Wind Rider's Oath: Chapter Twenty Eight

    Thalar Keep, the home of Lord Warden Trisu of Lorham and the ancestral seat of the Pickaxes of Lorham, was a considerably more modest fortress than Hill Guard Castle. Then again, the town of Thalar (calling it a “city” would have been a gross exaggeration) was far, far smaller than Balthar. Still, the castle, with its two curtain walls and massive, square central keep, was of respectable antiquity. Indeed, it looked to Kaeritha’s experienced eye as if the outer walls were at least a couple of centuries younger than the original keep.

    There was nothing remotely like finesse about the castle’s architecture or construction. It was uncompromisingly angular, laid out with an obvious eye for fields of fire for the archers expected to man its battlements in time of emergency. Whoever had designed it, though—assuming anything like an actual “design” process had been part of its construction—had clearly been less concerned about what an enemy with capable siege engineers might have done to it. It was dominated by a higher ridge to the east, beyond accurate bow range but well within reach for the sort of ballistae someone like the Empire of the Axe might have deployed. Nor was the castle moated. It was built on what appeared to be an artificial mound, too, rather than bedrock. That raised it above the town proper and gave its parapets a greater command of its surroundings, but the earthen mound would have been highly vulnerable to mining operations.

    Of course, she mused as Cloudy carried her up the very slight slope towards Thalar just over a week after she’d reached Kalatha, the people who’d built that castle had probably had their fellow Sothoii, or possibly Horse Stealers, in mind. Neither the cavalry-oriented Sothoii nor the relatively unsophisticated hradani would have been in much of a position to take advantage of the weaknesses evident to Kaeritha. And according to Mayor Yalith, Thalar Keep had withstood serious attack at least three times during the Sothoii’s Time of Troubles.

    Despite its small size, compared to Balthar, Thalar appeared to be relatively prosperous. There were few houses over two stories in height, but all of the dwellings Kaeritha could see appeared to be well maintained and clean. Despite the incessant spring rains, the local farmers had managed to get their fields plowed, and the first blush of green crops showed vividly against the furrows’ rich, black topsoil. And, of course, there were the endless paddocks, training rings, and stables of Trisu’s home stud farm.

    There were laborers in the fields, and most of them paused to look up and study Kaeritha as Cloudy trotted past. Like Thalar itself, they seemed to be sturdy and well fed, if not wealthy, and almost despite herself, Kaeritha was forced to concede that first appearances suggested that Trisu, whatever his other failings, took excellent care of his people and his holding.

    The road up to Thalar Keep was at least marginally better maintained than the muddy track Kaeritha had followed across the Wind Plain. She was grateful for that, and so was Cloudy. The mare picked up her pace as she recognized journey’s end. No doubt she was looking forward to a warm stall and a bucketful of oats and bran.

    Kaeritha chuckled at the thought, then drew rein as she approached the castle’s outer gatehouse and a bugle blared. Her eyebrows rose as she recognized the bugle call. It was a formal challenge, a demand to stand and be recognized, and it was unusual, to say the least, for a single rider to be greeted by it. On the other hand, she could see at least six archers on the wall. Under the circumstances, she decided, compliance was probably in order.

    She and Cloudy stopped just beyond the gatehouse’s shadow, and she looked up as a man in the crested helmet of an officer appeared on the battlement above her.

    “Who are you? And what brings you to Thalar Keep?” the officer shouted down in a nasal bass voice. It was unfortunate that his natural voice made him sound querulous and ill-tempered, Kaeritha thought.

    “I am Dame Kaeritha Seldansdaughter,” she called back in her clear, carrying soprano, carefully not smiling as his helmeted head twitched in obvious surprise at hearing a woman’s voice. “Champion of Tomanak,” she continued, fighting not to chortle as she pictured the effect that was likely to have upon him. “Here to see Lord Warden Trisu of Lorham on the War God’s business,” she finished genially, and sat back in the saddle to await results.

