn’t either, but at least the old man wasn’t as bad as his younger brother, Saeth. No one was as bad as Saeth Pickaxe, Milady! Talk about your bigoted, contemptuous, stupid—”

    Yalith cut herself off and grimaced, then shook her head. She pinched the bridge of her nose and drew a deep breath, then exhaled.

    “Forgive me, Dame Kaeritha. I wasn’t yet Mayor when Saeth was killed in a hunting accident, but I had my own personal run-in with him, and I wasn’t alone. He seemed torn between the belief that every one of us was an unnatural bitch who should be exterminated for the salvation of the Kingdom and the conviction that every one of us was a whore he could tumble whenever he wished. Frankly, I’m astounded that he managed to be killed in an accident instead of ending up with a war maid garrotte wrapped around his throat and tied in a big, neat bow!

    “But Lord Darhal was neither oversexed nor an idiot, and if he felt we were ‘unnatural,’ at least he kept it to himself. In fact, he seemed to realize we were a fact of life he was going to have to learn to live with, so he did, however grumpily. Trisu, on the other hand, only inherited his title three years ago, and he’s still young . . . and impatient. He’s nowhere near so loathsome as his Uncle Saeth was, but I sometimes think he actually believes he can make himself sufficiently unpleasant to convince us to all just—” she wiggled the fingers of one hand in midair “—move away and leave him in peace.”

    She grimaced again, less bitterly, and shook her head.

    “When I’m not being totally exasperated with him, though, I doubt even Trisu could really be stupid enough to think that’s going to happen. Which means he’s making such an ass out of himself for some other reason. My own theory is that it’s simple frustration and immaturity. I’ve been hoping he’ll simply outgrow it.”

    “With all due respect, Mayor Yalith,” Kaeritha kept her voice as level and uninflected as possible, “from his own reports—and complaints—to Baron Tellian, he seems to feel he has legitimate cause for his unhappiness with Kalatha.” She raised one hand in a pacifying gesture as Yalith’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not saying you’re wrong about his underlying hostility, because from the tone of his letters, you’re not. I’m only saying that he clearly believes he has legitimate grievances over and above the fact that he simply doesn’t like you very much.”

    “I’m aware of that,” Yalith said a bit frostily. “I’ve heard about water rights and pasturage complaints from him until, quite frankly, I’m sick of it. Kalatha’s charter clearly gives us control of the river, since it passes through our territory upstream of his boundary with us. What we do with it at that point is up to us, not to him. And if he wants us to make a greater share of our water available to him, then he’s going to have to make some concessions to us, in return.”

    Kaeritha nodded—in understanding, not agreement, although she wasn’t certain Yalith recognized the distinction. Given the quantity of water which had fallen out of the sky over the past several weeks, the thought that Kalatha and the most powerful of the local nobles were at dagger-drawing over the issue of water rights might have struck some as silly. Kaeritha, however, had been born in a peasant farming community. As a result, she was only too well aware of how desperately important such issues could become when soggy spring gave way to the hot, dry months of summer. On the other hand, it was entirely possible—even probable, she suspected—that the quarrel over water was only an outward manifestation of other, more deeply seated animosities.

    “From his arguments to Tellian’s magistrates,” she said after a moment, “it seems evident Trisu doesn’t agree that your control of the river is as straightforward and unambiguous as you believe it is. Or that your interpretation of the boundaries set up by Lord Kellos’ grant are correct. Obviously, he’s going to put forward what he believes are his strongest arguments in that respect, since he’s trying to convince the courts to rule in his favor. I’m not saying he’s correct or that his arguments are valid—only that he appears to believe they are.”

    Yalith snorted derisively, but she didn’t say anything, and Kaeritha continued.

    “To be honest, at the moment I’m more interested in those return ‘concessions’ to which you just referred. Trisu’s complained to Tellian that you war maids have been hostile and confrontational and rejected his best efforts to work out a peaceable compromise solution to his disputes with you. As far as I’m aware, he hasn’t gone into any specifics about just how you’ve been hostile and confrontational. Do you suppose that would have anything to do with the concessions you want from him?”

    “Hostile and confrontational, is it?” Yalith glowered. “I’ll ‘hostile and confrontational’ him! We’ve been as reasonable as we can be with such a pigheaded, greedy, stubborn, opinionated young idiot!”