    There was a long moment of motionless consternation atop the battlements. Then the officer who’d challenged her seemed to give his entire body a shake and whipped around to gabble orders at one of the archers. The archer in question didn’t even wait to nod in acknowledgment before he went speeding off. Then the officer turned back to Kaeritha.

    “Ah, you did say a champion of Tomanak, didn’t you?” he inquired rather tentatively.

    “Yes, I did,” Kaeritha replied. “And I’m still waiting to be admitted,” she added pointedly.

    “Well, yes —” the flustered officer began. Then he stopped. Clearly, he had no idea how to proceed when faced with the preposterous, self-evidently impossible paradox of a woman who claimed to be not only a knight, but a champion of Tomanak, as well! Kaeritha understood perfectly, but she rather hoped the average intelligence level of Trisu’s officers and retainers was higher than this fellow seemed to imply.

    “I’m getting a crick in my neck shouting up at you,” she said mildly, and even from where she sat in Cloudy’s saddle she imagined she could see the fiery blush which colored the unfortunate man’s face.

    He turned away from her once more, shouting to someone inside the gatehouse.

    “Open the gate!” he snapped, and hinges groaned as someone began obediently heaving one of the massive gate leaves open.

    Kaeritha waited patiently, hands folded in plain sight on the pommel of her saddle, until the gate was fully open. Then she nodded her thanks to the still flustered officer and clucked gently to Cloudy. The mare tossed her head, as if she were as amused as her mistress by the obvious consternation they’d caused, then trotted forward with dainty, ladylike grace.

    The unfortunate officer from the battlements was waiting for her in the courtyard beyond the gatehouse by the time she emerged from the gate tunnel. Seen at closer range, he was rather more prepossessing than Kaeritha’s first impression had suggested. Not that that was particularly difficult, she thought dryly.

    His coloring was unusually dark for a Sothoii, and he stared up at her, his brown eyes clinging to the embroidered sword and mace of Tomanak, glittering in gold bullion on the front of her poncho. From his expression, he would have found a fire-breathing dragon considerably less unnatural, but he was at least trying to handle the situation as if it were a normal one.

    “Ah, please forgive my seeming discourtesy, Dame… Kaeritha,” he said. There was a slight questioning note in his pronunciation of her name, Kaeritha noticed, and nodded pleasantly, acknowledging his apology even as she confirmed that he had it right. “I’m afraid,” the officer continued with a surprisingly genuine smile, “that we’re not accustomed to seeing champions of Tomanak here in Lorham.”

    “There aren’t that many of us,” Kaeritha agreed, amiably consenting to pretend that that had been the true reason for his confusion.

    “I’ve sent word of your arrival to Lord Trisu,” he continued. “I’m sure he’ll want to come down to the gate to greet you properly and in person.”

    Or to kick me back out of the gate if he decides I’m not a champion after all, Kaeritha added silently. On the other hand, one must be polite, I suppose.

    “Thank you, Captain —?”

    “Forgive me,” the officer said hastily. “I seem to be forgetting all of my manners today! I am called Sir Altharn.”

    “Thank you, Sir Altharn,” Kaeritha said. “I appreciate the prompt and efficient manner in which you’ve discharged your duties.”

    The words were courteously formal, but Sir Altharn obviously noticed the gently teasing edge to her voice. For a moment he started to color up again, but then, to her pleased surprise, he shook his head and smiled at her, instead.

    “I suppose I had that coming,” he told her. “But truly, Dame Kaeritha, I’m seldom quite so inept as I’ve managed to appear this morning.”

    “I believe that,” Kaeritha said, and somewhat to her own surprise, it was true.

    “Thank you. That’s kinder than I deserve,” Sir Altharn said. “I hope I’ll have the opportunity to demonstrate the fact that I don’t always manage to put my own boot in my mouth. Or, at least, that I usually remember to take my spurs off first!”

    He laughed at himself, so naturally that Kaeritha laughed with him. There might be some worthwhile depths to this fellow after all, she reflected.