    Despite herself, Kaeritha found it difficult not to smile. Yalith’s evident anger made it a bit easier, since it was obvious her resentment of Trisu burned much deeper and hotter than she wanted to admit to Kaeritha . . . or possibly even to herself. At the same time, the knight could see how even a man considerably more reasonable than she suspected Trisu was might feel the war maids were just a trifle hostile toward him.

    “I’m sure you have,” she said after a second or two, when she was confident she could control her own voice. “What I need to know before I move on to Lorham is exactly what concessions you’ve been seeking.”

    “Nothing that earthshaking,” Yalith responded. “Or they shouldn’t be, anyway. We want a right-of-way across one of his pastures to a stud farm which was bequeathed to us by Lady Crowhammer six or seven years ago. We want a formal agreement on how the river’s water will be divided and distributed in dry seasons. We want a guarantee that our farm products—and farmers—will receive equal treatment in local markets from his factors and inspectors and from the market magistrates. And we want him to finally and formally accept the provisions of our charter and Lord Kellos’ land grant—all of their provisions.”

    “I see.” Kaeritha sat back and considered what Yalith had just said. The first three points did, indeed, sound as if they were less than “earthshaking.” She was only too well aware of how simply and reasonably someone could describe her own viewpoint on an issue which was bitterly contested, yet she was inclined to think it must be the fourth point which lay at the heart of the war maids’ current confrontation with the Lord of Lorham.

    “What specific provisions are in dispute?” she asked after a moment.

    “Several.” Yalith grimaced. “King Gartha’s charter defines specific obligations to local lords from which war maids are to be exempted, and, to be fair, Trisu and his father and grandfather have generally accepted that. They’ve been less interested in enforcing the provisions which require those same local lords to grant war maid crafters and farmers equal protection and treatment in their markets.

    “That’s bad enough, but it’s also been going on literally for generations, and we’ve managed to live with it all that time. But another serious dispute’s arisen in the last few years, concerning the water rights I spoke of and the integrity of the surrounding land which Lord Kellos originally granted to us. Lord Kellos’ grant defined specific boundaries and landmarks, obviously, but Trisu’s family—and, for that matter, some of the other local lords, although not to the same degree—have been encroaching upon those boundaries for years. In fact, Trisu’s father built a grist mill on what’s clearly our land, and Trisu has refused to acknowledge that Lord Darhal was in the wrong when he did. In fact, Trisu insists that he owns that land and always has, despite the fact that the original grant puts the boundary almost half a mile beyond the mill. That’s just one instance of the way in which our boundaries are being routinely violated.

    “Another point is that the grant clearly specifies that we’re exempt from tolls on the use of roadways crossing Lorham. Lord Kellos and Trisu’s great-great-grandfather did some horsetrading back and forth over the exact boundaries of our holdings, and Lord Rathman gave us the exemption in return for a couple of offsetting concessions from Lord Kellos. But Lord Trisu’s father, Darhal, began charging us the tolls anyway about thirty years ago.

    “Admittedly, this isn’t a point we’ve made an issue out of before, since the tolls Lord Darhal levied weren’t all that high. More to the point, they were clearly intended for the maintenance of the roads in question, and we were using them to transport our goods and produce. But Trisu began raising the tolls immediately after he became Lord Warden of Lorham. He’s obviously trying to raise additional revenues, over and above the cost of maintaining the roads themselves. We may’ve been willing to pay a toll we weren’t legally obligated to pay so long as the funds were being used to repair and maintain roadways that benefited us, as well as Lorham. But we are not prepared to subsidize other parts of his treasury while he’s violating our boundaries and attempting to deny us our legitimate water rights.

    “There are several other, minor points—most of them procedural, really. Some of them, to be completely honest, probably aren’t worth fighting over. But they’re part and parcel of our overall quarrel with him. We’re not prepared to concede any of them without getting something in return, but that’s something that can be worked out in negotiations, assuming that both sides are willing to negotiate.”

    “I see.” Kaeritha nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That’s about the size of it?”

    “Well, yes. Where our prerogatives and boundaries are concerned, at any rate. But . . . there is one additional, major problem.”

    The mayor’s pause was almost a hesitation, and Kaeritha quirked an eyebrow.

    “As I said,” Yalith continued, “our charter clearly and unambiguously provides that our craftspeople, farmers, traders, and anyone else who may be a citizen of Kalatha or any of the free-towns which were founded later are guaranteed the same rights as any other citizens of the Kingdom, regardless of whether they’re men or women. Trisu doesn’t seem to think that applies in Lorham.”