    “I’m sure you’ll have the chance,” she told him. “In fact, I —”

    She broke off in midsentence as four more men, one of them the messenger Altharn had dispatched, arrived from the direction of the central keep. The one in the lead had to be Trisu, she thought. His stride was too imperious, his bearing too confident—indeed, arrogant—for him to be anyone else. He was fair-haired, gray-eyed, and darkly tanned. He was also very young, no more than twenty-four or twenty-five, she judged. And as seemed to be the case with every male Sothoii nobleman Kaeritha had so far met, he stood comfortably over six feet in height. That would have been more than enough to make him impressive, but if his height was typical of the Sothoii, his breadth was not. Most of them tended—like Sir Altharn or Baron Tellian—towards a lean and rangy look, but Trisu Pickaxe’s shoulders were almost as broad in proportion to his height as Brandark’s. He must, she reflected, have weighed close to three hundred pounds, none of it fat, and she felt a twinge of sympathy for any warhorse which found itself under him.

    He was unarmored, but he’d taken time to belt on a jewel-hilted saber in a gold-chased black scabbard, and two of the men behind him—obviously armsmen—wore the standard steel breastplates and leather armor of Sothoii horse archers.

    “So!” Trisu rocked to a halt and tucked his hands inside his sword belt as he glowered up at Kaeritha. She looked back down at him calmly from Cloudy’s saddle, her very silence an unspoken rebuke of his brusqueness. He seemed remarkably impervious to it, however, for his only response was to bare his teeth in a tight, humorless smile.

    “So you claim to be a champion of Tomanak, do you?” he continued before the silence could stretch out too far.

    “I do not ‘claim’ anything, Milord,” Kaeritha returned in a deliberately courteous but pointed tone. She smiled thinly. “It would take a braver woman than me to attempt to pass herself off falsely as one of His champions. Somehow, I don’t think He’d like that very much, do you?”

    Something flashed in Trisu’s gray eyes—a sparkle of anger, perhaps, although she supposed it was remotely possible it might have been humor. But whatever it had been, it went almost as fast as it had come, and he snorted.

    “Bravery might be one word for it,” he said. “Foolishness—or perhaps even stupidity—might be others, though, don’t you think?”

    “They might,” she acknowledged. “In the meantime, however, Milord, I have to wonder if keeping a traveler standing in the courtyard is the usual courtesy of Lorham.”

    “Under normal circumstances, no,” he said coolly. “On the other hand, I trust you will concede that women claiming to be knights and champions of the gods aren’t exactly normal travelers.”

    “On the Wind Plain, perhaps,” Kaeritha replied with matching coolness, and, for the first time, he flushed. But he wasn’t prepared to surrender the point quite yet.

    “That’s as may be, Milady,” he told her, “but at the moment, you’re on the Wind Plain, and here what you claim to be is not simply unusual, but unheard of. Under the circumstances, I hope you’ll not find me unduly discourteous if I request some proof that you are indeed who and what you say you are.” He smiled again. “Surely, the Order of Tomanak would prefer that people be cautious about accepting anyone’s unsubstantiated claim to be one of His champions.”

    “I see.” Kaeritha regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment. It would have been handy, she reflected, if Tomanak had seen fit to give to gift her with a sword like Bahzell’s, which came when he called it. It was certainly an impressive way to demonstrate his champion’s credentials when necessary. Unfortunately, her own blades, while possessed of certain unusual attributes of their own, stayed obstinately in their sheaths unless she drew them herself, no matter how much she might whistle or snap her fingers for them.

    “I’ve come from Balthar,” she said, after a moment, “where Baron Tellian was kind enough to offer me hospitality and to gift me with this lovely lady.” She leaned forward to stroke Cloudy’s neck, and smiled behind her expressionless face as the first, faint uncertainty flickered in those gray eyes. “He also,” she continued blandly, “sent with me written letters of introduction and, I believe, instructions to cooperate with me in my mission.” Those eyes were definitely less cheerful than they had been, she noted with satisfaction. “And if you should happen to have anyone here in the Keep who is injured or ill, I suppose I could demonstrate my ability to heal them. Or —” she looked straight into Trisu’s eyes “— if you insist, I suppose I might simply settle for demonstrating my skill at arms upon your chosen champion, instead. In that case, however, I hope you won’t be requiring his services anytime soon.”