    “In what way?” Kaeritha asked, leaning forward and frowning intently.

    “Our merchants and artisans and some of our farmers have been harassed in local markets, and Trisu’s magistrates have done nothing about it,” Yalith replied. She waved a hand in a back-and-forth gesture. “That, in itself, isn’t all that important. There’s always going to be some bigoted farmer or townsman who’s going to give women doing ‘man’s work’ a hard time, and war maids can’t afford to be too thin-skinned when it comes along. But it’s symptomatic of a more serious problem.”

    “What sort of problem?”

    “There have been . . . incidents concerning the temple of Lillinara at Quaysar,” Yalith said. It was obvious she was picking her words carefully, and also that she was trying hard to restrain a volcanic surge of anger. She paused once more, and Kaeritha waited for the mayor to be certain she had control of her temper before she resumed.

    “Since you follow Tomanak, not Lillinara, you may not be aware that the temple in Quaysar has special significance to the Mother,” she said, after a few moments. “It’s not an especially large temple, but it’s a very old one. Quaysar itself is a tiny town. In fact, the town proper has pretty much disappeared over the last fifty or sixty years. What’s left of it has been effectively absorbed by the temple itself. But the Quaysar Temple has always been especially important to the war maids—just as Kalatha itself has been, despite our small size—because it was at Quaysar that our original charter from King Gartha was first officially and formally proclaimed. You might say Quaysar is the ‘mother chapter’ of all war maids everywhere and that Kalatha is the ‘mother free-town” to match it. Quaysar’s also located in Lorham, unfortunately. As a matter of fact, one of the reasons Lord Kellos originally granted Kalatha to the war maids, and why the Crown recognized it as a free-town, was our proximity to Quaysar.”

    “You’re right. I wasn’t aware of that,” Kaeritha murmured. “Tellian told me Kalatha was your oldest free-town, but I didn’t know about Quaysar or its importance to you.”

    “There’s no reason why you should have,” Yalith pointed out. “Obviously, we would have preferred to have been able to include Quaysar under our charter. Unfortunately, the lord wardens of Lorham have always been much less sympathetic to us than Lord Kellos was. It didn’t seem to matter much, though, given the respect and autonomy enjoyed by any temple. Whether Trisu or his ancestors approved of war maids or not, surely no sane person was going to harass or insult the temple of any god . . . or goddess. Or so we thought.”

    “You mean he has done that?” Kaeritha demanded sharply.

    “I mean,” Yalith said grimly, “that he’s repeatedly demonstrated his disrespect—I would even say contempt—for the temple at Quaysar. He’s insulted the Voice of Quaysar in personal conversation. He’s made it clear to her that he is not impressed by the fact that she speaks for the Mother. For that matter, he’s all but openly stated that he doesn’t believe she does speak for the Mother at all.”

    Kaeritha was shocked. Different rulers always evidenced different degrees of reverence and respect, and some people seemed to believe that if they worshiped one god—or goddess—all of the others were irrelevant. But what sort of idiot openly showed the sort of disdain and contempt Yalith was describing? Regardless of what he himself believed or disbelieved, such an attitude was guaranteed to offend and infuriate his subjects.

    “That’s all bad enough,” Yalith continued in a flat, bitter voice, “but it isn’t everything. Two of the Voice’s handmaidens were sent from Quaysar to Kalatha with a message from the Voice to me. They never arrived.”

    This time, Kaeritha was far more than merely shocked.

    “Mayor Yalith, are you suggesting —?”

    “I’m not prepared to suggest that Trisu personally had anything to do with their disappearance,” Yalith interrupted before Kaeritha could complete the question. “If I had any proof—or even strongly suggestive evidence—of that, I can assure you that I would already have charged him with it before Baron Tellian, as his liege, or demanded that the case be investigated by the Crown Prosecutor. But I do believe that whoever was responsible—who must have shared Trisu’s attitude towards war maids generally to have done something so insane—probably took his cue from Trisu. And I’m not at all satisfied with Trisu’s so-called ‘investigation’ of the incident. He claims he can find no evidence at all to suggest what happened to the Voice’s handmaidens. Indeed, he’s gone so far as to suggest that they never disappeared at all. That the entire story is a fabrication.”