    Trisu’s face tightened, its lines momentarily harder and bleaker than its owner’s years. The people wh’d described him as “conservative” had been guilty of considerable understatement, Kaeritha thought. But there appeared to be a brain behind that hard face. However angry he might be, his was not an unthinking reactionism, and he made his expression relax.

    “If you bear the letters you’ve described,” he said after a moment, with what Kaeritha had to concede was commendable dignity under the circumstances, “that will be more than sufficient proof for me, Milady.”

    “I thank you for your courtesy, Milord,” she said, bending her head in a slight bow. “At the same time—and I fear I owe you an apology, because I did make the offer at least partly out of pique—if there are any sick or injured, it would be my pleasure as well as my duty to offer them healing.”

    “That was courteously said, Milady,” Trisu replied, still more than a bit stiffly but with the first genuine warmth she’d seen from him. “Please, Dame Kaeritha—alight from your horse. My house is yours, and it would seem I have a certain unfortunate first impression to overcome.”

    Kaeritha’s initial impression of Sir Altharn had been misleading. Her first impression of Lord Trisu, unfortunately, and despite his promise to overcome it, had not.

    It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Trisu’s brain; it was simply that he chose not to use it where certain opinions and preconceptions were concerned. Kaeritha could see only too well why Yalith and the war maids found it so difficult to work with him. However determined one might be to be diplomatic and reasonable, it must be hard to remember one’s intention when all one wanted to do was to strangle the stiff-necked, obstinate, bigoted, prejudiced, quintessential young Sothoii reactionary on the other side of the conference table.

    His obvious native intelligence never challenged his opinions and prejudices because it was enlisted in their support, instead. That might not prevent him from being an excellent administrator, as was obvious from the condition of his lands and the people living on them. But it was a serious handicap when he was forced to deal with people or events he couldn’t hammer into submission to his own biases.

    On the other hand, perhaps it’s time someone jerked him up short, she thought as she settled into her place at his right hand at the high table in Thalar Keep’s great hall.

    “I fear Thalar’s hospitality must appear somewhat modest compared to that of Balthar.” Trisu’s words were courteous enough, as was their tone, but there was a challenging glint in his eyes. Or perhaps there wasn’t. It was always possible, Kaeritha reminded herself conscientiously, that her own prejudices were unfairly ascribing false attitudes and motives to him.

    “Balthar is considerably larger than Thalar, Milord,” she replied, after a moment. “But it’s been my experience that simple size has less to do with hospitality and the gracious treatment of guests than the graciousness of the host. Certainly no attention to my own comfort has been omitted here in Thalar.”

    She hid an inner wince at the stiltedness of her own turn of phrase. Trisu seemed to have that effect on her. But what she’d said had been only the truth, at least in physical terms. The fact that Trisu’s retainers and servants took their lead from their lord’s own attitudes probably explained why there had been a certain lack of genuine welcome behind their courteous attentiveness, but good manners forbade her from mentioning that.

    “I’m pleased to hear it,” Trisu said, looking out across the crowded tables below them as serving women began bringing in the food. Then he returned his attention fully to Kaeritha.

    “I’ve read Baron Tellian’s letters, Dame Kaeritha,” he said. “And I will, of course, comply with his wishes and instructions.” His smile was thin, and his gray eyes glittered. “Lorham stands ready to assist you in any way we may.”

    “I appreciate that,” she replied, forbearing to observe that it was marvelous that it appeared to have taken him no more than the better part of seven hours to work his way through all two of the letters Tellian had sent along.

    “Yes. But that’s for tomorrow. For tonight, allow my cooks to demonstrate their skill for you.” A serving maid deposited a stuffed, roasted fowl before him, and he reached for a carving knife. “Would you prefer light meat, or dark, Milady?” he inquired.