    Kaeritha frowned. There’d been no mention of this incident in any of Trisu’s correspondence with Tellian or his magistrates. In the wake of what Yalith had just told her, that omission took on ominous overtones.

    “The Voice hasn’t been able to determine what happened to her handmaidens?” she asked after a moment.

    “Apparently not,” Yalith said heavily. She sighed. “All the Voice can discover is that both of them are dead. How they died, and exactly where, she can’t say.”

    A chill ran down Kaeritha’s spine. The murder of the consecrated servants of any temple, and especially that of two acolytes sworn to the personal service of a Voice of Lillinara, was an incredibly serious matter. The fact that Trisu wasn’t tearing Lorham apart stone-by-stone to find the guilty parties was frightening.

    And perhaps it’s also the reason Tomanak needed one of His blades involved, she thought grimly.

    “How long ago did this happen?” she asked crisply.

    “Not very,” Yalith replied. She glanced at the calendar on her desk. “A bit less than four weeks ago, actually.”

    Kaeritha’s mood eased just a bit. If the murders had happened that recently, it was at least possible Trisu hadn’t mentioned it to Tellian because he was still investigating it himself. After all, if it had happened in Lorham, it was Trisu’s responsibility to solve the crime, not Tellian’s. If he was unable to do so, he had the right—and, some would argue, the responsibility—to call upon his liege for assistance, but he might simply feel he hadn’t yet exhausted all of his own resources.

    Sure. He might feel that, she told herself.

    And the fact that it had happened that recently undoubtably explained why nothing had been said to Tellian by Yalith or the Voice at Quaysar. Kalatha held a Crown charter. That meant that, unlike Trisu, Yalith was not one of Tellian’s vassals, and as such, she had no responsibility to report anything to him. Nor, for that matter, was Tellian legally obligated to take any action on anything she did report to him, although he undoubtably would have acted in a matter this serious which involved or might involve one of his vassals. As for the Voice, Trisu was the appropriate person for her to turn to for an investigation and justice. If he failed to provide them, only then was she entitled to appeal to his liege.

    “Perhaps now you can see why I was surprised to see a Champion of Tomanak rather than one of the Mother’s Arms,” Yalith said quietly.

    “To be honest, so am I, a little,” Kaeritha admitted, although she privately thought the Arms of Lillinara were a little too intent on avenging victims rather than administering justice. All the same, she was surprised Lillinara hadn’t dispatched one of them to deal with the situation. The Silver Lady was famed for the devastating retribution she was prepared to visit upon those who victimized her followers.

    “Perhaps,” she went on slowly, thinking aloud, “if Trisu is as hostile towards you as you’re saying—hostile enough to extend his feelings towards the war maids into public disrespect for Lillinara—She and Tomanak felt it might be better for Him to send one of His blades. The fact that I’m a woman may make me a bit more acceptable to you war maids and to the Voice, while the fact that I serve Tomanak rather than Lillinara may make me acceptable to Trisu despite the fact that I’m a woman.”

    “I hope something does, Dame Kaeritha,” Yalith said soberly. “Because if something doesn’t bring about a marked improvement in what’s happening here in Kalatha and Lorham sometime soon, it’s going to spill over.”

    Kaeritha looked at her, and she grimaced.

    “Kalatha’s status as our oldest free-town means all war maids tend to keep up with events here, Milady, and I just explained why Quaysar is important to all of us. If Trisu and those who think like him are able to get away with running roughshod over us here, then they may be inspired to try the same thing anywhere else. That would be bad enough, but to be perfectly honest, I’m actually more concerned about how the war maids will react. Let’s be honest. Most of us aren’t all that fond of men in positions of authority, anyway. If Trisu proves our distrust is well founded, it’s going to cause our own attitudes to harden. I can assure you that at least some of the war maids are just as bitter and just as prejudiced against the Trisus of the world as Trisu could ever be against us, and some of those women are likely to begin acting on their bitterness if they feel we’ve been denied justice in this case. And if that happens, then everything we’ve accomplished over the past two hundred and fifty years is in jeopardy.”

    Kaeritha nodded, blue eyes dark as she contemplated the spiraling cycle of distrust, hostility, and potential violence Yalith was describing.

    “Well, in that case, Mayor,” she said quietly, “we’ll just have to see to it that that doesn’t happen, won’t we?”